Confessions of a Bookaholic (Lynn Kerstan)

I started young. Age three, or thereabouts. The gateway to my addiction was a square, colorfully illustrated book about a black-haired girl and a ukelele.

The narrative, one line of text on each of the eight pages, enchanted me. So did being read to by Mommy or Daddy. But very soon, as each page was turned, I was reciting the line myself. "You can read!" exclaimed my parents.

Well, no. I’d just learned what line went with what picture. But the effect of that book was more profound than being able to read. I wanted to read. Desperately. And the love of Story had slipped its talons deep into my heart, where they remain to this day.

Navy brats have lots of time for reading, what with the frequent moves and not knowing anyone at the next duty station. Books became my new best friends. I tore through the Bobbsey Twins series. Graduated to Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, Cherry Ames (and just about every "nurse" book ever written). Ballet books. Horse books. And oh, Albert Payson Terhune’s lovely collie books. Except for maybe Hugh Jackman, I’ve never wanted anything with such passion as I wanted a collie.

Not practical, of course. Nor was a personal library. I was restricted to a few keepers when time came for the next uprooting, so only Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and Heidi traveled with me. Oh, and a book by Blake Savage (clearly a pseudonym!) called Rip Foster Rides the Grey Planet–really an asteroid–that sparked my enduring love for science fiction and heroic young males who do what has to be done.

After devoted affairs with Asimov, Heinlein, and the Dune series, I discovered Ian Fleming. Didn’t quite understand everything James Bond was up to (or the significance of character names like Pussy Galore), but those books launched me into my spy fiction phase. Next came a slew of mysteries, most featuring private eyes like Mike Hammer, Michael Shayne, and Travis McGee. There was a family saga phase, a very extended historical novels phase, and then . . . I entered the convent.

One thing about the novitiate. Because aspiring nuns are supposed to focus on detaching themselves from worldly interests, our reading was confined to religious texts, lives of the saints, and books associated with college classes like logic, ethics, and theology. Trust me, saints (as written about in spiritual books) are more boring than you might think.

I was starved for stories. For adventures. For something to stimulate my imagination. And so it was that my book addiction lured me off the straight and narrow path. One day, in the dim stacks of the library at Mount St. Mary’s college, I ventured into the fiction section, selected a thick book, and smuggled it out under my habit.

Yup. Sister Michael Damien fell from grace.

Three times.

I’d chosen the first book of Sigrid Undset’s splendid trilogy, Kristen Lavransdatter, and of course, I had to read the entire series. This was accomplished in short spurts. Novices have little free time and next to no privacy. Most every night, shielded by the curtains of my alcove in the dorm, I read during the brief interval between preparation for bed and lights out. I think we were supposed to be examining our consciences during that time, but under the circumstances, I didn’t want to look too closely at my own. On occasion, I even resorted to the time-honored tradition of reading by flashlight under the covers.

Over a period of several months, the three books were safely smuggled out of the library, concealed under my mattress, and smuggled back to their home shelves again. If anyone knew, they never said. And oh, how I loved the few minutes each night I spent lost in those stories.

But once I’d finished the trilogy, I never repeated my crime. My cravings had been satisfied, at least temporarily. Besides, the novitiate wouldn’t last forever. When it was done, the world of books would open for me again.

I also suspected, after those months of sneak-reading, that I might be going to have a teensy, weensy bit of trouble with the vow of obedience.

Part 2 of Confessions will appear on some future Saturday. Next weekend I’ll be at a conference in Calgary, presenting workshops and hanging out with fellow writers. Watch this space for a fabulous Guest Blogger.