I have often wondered, had I been given a different mother, would I still have had such a strong love of books and reading? Is the love of reading purely environmental, or is it genetic? Something my mother passed on to me, perhaps, from her parents? (My maternal grandparents both loved books and reading, and my grandmother was a teacher before she got married). Or can I take sole credit for my passion for books? I will have to say no. I simply cannot ignore the huge influence my mother has had over me when it comes to books, art, and a passion for reading and learning. (That's her, by the way, in her element).
Growing up in Jamaica, my mom was very fortunate to have had an excellent education. It was an all-girl's school, just like the kind in the U.K., with the forms, and A-levels and O-levels and uniforms and prefects and field hockey and all that jolly good stuff. It was also learning the Classics, and Latin and the Bible and history to such a degree that one ends up becoming a bloody walking, talking encyclopedia/dictionary, which I often joke that my mother has become. Why go check in a book if I can just ask my mom? But she hasn't just retained countless facts over the years, she also has an agile and curious mind, that even at the age of 70, shows no signs of slowing down. She still works part-time as a librarian, specializing in Canadiana and genealogy, and has won numerous awards for her expertise in local history, as well as contributions towards the city of Mississauga, where she works.
Books were a staple of our home, just as vital as food. My mom had a small library in my parent's bedroom, and her writing table always had a few books displayed, all with fascinating titles, that as a kid I didn't quite understand, but wanted to know more about. What is The Anatomy of Melancholy I would wonder, and who the heck is Pamela? I thought The Faerie Queene was a kid's story until I finally tried to read some of it. The Penguin Classics edition of The Charterhouse of Parma fascinated me as a kid, because I wanted to know who the dark dreamy guy was on the cover.
But the best room in our home was without a doubt, the basement. My father turned one whole wall into bookshelves, and that is what we called 'The Library'. Every paperback under the sun, and then some. I could just go downstairs and grab any book that interested me. That's how I discovered Roald Dahl's adult stories, Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man as well as his amazing short stories, and the entire Penguin collection of Agatha Christie's mysteries. There was a Horror section, a Western section, a Cartoon and Humour section (of course!) and all of these books, once taken out, had better bloody well be put back in their proper place once you were done with them, if you knew what was good for you. That's what you get for having a librarian for a mom.
In the rec room there were more books; the Dickens classics,
Anthony Trollope, Henry James, Thomas Hardy, etc. There was also the complete collection of Somerset Maugham's short stories in two hard bound books. I have fond memories of spending Sunday afternoons devouring the entire collection, and then turning to his novels once I was done.
My mom also had an extensive collection of art books, and that is how I discovered people like Andrew Wyeth, Ingres, Michelangelo, Ken Danby and a slew of others. On the weekends there was always classical music and opera blasting as the laundry and housework was being done. That's how I learned about Mozart, Mahler, Bartok, Beethoven, Camile Saint-Saëns (what a thrill when I first discovered Introduction et Rondo capriccioso!), as well as the best musicians and conductors: Sir Georg Solti, Leonard Bernstein, Herbert Von Karajan, Nigel Kennedy, Kiri Te Kanawa, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, and the doomed Maria Callas.
And my mom's tastes in music weren't just limited to the orchestral kind. She could play the organ, the piano and the guitar, and loved to sing folk songs and sea shanties; I have very fond memories as a child, listening to her singing songs like 'The Fox' or that tear-jerker sea shanty 'The Golden Vanity' as she strummed on her acoustic guitar. And yes, she loved West Indian folk songs, too. Harry Belafonte was much revered in our home. And my love for Christmas is strongly associated with my mother's love of Christmas music, both religious and secular.
I could go on, but you see what I'm trying to say. I cannot begin to express how lucky I am. It is thanks to my mother that I love books, art, literature and music. But most especially, books.
And so my question this time is ... is there anyone in your life who had a strong influence on you and your love of books?
