Sometimes I think that books do have their own soul. Now, don’t scoff at me like I’m some eccentric dork from la-la-land. Listen to (or rather read) my defence.
Have you ever experienced that some books act of their own accord? I have. Many times. I have a copy of (Leo Tolstoy’s) Anna Karenina that keeps on getting lost and I find it at the most unexpected of places. The book, much like its protagonist, acts quite differently, and the result is that I am always looking for it. Another shining example is my copy of To Kill A Mockingbird (by Harper Lee) which wins the award for the book that hates me. It literally does, even though I love it a lot. People keep on asking me if they can borrow it and I tend to say no to casual readers since they have often spoiled the pages of my well-kept books, but that’s a story for another day. However, they always, yes always, seem to be able to force me into lending it by hook or by crook (that usually means involving my family into irritating me enough that I give the book to the person in question). But the strangest (and most soulful, if I may say) is a Chemistry book I have. Now, it’s a little old and unknown so people don’t usually request for borrowing it. But whenever I study from it, as good as the text is, the book tries its level best that I don’t. The pages keep a-flappin’ like they’re gonna fly the book away (but they never can since it’s so thick). In fact, on one occasion, I had kept the book open and went to fetch a glass of water, and when I came back, the pages had turned even though the fan was not on and the door was closed. Now have you got any explanation for that?
Do you agree that books have their own soul? What makes you believe in that? Share how your books behave the way they want to.