Reading this little gem brought me to tears. Macfarlane’s story of his friendship with Don, forged in the autumn and winter of 2000 as they taught English literature together at a university in Beijing, is a testament to the quiet power of books to connect souls. Their bond, built on shared stories and the act of giving books, feels as timeless as the literature they loved.
I want to share this snippet from the essay that stood out because I’ve often wondered what it would be like to write a book.
Robert Macfarlane’s words remind me of something beautiful: a book doesn’t stay solitary for long.
If I’m lucky enough to write one someday, I’d hope it has a “social life,” as Macfarlane puts it. I’d imagine it crammed into backpacks on adventures, passed between friends with a whispered, “You’ll love this,” or gifted across borders. The thought that my words might travel further than I ever could is both humbling and thrilling. Perhaps one day, I’ll catch a glimpse of someone reading my book—and that, I think, would feel like magic.
Although the essay got me a tad emotional, Macfarlane is quite witty. I chuckled at this:
What’s a book you’ve carried with you everywhere?
