Transport
2: to carry away with strong and often intensely pleasant emotion
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The joy of reading was brought back to me recently while reading a book that I picked up by the merest happenstance.
I’ve started to automatically be inclined toward digital entertainment and creativity interests― versus the printed word―like the rest of us swept up in this digital revolution. It happened slowly and overlappingly until I had mostly transitioned from one camp to the other, the way one starts to have a new favorite candy over time. Or perhaps the way one slides into alcoholism—you like it a lot at first but begin to sense that there is a rewiring going on and that it could well not be good. Or, maybe we’re using digital media the same way we happily used DDT in the beginning, for years unaware of the neurological damage to the psyche’s landscapes over time. But, as of now, I usually reach for Netflix or YouTube, or video games, etc. whereas most of this time would have been spent with books before. Growing up, many of my siblings were big readers and we did well in school and even used to go to the library for the fun of it sometimes. I would be enthralled sitting on my little chair in the big hushed important library; even as a child I read voraciously upon every imaginable subject as long as it was dinosaurs. Later, I was an English Lit major in college and was force-fed books and great works of literature and so reading was/is anchored in me as one of the lifelong core importances.
The happenstance was this: me grabbing this book out of an enormous pile of books that were going to be discarded from an estate sale I was working at. I took about twelve books and it broke my heart to let hundreds more obviously great books go to waste. Books are virtually free nowadays and it is astounding to me: from closely guarded papyrus scrolls at ancient royal libraries through the Gutenberg flourishing to now: boxes of free books everywhere you turn. It has even become a significant trash/recycling problem in some ways. It looks like the arc of the collapse of an animal population due to digital predation.
Big caveat before you curmudgeonize me: I know that a ton of the digital content is great, innovative, and there is an amazing energy behind new apps and new ways of -ugh- ‘consuming’. (The vibe I get from ‘consuming content’ is very American: I picture a taxed recliner and a bucket of Cheetos. And, while we’re here, isn’t ‘content’ a stupidly flat way to describe all of digital creation?)
But the delicious digital offerings entice us into the world where we inevitably find ourselves grazing on empty calories for hours and hours- long after we watched the gateway thing- and we’ll never get that time back. We are still as a society plunging headfirst into the wave; we’re wet and exhilarated but are in the moment before we feel the power of the wave. Parents are noticing that they can’t get their teenagers off the phone at restaurants, or even between bites. Military Basic Training centers are encountering a generation of kids with odd physical and mental frailties. And mental health centers’ counselors are tracking serious issues bubbling up from the various tar pits of validation (like me!) that drive so much digital interface. I think it might be a small matter of time before Draconian regulations start getting discussed. Tik. Tok.
But the good news is that books are still incredible when you find an interesting subject married to a great writer.
The book I’m reading now is Arctic Dreams and it is transporting. From the beginning, I found myself rereading passages just to be in that moment again. It’s about all things north and arctic―the history, the regions, landscapes, animals, weather, light, the wonder, magic, mystery, strength, colors and unforgiving but beautiful austerity and yet abundance of this vast region of our world. And man’s forays into it, from original inhabitants to current incursions. I’m still only a little ways into the book but am already in thrall with everything from the exquisite muskox behavior to all the unfamiliar and haunting rhythms of light and time that govern everything about this land. I wouldn’t presume to really describe these complexities―the author is such an expert and his writing is magnificent. And transporting. (Author: Barry Lopez)
Why is reading this so much more magic than watching a great documentary on the Arctic?
It’s the old ‘what’s better: the book or the movie?’ question. It’s almost always the book. We know why, in general terms: With books, we get to supply so much of the experience ourselves―launching from the author’s words into the limitless reaches of our imagination. With books, we can read in our own quiet time and place, all the while indulging our favorite chair, blanket, and cup of tea made just so. And with books, even the feel of the book, the smell of the pages, can be pleasing on its own.
But the thing that strikes me the most as I’m reading this 464-page book is how quiet this activity is. Maybe there is a visceral connection to early childhood library experiences, but I don’t read unless it is very quiet. I’m fortunate to live in a quiet place and it is always very quiet at night while I read. Compared to the relentless audial assault of digital media, and most of life now, it is a balm.
So. It’s very quiet, I can feel the snug weight of book in my hand, I smell the pages as I riffle them. Blue couch. Something fleece on. Tea in my favorite clear mug, the dab of cream still swirling. I begin reading. The dark letters against the snow white pages are stark, clean, fresh, quiet, and ethereal in their power. I am transported. It is an arctic experience.
Penultimate 