A Week of Books

This is the week of the book in the Netherlands. A strange phenomenon really. There is a lot of media attention for books and authors. If you buy a Dutch book you get a specially commissioned little book for free, written by one of the country’s best authors. Then, because the event is sponsored by the Railway company, that book serves as a train ticket on Sunday. There are special events, book signings, lectures. This year’s theme is France, so a lot of attention for French authors and even more for Dutch authors writing about France. So many new books. And I must confess, I do love books. Or did I mention that already.

Right now I am among the Borgia’s and the Medici’s in Italy long ago. A book by one of my favourite Dutch authors. When I was younger I always loved reading the old stuff, ninetheenth century novels. I loved Jane Austen, George Eliot and Charles Dickens. I read them all and I rememember when and where I read them. My first Dickens was “A Tale of Two Cities” and I read it during a holiday in Norway. I was staying with a friend and they had this small shelf of English books in their guest room. There I discovered Agatha Christie, and Charles Dickens. I loved the Dickens story, and finished the book very quickly. I can still clearly remember the little room, the bookshelf and the way I got into the story, even while surrounded by all the beauty of Norway. Then there was Dickens at university. We read “Great Expectations”, another wonderful story with great characters, and I wanted more of this. Talking about the book and analyzing it added to its charm somehow. At university in England I had four weeks to read four of the big ones, “Pickwick Papers”, “David Copperfield”, “Martin Chuzzlewit” and . It was winter and cold in the resident’s hall where I lived, but I enjoyed reading in my room. So I would curl up on the bed, pull the duvet over me and live the life of David Copperfield.
Jane Austen I discovered through an early television adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice”. I fell for the charms of David Rintoul, the ultimate Darcy, but also turned to the book, and then on to Austen’s other works. Great romantic stories, but so much more. Then there was George Eliot. I was asked to read “Middlemarch” at university. A real world to get involved with. A great heroine. I really should read it again soon, it is such a fascinating book.

After I graduated, I started reading all this modern stuff. I suddenly discovered this great world of authors of my own time, people still writing. I discovered Peter Ackroyd, who wrote about long ago. And I discovered modern women writers. Margaret Atwood, Beryl Bainbridge, A.S. Byatt, Penelope Lively, Rose Tremain.

Then I made an almost bigger step, back into my own language, and I started reading modern Dutch literature. I seem to stick to women authors mainly these days, and there are so many interesting ones. Renate Dorrestein, Hella Haasse, Kristien Hemmerechts, Rascha Peper, Anna Enquist, Pauline Slot, Barbara Voors. They write about issues that concern me, I recognise their thoughts and ideas, but they add to mine. They are all different, and I need to read them at different moments and for different reasons.

Then, sometimes I go back, just to reread old favourites. Or you find out that the tradition still exists, though maybe in a slightly different way. You have Philip Pullman who writes great adventures. I like the modern stuff, but I can also really enjoy something that takes me back in time.

Going through the list of the Big Read I saw so many great memories there, and I felt a few were missing. Hardly any D.H. Lawrence, one of the first real adult writers I got to read in secondary school.

Come to think of it, that was another strange introduction. I had an unusual English teacher in secondary school. She was an elderly lady, very religious, tiny and fragile, who seemed to be a bit stuck in the past. She always wore these pretty dresses, had her hair done very neatly, used a walking stick and wore glasses that were about ten years’ out of date. But she did always manage to look elegant, and she was a born teacher. Her English was a little old-fashioned and she had very strict ideas on just about everything. There were little chalk marks on the floor and the tables had to be exactly on the mark. Girls in front of the class, boys in the back. When it came to our reading lists, she would often pick a book from the library we were supposed to read. For some reason I got to read Lawrence’s “The Rainbow”. I am still surprised at that choice, it was totally unexpected for me. It wasn’t an easy book for a sixteen-year old, but I did love it and it was definitely challenging. I read much more Lawrence after that first one.

Your tastes do change though, and when I look at all the different things I’ve read. There were periods of reading about cricket, about travelling, about New York, of reading lots of theatre biographies, plays, crime novels. But I’ve always loved good stories, good characters. I can’t imagine a day without books.