The Power of Books

When I was a child I couldn't always distinguish between fiction and non-fiction. I understood that fairy tales were not true, as well as anything with fairies, magic, imaginary countries, or talking animals. My problem was with human characters in at least somewhat realistic situations and real places. Sometimes I knew they were fiction and other times I though they might be real.

For example: Anne of Green Gables. For years, I though Anne had been a real person. This belief was helped by two facts. First, I read the book when I was 7 and at that age the difference between reality and fantasy is a bit fuzzy for a lot of children (side note: In one book at work they were supposed to be finding the word that would make the sentence fantasy. The choices were ant and elf. One small child was confused because they were both real.). Second, I actually visited Green Gables in Prince Edward Island. Listen: if you want children to understand about fiction and novels, do NOT bring them to the home of their favorite story book heroes! I don't know when I knew that Anne was imaginary. I think it was one of those things that I gradually grew to understand. It wasn't really a big deal (but some part of me still wants her to be real).

It probably didn't help that I read a lot of non-fiction at the time. One of my favorite books when I was growing up was Karen by Marie Killilea. Karen is a real person and I knew that, so it might count for some of the confusion (side note: I still love Karen and the sequel With Love from Karen and I highly recommend them). I also read books on my parents' shelves in the living room. As I recall, there were books about different countries and some picture encyclopedias of some sort. I loved reading them.

And that brings me to the point. Among those books on my parents' shelves was a book of short stories. I don't remember the title or the author or any of the stories except one. There was (I think) a police chief and a detective of some sort down in South America or somewhere (obviously some of the details have become a bit fuzzy over the years). There were dead people who had been stripped of all their flesh: just skeletons left in the houses...or something like that. This much I know for sure: they finally determined that it was done by a swarm of giant ants who marched through houses (and possibly villages) and devoured anything and anyone they could. No one could stop them and they were heading north.

That lack of distinction between fiction and non-fiction,combined with a vague understanding of geography that consisted of knowing only that we lived in the north, left me very, very concerned about the giant ants. They were heading in our direction and no one was talking about it. Why weren't we warned about the coming ants?

I don't recall asking anyone about it and I think it mostly left my mind after a while. Well, it never quite left: I do remember wondering about it sometimes but no one else seemed worried. I think it joined the list of things that might happen but probably not.

Okay...I'm all grown up now and I understand the difference between fiction and non-fiction. I know that there is no swarm of ants headed our way. I also understand geography better and know that they would never make it here anyway. Still...when I see one of those really big ants, I stay out of his way just in case he is preparing his attack and has an army just out of sight.

And that, people, is the power of books.