A Reading Life: {Guest Post} Nancy Will Save Me

Nancy Will Save Me

By E. Barclay Spriggs

Maybe it began with how the pages felt on my fingertips. Perhaps it was the smell of the leaves and glue. Every time I hold a book in my hands, I can leave this world to discover other realms. Even the solid, rectangular shape helps me to stay grounded yet capable of immediate escape. To feel it. To hold it like an old sweater close to my chest. I have always found comfort there.

I chose to study literature because I believe that a passion can be a career. But I became tired. Tired of reading. Books were no longer a joy but a burden.

I study the depths of trauma and violence, abuse and rape. These are real worlds that I feel deserve investigation and exposure. Yet I wondered why I chose this proverbial rabbit hole that continually pulls me into worlds so plagued with darkness. When did literature become so painful? I had made my passion a chore; using books like bricks to wall myself into a somber, lonely place.

I knew I needed a change when the books took over my couch and bed. I spent three nights in a guest bedroom because my work was eating my life. One evening when I couldn’t sleep (what’s new?), I turned over and looked at my late grandmother’s bookshelf where I keep pages of sentimental importance. Instead of turning out the light to stare at the ceiling fan, I sought out one book with a yellow exterior: The Secret of the Old Clock. Its smooth cover and worn pages felt more comfortable than the blankets on the bed.

The violence and trauma of the reality I study faded away as I absorbed the words. They were replaced with childish mystery and action. I had entered a world that I had forgotten; a world that re-released my passion. Nancy Drew had come back to my life. How can she possibly make it? Why would someone leave that threatening message? Who can she alert to say that she is trapped in the cellar?

I ordered the next ten books of the series the following day. I simply could not stop. The stories seemed so innocent and sincere. I had found my therapy: the key of keys that reminded me – despite the brutality of the world – that literature is salvation.

Sometimes we need to return to the place where it all started. For me, it is Nancy Drew: the unstoppable, determined young woman who perseveres. She can tap dance Morse code, she can navigate a schooner single-handedly, she can do acrobatics on a horse’s bare back. And, like a child, I fade away into the pages and forget about the world that will rudely awaken me in the morning.

When the sun sets and I close the book on violence and suffering I enter a place that heals me; that makes me remember how words can lead to other dimensions where happy endings exist. We all need such relief. And I can only hope that we find it, or else life remains an uncomfortable mystery that only the likes of Nancy Drew can solve.

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