Column: If you're going to obsess, do it with books!

I learned about Jólabókaflóð through an Internet meme, which is ironic.

It’s the Icelandic tradition of exchanging books on Christmas Eve, and then spending the rest of the night reading them. The term is translated as “Yule Book Flood.”

One might argue that the Internet takes away time that Americans might once have spent reading books. But even reduced to a meme, the idea made me smile. I always give and receive books for the holiday.

According to the “Read it Forward” newsletter, which is published by Penguin Random House, "93% of Icelanders read at least one book a year compared to 73% of Americans.” Iceland is the third most literate country in the world, after Finland and Norway. Its capital, Reykjavík “was designated a UNESCO City of Literature” in 2011.

I’m a school librarian. I’m all about books, reading and literacy. All I can say is “Wow.” I can’t imagine living in a society where so many people read.

I feel like I’ve been a reader from day one, but of course, that’s just a fantasy. Still, one of my earliest memories, from age three or four, is of spreading all my Little Golden Books on the floor, putting a 45-rpm record on my sturdy portable player, and then dancing on the books. I remember a floaty, Isadora Duncan-style number that I set to Jiminy Cricket singing “When You Wish Upon a Star.” This strange pastime combined my love of books with my passion for dancing.

If my memory serves me correctly, no books were harmed in this activity.

Reading was just something my family did. It was part of the routine. My paternal grandfather and maternal grandparents were immigrants, yet they had home libraries. (My paternal grandmother, a first-generation Franco-American, was also an avid reader.)

Victor, my dad’s father, came to the U.S. from Brazil as a young man, and initially worked in the cotton mills of Fall River, Mass. But he educated himself through extensive reading, and eventually was hired as a salesman for the Nabisco corporation. He and my grandmother were able to leave the city and buy a house in the suburbs. During the Depression, theirs was the only house on the street with a telephone.

The idea that reading was a key to success was planted in my brain at an early age. I was proud to be a reader in elementary school, but when I got to junior high, I realized that it wasn’t necessarily “cool.” My friends passed books around; I remember “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” in particular. But it just wouldn’t do to be too “bookish.”

This realization didn’t stop me from reading. I just went, pardon the pun, under cover. I read the books everyone else was reading and talking about, but they might have numbered only a few per year. I needed at least one a week. These “extra” books I didn’t discuss or show to anyone.

I began making weekly visits to the public library with my father when I was five. This I kept on doing, because I figured if anyone saw me in the library, they were “bookish” too.

This only worked because our town had three small libraries. The Hood Library, which we frequented, didn’t have the space for my schoolmates to congregate while doing their homework—or pretending to, while they socialized. So there was no danger that I would be spotted—gasp—taking out a book to read for pleasure by anybody who thought that was a weird thing to do.

I had to bring my current “secret” book to school with me. I couldn’t bear the thought that I would find myself with a few minutes to spare and no book to read. But these were the days before students carried backpacks. I needed to keep my book under wraps, but how? I was so relieved when I received what I thought of as a “hippie” bag for Christmas. This was a rectangular cotton purse with long straps, embroidered with flowers and tiny mirrors. I could slip my book in and no one would be any the wiser.

I only wince a little when I think of the lengths to which I went not to appear like a nerd. Junior high and high school are tough. As an adult, I observe that on a daily basis. The funny thing is, I fooled no one as a kid.

Luckily, I fell in with a group of people who enjoyed intellectual pursuits, although we’d never describe ourselves that way. Several of my classmates were serious artists, and with the help of an art teacher who was straight out of college, we formed the “Art Club.” We made outings to museums and films and talked about ideas and books. At least sometimes. We were also silly teenagers, too.

The Art Club put out one issue of an “underground” newspaper before administrators shut us down. We dared to have a gossip column!

Nowadays, I’m once again proud to be a reader and a writer. I appreciate the opportunity to encourage young people to read and think. And I’m pleased to say I have many colleagues who are also avid readers. We even have a staff book group that meets several times a year.

At Christmas this year, I gave my husband, Paul, three books, and he gave me three books. We didn’t plan it that way. It just seemed right.