Robert Macfarlane: The Gifts of Reading
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.
My copy of the 15×11 cm, 34-page booklet. It is the size of a field notebook, and it fits beautifully into the back pocket of my jeans or the side pocket of my backpack.
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?
