Yesterday was World Literacy Day and, as of 2015, there are 1 billion illiterate adults in the world (UNESCO).Reading is something most of us take for granted. It is vital for improving our standard of life, staying informed with politics and current events that can impact us directly, and knowing how to improve and maintain our health. It is heartbreaking that this number is so high. Maybe not as vital to life as the previous reasons – but just as important to quality of life – is that books also have a way of stimulating your imagination and your dreams, and exposing you to perspectives that you may not normally be exposed to.
Books have given me some of the most wonderful memories of my life. Wherever I was, however young I was, there was a book to capture that particular time and place. My childhood was spent voraciously wolfing down every volume of Nancy Drew or The Hardy Boys I could get my hands on. Even earlier than that, was Enid Blyton – especially The Famous Five and The Naughtiest Girl In School. Georgette Heyer reminds me of my best friend in high school, whose mother introduced us to that author. Tintin and Asterix will forever remind me of traveling to India with my family – my dad would always buy me one of those comics for the trip.
My summer vacations, spent with family in India, brought me many more, very dusty bookshelves to raid and that was when, at the age of 10, I first discovered the plays of George Bernard Shaw – who remains one of my favorite writers to this day. I remember reading Pygmalion for the very first time, lying on my aunt’s bed, a hot Indian afternoon, with the window open right next to me. And outside that window was a sapota (sapodilla) tree with the sweetest, ripest fruit you could imagine. Every now and then, between Acts in the play, perhaps, I would reach over and pluck a sweet, sticky snack. It’s one of my fondest memories of childhood.