I think I find it hard to blog each week because I’d so much rather be reading than writing. Thank heavens there are those who would rather write, or I’d be out of luck. It is a true symbiotic relationship; nice to know we need each other.

Why do I love reading, and in particular why do I love reading mysteries? I know that my mother fostered the love of reading in all four of her children (she was a librarian), and encouraged us all to read every day. Maybe she liked the fact that it gave her quiet time, when we were all reading instead of noisier activities. Whatever the reason, she raised four kids who loved to read. Sometimes she found our reading habit and the fact we become so engrossed in our reading to be dangerous. My older brother and I were reading in our living room one day when we were surprised to have someone come in screaming at us and beating at the couch where one of us was sitting. Turns out the couch was smoldering away from a dropped cigarette (not mine, my brother’s), and neither of us noticed the smoke rising. Now that’s a sign of a good book!

While somewhat dangerous at times, reading was, thanks to libraries, an inexpensive hobby, and we were poor. I can still remember getting my own library card, and how proud I was to be able to take out books by myself. Mom never censored what we read, either; she let me read Peyton Place when I was only 11 or 12–not that I understood much of it. In high school she let my teachers know that I was allowed to read anything I wanted, unlike too many parents who are afraid of what is in books. I always want to tell those who protest a book that if reading made the reader into whatever evil thing might appear in the book, I’d be a serial killer instead of a teacher, lawyer and judge.

As to how I became a reader of mysteries, that is also Mom’s influence. She liked mysteries, and I remember her talking about them; in particular I have a clear memory of her talking about Frances and Richard Lockridge’s Captain Heimrich series as though the people in them were neighbors or friends, as she talked about following Susan and Captain Heimrich’s courtship. This got me interested in the idea that mysteries also included romance; sort of a two for one deal. I had already been reading the Hardy boys series and Ellery Queen Jr. (talk about hard to find books–look for EQ Jr. ones!). I started on the Lockridge books, and have never looked back.

Mom was an unusual librarian in that she never fussed about keeping books pristine. We were allowed to eat and read, and instead of using a bookmark leave books spread open, and in general to enjoy books for what was in them, not for the paper and bindings. This has carried through for me, and today the books I own are mine for the enjoyment they provide, and not as an investment. Though many of my books are first editions of modern authors, that is only because I can’t wait to read them so I buy them as they are published, and not because I think they will become more valuable. I also own old, scruffy book club editions of authors like the Lockridges because they were the only ones I could find to complete my collection. I love owning every book written by my favorite authors, and have paperbacks, first editions, book club editions all mixed up on the shelves.

Sometimes it has taken years to manage to complete the set for an author and achieve the sense of satisfaction I find when I know that I can read every book in a series, or every book written by one of the authors I love. Because of this, I become very possessive of my books. I hate lending them out, and will only do it to a few favored friends. Even then I keep track of who has any of my books, and have been known to rival the worst collection agency to get them back. I’m a miser who likes to gloat over my bookcases, knowing I have every Lockridge, every Rex Stout, every Ellis Peters–you get the idea. Most of them aren’t valuable, though I have been known to spend some serious money to complete an author. One of my Ellis Peters’ books cost a good bit and I spent more than usual on a Tony Hillerman signed first edition, with an illustration done and signed by the illustrator. But there are few of that type in my collection. My books are there to be read, not admired.

I have a friend who states proudly that he has never re-read a book in his life. This is just not comprehensible to me; I love re-reading books. I read The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings books almost every winter; read Little Women nearly every Christmas season; read Rex Stout time and time again just to savor the way he uses words; read whatever author fits my mood. My books are filled with old friends I can visit whenever I want. New books give me new friends but that doesn’t mean I have to get rid of my old ones. Remember the camp song “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.”? That’s how I feel about my books.