Take A Book

That a book can change the world is an interesting idea. It doesn’t matter if the world is a small one that sits beneath our hat, for does a world exist outside of ourselves? I certainly think so, but of equal importance is the world of our perception that looms large in our minds, that hinterland in our heads.

In Trengganu we have a saying, Dök masuk bok, of an idea or a person that is insignificant as to be trivial or ridiculous. Takdök ddalang bok is another for something that is outlandish or unthinkable. In both it is the book that is the common denominator, that gives recognition or gravitas to the idea. I’ve heard my mother, an illiterate person, pooh-pooh many ideas by proclaiming their ridiculousness. Takdök ddalang bok she would say to someone who suggests that we spread belacan like butter, on bread. “It is not found in the books.” And then of an inconsequential or göng* person, "Dia dök masok bok!" His name’s not worth listing in a book.

Central to this is the sanctity of books even in the minds of ordinary people. Even in minds out of the ordinary, say in a prelude to war, it is recorded in the Malay Annals, the Sejarah Melayu, that prior to going into battle, the warriors were read chapters from the Hikayat Hamzah to put them in good spirit. This is not the only instance surely in our common history of a book being read to raise the spirit.

I am mulling these thoughts because I'm a great fan of bibliotherapy, a movement that is gaining strength in Europe. Books can be therapeutic, which is why we should all pay heed to that children’s programme that was once popular on British Television that went by this cryptic name, “Why Don’t You…?” The full length of that title that was sung in the introductory part of the programme was, of course, Why Don’t You Switch Off the Television Set and Do Something Less Boring Instead?

Well, tell your kids: why don’t you?

And what brings this thought is a dear friend who phoned us one evening to say that she was feeling down in the dumps so she took her copy of GUiT and read and read it, and it gave her a tremendous boost. Well I never; in this instance, it was I — not her — who was uplifted. If, in a small way, I’ve contributed to this idea of bibliotherapy, I’m glad. And thank you, Jane, I appreciate your thought.

In Bibliotherapy books are introduced to ‘lost’ children to help them discover themselves. The child reader who lacks self-confidence, or who cannot find a place comfortable enough in this adult world sometimes identifies herself with a character in the book she reads. Children who read find themselves, and a place for themselves in this wild world. A simple idea, but it has worked for many people. Prisoners in jail find a purpose in life through reading, through studying and identifying themselves with characters in a play, a short story, or a novel.

On my return to our family house in Kuala Terengganu recently I was saddened to find that some of the books that I’d read in my childhood are now mere shells, their contents eaten by the anai-anai, the white ant. Rows of Father’s old kitabs too had gone into the anai-anai bellies, and I dread to think but must say that those old books must have been satisfying and therapeutic for those anai-anai too, but I just wish that they don’t have to destroy in order to build.

But if uneaten, where do dead books go? I borrow Zafón’s idea, from ‘The Shadow of the Wind’,** to the cemetery of forgotten books, of course. What a therapeutic book Zafón’s has been for me. I am a suburban traveller, a lover of train rides, and I found it extremely soothing and comforting to read about the couple on their train journey to the ghostly house. Never mind their destination, but the journey in itself was worth it.

And a very happy and therapeutic new year to you all!

For another take on bibliotherapy, go here.
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* Gong= a stupid show off.
** Shadow of the Wind ("La sombra del viento") by Carlos Ruiz Zafón.