Libraries give me a sense of calm whenever I enter one. It’s silence is meaningful, as every individual picks up a book to read it’s contents. Writing books is one thing, but reading them can be just as exciting. Libraries can be silent, but if you listen carefully there are a million voices speaking in hushed tones. And it’s not the occupants that you hear. It’s the voices of the books.
This probably sounds a bit strange. But it fact every book you see in a library, in a school, in a community center, all of them have a voice that no one can truly hear until you open the book and begin the story.
The voice is not your own either. It’s not the voice that you hear inside your head as you read through the climax and denouement of a dramatic story. No. It’s the voice of the author, the one who gave you the story to read. Their voice is humming along in your head as you go through it page by page, paragraph by paragraph.
Books are very much like the people who read them. Needless to say of a voice, but they have a feel to them, they have a place where they belong on the shelf, they are useful to others when required for assistance. Humans and books have quite a bit in common if we really think about it.
I know it’s hard to be compared to a dead tree sitting on a shelf with ink scribbled around on your pages, but the truth is that we are all a story on the inside. We all have something to say.
The feeling of a book, for me personally, is a deciding factor as to whether I wish to read the contents. I prefer hardcover books, with a heavy feel to them, so it weighs down my hand. Soft-cover books can be just as good of course, but I do prefer a bit of weight to them, as if the story was so meaningful it’s contents must weigh me down.
I find those sometimes have the best stories and the loudest voices. A voice in a story should be just as appreciated as a human’s. For it means just as much for it to be heard by all those willing to listen.