So much has been said (and written) about the simplest of gestures: a kiss. Is it a kiss to say hello? Goodbye? Is it the kiss of betrayal, or an expression of friendship? Perhaps, it express some spoken (or unspoken) passion? It could be the author's way of building passionate intensity.

We want and need to know: Where do we go from here. Is the kiss the end, or just a beginning of everything that will unfold for the characters in the pages to follow? For some characters, it would appear safer to let the story unfold--without analyzing the kiss too much. At least we--as readers--are not in danger of jinxing the relationship as we try to decipher the lines. We can let our imaginations go wild, and then let ourselves be drawn back to the text: the poem, story, novel--to see what the final authorial intent is.

There's so much imagery surrounding the advent of a kiss...

Victor Hugo once wrote: "How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said." Percy Bysshe Shelly wrote, "What are all these kissings worth, / If thou kiss not me?" And, in The Kiss, Kate Chopin's Harvey quietly tells the girl, "I've stopped kissing women; it's dangerous."

Yes, books must be dangerous too. We are haunted by the most beautiful passages--so many experiences, seen through the lives of those indelibly and artfully drawn lovers. So, let the lines draw you forward. Dream a little dream, and imagine all those moments in literary history. Which one is your favorite? Do you remember a particular kiss?

In Cyrano de Bergerac Edmond Rostand wrote: "And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever.'"

We visited our local library today--it's the small one on the corner, just a few blocks away. It's not the monstrous university one, or the specialty library--I've spent innumerable hours in places like that. And, I've had dreams where I lived in a giant library, that I'd fall asleep with the hush and awake to the columns of books surrounding me. Ah, the dreams I've had of those places. I even dreamed that I was visiting the libraries at Alexandria, and then that I watched the library burn. There's nothing quite like waking from a dream like that. Such tragedy and loss--to think of all the treasures that were lost to all of us.

In Tom Stoppard's famous play, Arcadia, Thomasina Coverly laments the loss of Alexandria and Septimus Hodge replies: "We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again."

We've already lost so many treasures--to war and ignorance. It would seem that libraries could and should be a place that we'd cherish. There are so many reasons for visiting the library! But, sometimes we forget. We all live such hectic lives. We work, play--so often running around, without a minute to spare. There is no time!

Of course, there won't be any time when all the libraries are gone either. I hope you remember a time when one of your parents, a relative or a friend took you by the hand and led you through the doors of a library. Big or small--there's a certain smell to a library. And, there's a feel--like entering the home of a good friend. John Alfred Landford once said, "No possession can surpass, or even equal a good library, to the lover of books. Here are treasured up for his daily use and delectation, riches which increase by being consumed, and pleasures that never cloy." Libraries sometimes seem like a "best kept secret"--if we still remembered how wonderful those places can be, we wouldn't stay away! Perhaps we just need a reminder. Or, it may be time to experience a library for the first time in this time of your life (you may find just what you are looking for... It's time to show some love for libraries--for Library Lovers' Month.

Sherlock Holmes was one of my favorite characters when I was growing up; and the profusion of adaptations and rip-off incarnations along the ole Sherlock theme through the years have done little to alter my initial fascination.

Just think about it! What could be more fascinating? What could spark the imagination more than being presented by an impossible problem (an inexplicable situation), and then slowly--through the process of deduction--unraveling the mystery to shed light on the darkest and most desperate of realities. So, that explains the mystery... But, what about the continued fame of Sherlock Holmes?

The estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle just approved an authorized Sherlock Holmes novel, by Anthony Horowitz--to be released in September 2011. It's the first time such a work has been authorized, though that hasn't stopped any of the myriad of writers (novelists, screenwriters, etc.) from trying their hand at a plausible (or implausible) depiction of the famous detective. You've probably seen movies, tv, audio versions, and so many other adaptations; but you may not even know how (and where) the famous fellow originated...

Sherlock Holmes first appeared in 1887, with A Study in Scarlet. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle went on to write four novels and a total of 60 stories, which appeared in five volumes. So, now we'll be presented by the words of yet another Sherlock Holmes fan. At least this time, Horowitz says: "I simply couldn't resist this opportunity to write a brand new adventure for this iconic figure and my aim is to produce a first rate mystery for a modern audience while remaining absolutely true to the spirit of the original."

I'm a bit curious, though not terribly hopefully. (I've been pleasantly surprised before though... with literary rip-offs/versions/adaptations.) What do you think? Will you read the Sherlock Holmes novel written by Horowitz? Or, do you prefer the original stories and novels?

Graphic Art © Clipart.com.

I hope we all have a dream. For some, it might be a simple one: a place of one's own, a farm--with rabbits (like the one Lenny and George had in Of Mice and Men). Perhaps, it's more of an Edenic tale, that brings us back to the place we were born--restores us to the place of our ancestry, a seeming paradise. Or, maybe we have faith that humankind will someday be kinder, gentler or more open to the color of one's skin (Martin Luther King Jr).

Some literary works depict the degradation of the American Dream, the loss of innocence (like The Great Gatsby). It makes us wonder if a dream is even possible.

I have to believe that some dreams--however impossible--are still worth dreaming. I dream that someday my tear-stained son won't look up and ask "why cancer?". I wish and dream that we could all look beyond the color of skin, and see instead something of heart and character--all that lies beneath the scars on the surface. I dream that some of the greatest haters of literature will become the greatest lovers, preaching the gospel of literacy and bibliomania. We talk about libraries closing and the inaccessibility of books, but I dream of a day when books can be found in every home, where every parent reads to their children at bedtime, and children fall asleep, dreaming that all the passages from literature have come alive. It sounds like a pipedream--imagine that a Pied Piper could lead us to such a place...

Perhaps the most tragic part of all those dreams is that--in thinking that those dreams are impossible--we don't take any steps toward the parts of those dreams that are possible. We can support a library. We can volunteer for a literacy program. We can read to our children. We can make a dent, however small. And, we can look past the hatred and pain that we see in the eyes of others--to see something of who they are. If our experience with literature teaches us anything, I hope that we can remember: "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin." We can't judge a book by its cover; nor can you judge a person by the capacity they have for reading books (and/or enjoying them)--perhaps they've just never experienced the "right" book...

A Little Princess is usually considered a children's book--often read by girls. But, it's one of those rags-to-riches, Cinderella stories that reminds us how quickly life can change--good or bad. Our fortunes aren't promised to us; even the most wealthy have the potential for losing it all. So there must be something more to life than what we can touch or feel; there must be something about any experience from which we can learn and grow... Then, does it matter so very much what our state in life is at the end of the day. Have we made a difference?

Although they do so much more than just that, books tug at that something we call "heart", show us ways to live--they open up ways of being and knowing and becoming. We just have to be open to the messages. And, see the results... In the book, a bakerwoman tells Sara: "I've given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinking of you--an' how wet an' cold you was, an' how hungry you looked; an' yet you gave away your hot buns as if you was a princess." It's a bit cliche when I say that any amount of money doesn't buy happiness; but books show us how we can be most blessed by the simple pleasures in life.

Frances Hodgson Burnett writes: "If Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and comfort and laughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all."

Today, we celebrate (and remember) the life and works of an important 20th-century South-African writer: Alan Paton. Perhaps, you've already read Cry, the Beloved Country (1948), or you know the fame that Oprah brought to the novel when she selected it for her Book Club. She was criticized for her classic selection by authors who would have preferred she'd chosen a more contemporary work. But, if you've ever experienced the novel (or even if you know just a little bit about it), I hope you applauded the choice (just because the author is dead doesn't negate the importance of his work) and that you'll join me in revisiting this famous author (and his novel). It may be just the book you need to read the most right now--in these days, with a new year barely beginning.

Paton wrote: "Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die?... Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom." Perhaps, we may never know the meaning of life--the reason. Perhaps our fear will be the only thing we leave behind, the only remembrance.

In Cry, the Beloved Country, Paton wrote: "Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too much moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."

In the end of that novel, though, Paton leaves us--with a glint of light, and hope. The dawn is just making its way over the horizon--light creeping up, dispelling the darkness. Paton doesn't know when his hopes will be fulfilled, but he has no doubt that they will happen: "For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing." Out of the bondage of fear, hope will always come back again. It doesn't fail for long...

Certain books are great introductions to the year (and to the author). A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man is one such. James Joyce is considered controversial and difficult--primarily for his great epic novels: Ulysses and Finnegans Wake, but this book shows his early efforts as a writer. We see glimpses of themes that Joyce develops with so much more pain-staking precision in his later works. It's a coming-of-age novel, a complete re-write/re-work of Stephen Hero (which was published posthumously in 1944). Oh, what a difference a major revision of a work makes!

In A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, we're introduced to Stephen Daedalus, who's the semi-autobiographical version of James Joyce, but also the boy who reached too high--an egotism that in Greek mythology is fated to end in that tragic fall. Still, here, we read: "Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forget in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race." We must move forward and embrace the experience of every day, even as that fall into experience might mean tragedy. Welcome life (and all that comes with it)! We've so much to look forward to in the world of readying :)

Cover Art © Oxford University Press.

It's 2011, and it couldn't have happened soon enough. In literature (and in life), 2010 was like most others--with ups and down, good and bad moments and memories. I hope that the good times have outnumbered the bad in 2010, and that books and reading will continue to be a huge part of your most memorable moments in the New Year!

As we take our first tentative steps into 2011, I love this feeling of excitement and anticipation. What books will I discover? Which authors will I meet upon a page? What inspiration will I find? And, how will my days and hours be shaped in my discoveries in literature?

W. Somerset Maugham wrote: "When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me."

We all need to read those lines in poems and novels--those expressions of the imagination that take our breathe away and leave us feeling more alive. Those lines become a part of us. And, we have to wonder: What could we accomplish; who would we become--if we allowed ourselves the pleasure of immersing ourselves in the gardens of reading?

In 1190, Judah ibn Tibbon, a famous Provençal Jew wrote in Hebrew to his son: "Avoid bad society: make thy books thy companions. Let thy bookcases and shelves be thy gardens and pleasure grounds. Pluck the fruit that grows therein; gather the roses, the spices, and the myrrh. If thy soul be satiate and weary, change from garden to garden, from furrow to furrow, from scene to scene. Then shall thy desire renew itself, and thy soul be rich with manifold delight."

Make a new beginning! I hope you'll be inspired to refocus on literary resolutions. Read, write and share literature--throughout 2011. Jump (or fall) into your garden of reading!

Graphic Art © Andres Harambour / iStockphoto.

As we venture into 2011, why not look at some of the fun writers in literature? They're all over, and they have such fascinating stories to tell (in their lives and their writings). So, here's just a taste...

Sexy, jazzy, and more than just a little bit troubled--women like Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dorthy Parker, Zelda Fitzgerald, and Edna Ferber made their marks on the world of literature in the 1920's. In Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin, Marion Meade follows the triumphs and failures, the romances and break-ups, along with all those bouts with depression and madness. What was the price for such talents as these--for women who ran wild in the 1920's? Read more about it: Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin!

This holiday season means something for all of us--wrapped as it is in memory and tradition. Is there a common thread--a literary hope and reality for the past, present and future?

Agnes Pahro said, "It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace."

In difficult times, we all need moments of reprieve and comfort. And, literature can offer that for each of us. 'Tis the season for love and happiness and joy. O. Henry's timeless story, The Gift of the Magi, offers a new vision of the holidays. What would happen if we each gave up our most cherished possession, if our actions demonstrated our love?

In literature, we find examples of love and sacrifice--moments of clarity. Families draw together; miracles happen; truths are revealed. Why can't we learn from literature? Imagine Jim and Della's Christmas, or the way Alcott's little women celebrated Christmas. In The Seven Poor Travellers, Charles Dickens writes: "Christmas comes but once a year,-which is unhappily too true, for when it begins to stay with us the whole year round we shall make this earth a very different place..."

Wherever you are this year... and whatever hardships you've endured, I hope you can find comfort on this day.