The beauty of a book does not diminish over time

My wife and I had just returned from graduate school in Scotland in 1975 when I was offered a job with troubled teens at a suburban Chicago hospital.

I remember being amazed to learn that my salary would be $ 11,000 per year, far more than anything I had earned before.

It didn’t take long for my wife and I to realize that Eleven Thousand didn’t go very far. After paying the rent, paying for the car, the grocery bill, other bills, and too frequent car repairs, we had little left at the end of the month.

There was nothing in our budget for books, but my wife and I have always been avid readers. From college my wife had her books on English and American literature and I had my books on Bible studies. To these I had added the essential books for my graduate work, but I had read all of these, and my wife would have found them boring.

We immediately went to the local library to collect our precious library cards, which meant that every two weeks we were bringing home the maximum number of books allowed.

But like other book lovers, my wife and I wanted to create a personal library. Birthday and Christmas gifts were usually books, but we were both on the hunt for books that would not exceed our budget throughout the year.

One day I found myself browsing a table full of used books. My memory is hazy about where the books are sold. Maybe it was at the local library or maybe it was put together by the hospital attendant. What doesn’t bother me is the book that caught my attention and its price. It was an Iris Murdoch book on Ireland from the beginning of the 20th century.

I would love to write that I had a keen interest in Irish history, but I didn’t. When we lived in Scotland, Ireland was only a ferry ride away, but the terrorist attacks there in the early 1970s prevented us from visiting.

The real reason I bought the book was its price – 10 cents. Even with our budget, I knew we could afford it. The book was clearly used, but it was in fairly good condition. I started reading it immediately, and that’s when the unexpected happened. The characters in the book attracted me and they quickly became very real as they struggled to figure out how to help Ireland gain independence from Great Britain.

My work with struggling teens was challenging and exciting in its own way, but the book absorbed another. Thanks to the genius of Iris Murdoch, I was transported from the Chicago suburbs in the mid-1970s to Ireland at the turn of the century. And still in the back of my mind as I read the book, there was a voice that said “and you get it all for a penny.”

Today, 45 years later and in a house overrun with books, I realize that the lesson the book offered was not about the price. The wisdom of my used copy of Iris Murdoch’s book was nothing less than the wisdom he possessed when he was new. And since it was long before the advent of magic markers, I rather enjoyed reading what previous owners wrote on the sidelines.

Yes, there are a lot of things that we have to buy, like cars, that depreciate. No wording trick, like “gently used” or “used”, can hide the fact that a used car is, well, used.

But a book is not like a car. A book is like a painting. We don’t describe a masterpiece of art as “used,” although it has probably been passed by more owners than any used car we could buy. While the painting has been treated with respect and love, its beauty does not diminish over time.

The same goes for a good book, because like a beautiful painting, a book is a work of creativity. A book is art.

And by the way, a person can always find used books in libraries and thrift stores for less than a dollar or even a dime.

Maybe the one who will change your life is waiting for you.

David Carlson of Franklin is a professor emeritus of philosophy and religion. Send your comments to [email protected].