Schwalbe - Books for Living

The Importance of Living
Slowing Down

Stuart Little
Searching

The Girl on the Train
Trusting

The Odyssey
Embracing Mediocrity

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Napping

Giovannis Room
Connecting

David Copperfield
Remembering

Wonder
Choosing Kindness

Lateral Thinking
Solving Problems

Gift from the Sea
Recharging

The Taste of Country Cooking
Nourishing

Bartleby, the Scrivener
Quitting

The Gifts of the Body
Losing

The Little Prince
Finding Friends

1984
Disconnecting

Epitaph of a Small Winner
Overcoming Boredom

Zen in the Art of Archery
Mastering the Art of Reading

Song of Solomon
Admiring Greatness

A Little Life
Hugging

Bird by Bird
Feeling Sensitive

Rebecca
Betraying

Reading Lolita in Tehran
Choosing Your Life

More More More, Said the Baby
Staying Satisfied

A Journey Around My Room
Traveling

Death Be Not Proud
Praying

What the Living Do
Living

FROM TIME TO TIME I have a terrifying dream. I call it the Readers Nightmare.

Im in a busy airport, and theyve announced my flight. There is an epic walk to the gate, and I know I have only a few minutes before they will close the door to the jetway and my plane will leave without me. Suddenly, I realize that I dont have a book to read on the flight. Not one single book. I spin around, my eyes searching frantically for a bookstore. I see none. I run through the airport, past the duty-free counters selling liquor and perfume, past the luggage stores and fashion boutiques, past the place that offers neck massage. Still, I cant find an airport bookstore. Now, over the loudspeakers, comes the final call for my flight. Flight ninety-seven to Perth is ready for departure. All passengers must be on board at this time. They even call me by name. Panic sets in as I realize that I am almost certainly going to miss my flight. But the idea of hours on a plane without a book? Intolerable. So I run and run, searching for that bookstoreor at least a newsstand with a rack of paperbacks. I cant find a single book anywhere in the airport. I start to scream.

Then I wake up.

I dont have this dream about food or television or movies or music. My unconscious is largely untroubled by the idea of spending hours in a metal tube hurtling through the sky without something to eat or a program to watch or tunes in my ears. Its the thought of being bookless for hours that jolts me awake in a cold sweat.

Throughout my life Ive looked to books for all sorts of reasons: to comfort me, to amuse me, to distract me, and to educate me. But just because you know that you can find anything you need in a book doesnt mean you can easily find your way to the right book at the right time, the one that tells you what you need to know or feel when you need to know or feel it.

A few years ago, I wrote a book about the books I read with my mother when she was dying of pancreatic cancer. During this time we read casually, promiscuously, and whimsically, allowing one book to lead us to the next. We read books we were given and books that had sat on our shelves for decades, waiting to be noticed; books we had stumbled across, and books we had chosen to reread simply because we felt like it. Were we looking for anything in particular? Usually not. At times, the books gave us something to talk about when we wanted to talk about anything rather than her illness. But they also gave us a way to talk about subjects that were too painful to address directly. They helped guide and prompt our conversations, so that I could learn as much as I could from my mother while she was still here to teach me.

At other times throughout my life, though, Ive felt a very specific need and have searched for a book to answer it. It hasnt always been easy to find the right book. Sure, when that burning need was to learn how to make a pineapple upside-down cake, I turned to The Cake Bible. Or when it was a need to find a place to eat in Chicago, the Zagat guide. Or when I wanted to self-diagnose that angry rash, to the Mayo Clinic Family Health Book. More and more, when I need this kind of information, my first line of attack isnt a book at allits the Internet, or social media, where I quiz the ubiquitous hive mind to find, say, good Malaysian food near Union Square.

There are, however, questions that the Internet and the hive mind are spectacularly unable to answer to my satisfaction. These are the big ones, the ones that writers have been tackling for thousands of years: the problem of pain, meaning, purpose, happiness. Questions about how to live your life. Yes, the Internet tries to helpinasmuch as any inanimate thing can be said to try to do anything. There are digital video channels devoted to streaming inspirational speeches from conferences in which people package insight into brief uplifting lecturesmany with a compelling hook and some memorable stories. But the best of these are often simply digests ofor advertisements fora book that the presenter has written or is currently working on. Authors have always given lectures: theres nothing new in that. And readers, after hearing such speeches, have craved the books that go with them, so that they could explore the topics in greater depth and engage with them more fullyworking through the arguments at their own pace, skipping, savoring, and pondering.