Read Forever

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Our Read Forever campaign has touched many readers, and we appreciate that you’ve shared your passion for reading forever in our Unbound comments, and on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube.


To further celebrate the importance of reading forever, we asked six bestselling authors to offer their own thoughts on the power of reading. Over the next six weeks, watch for exclusive essays from beloved authors Lee Child, Tom Brokaw, Mary Higgins Clark, Tom Perrotta, Nikki Giovanni and Christina Dodd, right here on the Unbound blog.


In today’s inaugural piece, thriller writer Lee Child tells the touching story of receiving a fan letter from a favorite childhood author, and forming a friendship with him as a fellow writer. Child eloquently portrays the importance that reading played in his development as a writer, and the surprising way that his own writing paid back one of the authors who had been so influential.


Over the following weeks, we hope you enjoy these uplifting and insightful odes to reading from some of our most important literary voices.



LeeChild.jpgThe Fan Letter by Lee Child

They say the past is another country, and in my case it really was: provincial England at the end of the fifties and the start of the sixties, the last gasp of the post-war era, before it surrendered to the tectonic shift sparked by the Beatles.  My family was neither rich nor poor, not that either condition had much meaning in a society with not much to buy and not much to lack.  We accumulated toys at the rate of two a year: one on our birthdays, and one at Christmas.  We had a big table radio (which we called "the wireless") in the dining room, and in the living room we had a black and white fishbowl television, full of glowing tubes, but there were only two channels, and they went off the air at ten in the evening, after playing the National Anthem, for which some families stood up, and sometimes we saw a double bill at the pictures on a Saturday morning, but apart from that we had no entertainment.


So we read books.  As it happens I just saw some old research from that era which broke down reading habits by class (as so much was categorized in England at that time) and which showed that fully fifty percent of the middle class regarded reading as their main leisure activity.  The figure for skilled workers was twenty-five percent, and even among laborers ten percent turned to books as a primary choice.


Not that we bought them.  We used the library.  Ours was housed in a leftover WW2 Nissen hut (the British version of a Quonset hut) which sat on a bombed-out lot behind a church.  It had a low door and a unique warm, musty, dusty smell, which I think came partly from the worn floorboards and partly from the books themselves, of which there were not very many.  I finished with the children's picture books by the time I was four, and had read all the chapter books by the time I was eight, and had read all the grown-up books by the time I was ten.


Not that I was unique - or even very bookish.  I was one of the rough kids.  We fought and stole and broke windows and walked miles to soccer games, where we fought some more.  We were covered in scabs and scars.  We had knives in our pockets - but we had books in our pockets too.  Even the kids who couldn't read tried very hard to, because we all sensed there was more to life than the gray, pinched, post-war horizons seemed to offer.  Traveling farther than we could walk in half a day was out of the question - but we could travel in our heads ... to Australia, Africa, America ... by sea, by air, on horseback, in helicopters, in submarines.  Meeting people unlike ourselves was very rare ... but we could meet them on the page.  For most of us, reading - and imagining, and dreaming - was as useful as breathing.


My parents were decent, dutiful people, and when my mother realized I had read everything the Nissen hut had to offer - most of it twice - she got me a library card for a bigger place the other side of the canal.  I would head over there on a Friday afternoon after school and load up with the maximum allowed - six titles - which would make life bearable and get me through the week.  Just.  Which sounds ungrateful - my parents were doing their best, no question, but lively, energetic kids needed more than that time and place could offer.  Once a year we went and spent a week in a trailer near the sea - no better or worse a vacation than anyone else got, for sure, but usually accompanied by lashing rain and biting cold and absolutely nothing to do.


The only thing that got me through one such week was Von Ryan's Express by David Westheimer.  I loved that book.  It was a WW2 prisoner-of-war story full of tension and suspense and twists and turns, but its biggest "reveal" was moral rather than physical - what at first looked like collaboration with the enemy turned out to be resistance and escape.  I read it over and over that week and never forgot it.


Then almost forty years later, when my own writing career was picking up a head of steam, I got a fan letter signed by a David Westheimer.  The handwriting was shaky, as if the guy was old.  I wondered, could it be?  I wrote back and asked, are you the David Westheimer?  Turned out yes, it was.  We started a correspondence that lasted until he died.  I met him in person at a book signing I did in California, near his home, which gave me a chance to tell him how he had kept me sane in a rain-lashed trailer all those years ago.  He said he had had the same kind of experience forty years before that.  Now I look forward to writing a fan letter to a new author years from now ... and maybe hearing my books had once meant something special to him or her.  Because that's what books do - they dig deeper, they mean more, they stick around forever.


0 Kudos
by NMcD on ‎06-06-2011 02:50 PM

This story of how books lifted us up is such a universal one for book lovers. I've read so many versions of it by so many people. I always remember Larry McMurty's account of hiding his books so the ranch hands wouldn't make fun of him or my grandfather's story about reading the whole of the little library in the prairie town where he lived - twice. I will remember this account too, especially the smell of the books in the nissen hut. I know that smell too, though mine memory comes from a quonset hut on an army base in Korea.

by on ‎06-06-2011 07:55 PM

Lee Child's love of reading is probably what makes his own stories such a pleasure to read. He takes his time and doesn't leave out the details, so there are no questions when you finish one of his books.


I've never seen a picture of Child before, and amazingly he looks like my mental image of Jack Reacher!


I also loved Killing Floor, Trip Wire, and Echo Burning.

by ICUinICU on ‎06-06-2011 08:07 PM

I know that books helped me survive a childhood full of worry about my dad getting shipped to Vietnam, a mom and grandparents who really couldn't understand why they had this strange bookish child who wanted to fly in starships rather than watch soap operas, and school bullies who thought there was open season on intelligence and compassion.  I wished I could have met Andre Norton and Zenna Henderson to tell them how many days their stories got me through.

by bluedaze on ‎06-06-2011 11:12 PM

I love this kind of thing.  Thank you B & N.  I've never read a Lee Child novel, but I'm much more likely to do so now. 

by JeremyCesarec on ‎06-07-2011 09:16 AM

Thanks to all of you for sharing your own read forever memories in the comments here. Keep them coming--we love hearing from you!

by mckait on ‎06-10-2011 11:00 AM

Love the Lee Child post.. thank you Lee and B&N

by on ‎06-14-2011 02:17 PM

I've been a Jack Reacher fan since the beginning (I think).  I've read them all and am looking forward to more of them!

Thanks for the many hours of enjoyment Lee!

by Bookwomanliz on ‎06-29-2011 08:59 AM
I love this post.i have read all of Lee Child's books and look frward to the next one out in Sept. He spins great tales. Keep them coming. Liz J