When I packed up all my books to get ready to move again, there were two that I kept out of the boxes. Both amazing stories, both some of my favourite reads, but also books that I read whenever the world falls apart. Not that I’m superstitious, but a part of me might have worried that if I packed those books away, I would just be inviting a little world crumbling into my life. And frankly, I don’t have time for that right now. So they are still on the shelf.
One of those books is James Clavell’s Shōgun, which I have now been reading since 1999.
My first copy was one I found on my parents’ bookshelf in Spain. I had just finished my third year of university, which I spent teaching English in a French high school, and my beloved grandmother had just passed away from lung cancer. I got a summer job selling excursions to tourists, which meant that from June till September I spent every day sitting in a little shed on a roundabout waiting for customers. Yes, I know exactly how that sounds!
So there I am, sitting in this hot little steel box with my battery-driven radio and nothing to do while waiting for customers except read and write my diary. It was a not great time in my life. I missed my grandmother. My dream had been to live in France and I’d hated it. My dream had been to teach and I’d hated it. I felt at the start of the summer as though I had lost all my dreams. For a dreamer like me, it was torture.
And then I found that old copy of Shōgun.
Over the course of that summer, Shōgun quickly became my favourite book. Now it is the one I read when the world changes and I need to thrive, because there has to be something positive within this new world, if I can open my mind and embrace it. Learn to take deep Zen breaths and drink cha from an empty cup. By the end of that summer, I not only had new dreams, I had an entirely new outlook on my future. That was my first copy.
My second copy of Shōgun was one I found in the airport that same year when I went home for Christmas. I’d been good and let my parents keep their copy but I missed the book and needed to read the story again. I lost that copy when the home my parents were renting flooded.
My third copy was my parents’ old copy. Actually, it turned out they had two copies and both survived the flood. I kept one and gave one away to the guy I was dating because he needed to learn to thrive in a new world. When my dog chewed up that third copy when he was a puppy, I was tempted to track the guy down and ask for my book back.
So my fourth copy was bought to replace the one Shamrock ate. (Bad dog!) Then I gave that fourth copy to my best friend S. when she and her boyfriend broke up shortly after her mother passed away. My son and I agreed that she needed a little shigata ga nai in her life. I’ve never been a fan of medicine (mainly because most of it tastes vile) but tell me what is wrong with you and I will prescribe a book.
My fifth copy was bought to replace it. Actually I bought two copies. My son wanted his own. I guess that makes it his second copy, because the first one he read was my fourth copy.
I wonder if this is my last copy. Maybe one day it will become my grandchildren’s first copy, probably well-worn and held together with tape by then. Or maybe they will read my son’s, and he can ask them if they can guess how many copies of that book their grandmother went through and what it taught her.
Actually I need something to read tonight. Maybe a book that’s been with me for twenty-five years…
The Story Cellar 