I like big books, and I cannot lie.
Well, at least, that’s the inscription on a tote bag I pinned to a “cool stuff” Pinterest board my freshman year of high school. But, I’m not lying when I say that books (short and long) have been a big part of my life.
The daughter of a librarian and three generations of english teachers, I seldom spent long without a book in my hand. Our car rides, time in the waiting room, lazy afternoons, and moments before sleep were accompanied by — if not featured — a good book.
And most of my fundamental understanding of the world and the way it does or can work has come from books. I remember the first time I uncovered I literary symbol on my own, the pain I felt at the pit of my stomach when a book ended before I wanted it to, and the sense of independence and rebelliousness I developed as I snuck Marx and Nietzsche around my conservative, rural hometown.