Reading a Book for the Last Time
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I bought this book from a man who used to sell second-handed books on the street near the entrance gate of my college. He always displayed only a few of foreign books whose provenance was dubious as well as doubtful. I am still curious about how he could handle those foreign books at that time. It was after the Korean War when original English books were very scarce. We could not afford to import them from abroad freely and easily as we do today, and copy machines were not invented yet. He was poorly-dressed but seemed somewhat an educated man, and his meager stock always included valuable classics on English literature. I bought several other books from him.
Until now I have read all the essays in the book randomly, at least once, mostly out of a sense of duty and obligation. When I read some of them for the first time in my life as a college student, I could not fully understand nor enjoy them, but I was just happy and proud to be acquainted with the great and famous essayists in English literature. Whenever I came across some quaint old words or phrases or idioms whose meanings were not clear to me even after consulting the dictionary, I consoled myself by saying to myself that there would be time to read them again later. And indeed I have returned to them later frequently whenever I wanted or needed to read them.
But, alas! No more consolation from now on. I realize with sadness that I would not or could not read any of these essays again in my life. Five years have already passed since I retired and I have entered into 70 this year. I have to confess that most of the thrilling joy of reading has departed from me. And I must also admit that reading without any practical objective is, I find, less joyous. Reading purely for your own personal pleasure is, I find, like playing tennis without net or shooting an arrow without aiming at the bull's eye, pointless and hollow. All human activities, reading included, I think, does need some purpose, audience, or direction, even imaginary one.
And my advanced age enjoins me to disengage myself from the lifelong addiction to reading. I can no longer read long at a sitting. My eyes get easily weary and blurry after reading some of the passages. I do not make a reasonable progress forward in reading. Like an old man climbing a long flight of stairs at the subway station, I make too many pauses on the way. Often I find I am reading the same paragraph twice or three times without realizing the fact. I cannot concentrate on what I read.
To make the situation worse, like my old body, the book itself is breaking down. The cover has fallen apart from the back of the book and is just dangling upon it. Papers have become so dry and brittle with age that I have to be very careful in turning the pages. I had already patched many tears in the pages with Scotch tape, but the patches themselves have grown so old that they do not hold on the place. They are peeling off like old wallpapers from the wall. Definitely I am reading this book for the last time.
Reading a book for the last time is a very strange experience. It had never occurred to me that there would be a time when I would read any book for the last time. Until now it was always "for the first time," or mostly I have postponed the reading of it to "later time" in the future, as if I could live forever and be forever young, and there would be time enough. But now I can see the sands are running out before my eyes and at my back I hear time's winged chariot hurrying near.
But I have to say that the fate of this book of essays I am reading currently for the las time fares far better than the others on the bookshelf. They seem to be awaiting my last touch or perusal, but I cannot give any of them my assurance. I wish I could read each of them at least once more for the last time, but I estimate that only a few of them would be lucky enough to receive my last benediction.
Presently, I am reading Charles Lamb's essay "The Praise of Chimney-Sweepers" in the book. I have read it many times before with my students in the classroom so that I am thoroughly versed in it. But the undeniable fact that I am reading this for the last time brings new reality to me, as if I had never read it before. I do not hurry. There is no reason for that. Rather I deliberately linger over some passages I like as long as possible. I savor and relish any rare and even obsolete words which I had hated because I had to consult special dictionary. I find many traces of my previous readings throughout the book between the lines or on the margins of the page, which makes me wistful and nostalgic of the time when I was young and ambitious.
Reading individual essays included in the book slowly, carefully, appreciating, enjoying, and thinking, for the last time, I found myself constantly falling into some questions I have not asked myself before about my life and work. What have I done with my work in my life? What is the use of it, if any? How different would my life be if I had chosen another subject, more practical one such as law, economics or engineering, other than English literature? With a sigh, so long after everything has been done, I asked these futile questions, and with a bitter smile I recited silently a line from the poem by Robert Frost, a contemporary American poet, "The Road Not Taken": "I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
(April 12, 2010)
- 이전글Remembering Helsinki 21.01.13
- 다음글Parting with Reader's Digest 21.01.13
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Dear Professor Lee,
I had been an earnest reader and fan of your columns in The Korea Times. Your gentle and beaming face on the Sunday's Times prompted me to write this note.
I remember I'd been in sympathy with and admired most of your writings then but I noticed yesterday that you apparently have some naïve, excuse the expression, thinking about aging.
Congratulations for your 70th anniversary, but you sound like you are turning 90, the lead "For the Last Time" says so.
Why you must look at the hourglass watching the Ottawa sand running low before your eyes and trying to hear the clatter of the chariot? I wouldn't watch the thing even in Sauna. Just turn it upside down and start new and I'm sure you still have to do that several more times.
May I suggest you to increase the lux when you read? I use two reading lights, or read Kindle so that I can enlarge the prints.
I hope you'd keep writing to The Korea Times. I'm looking forward to seeing your smiling face.
Respectfully,
S. Nam, Seoul, April 26, 2010
P.S. By the way I'm only 77.
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Dear Sir;
Thank you very much for your kind and humorous comment on my article in the Korea Times on last Sunday. It is very kind of you to spare time for it.
I understand well what you have said somewhat regretfully about my attitude toward aging, and I agree with you. Truly I tend to be older than what I really am in many aspects of my life in spite of myself , and I regret it always.
I admire your positive thinking and attitude in life for your wonderful and beautiful age of 77. Yes, it is "only" 77. I like your optimistic view of life.
Thank you for your advice. I will keep it in my heart.
Thanks again for your generous criticism and love for my writings in the Times.
Sincerely yours,
Lee Chang-kook
