‘Abibliophobia’ – thoughts on the fear of running out of books to read

I was delighted recently to discover this term coined playfully to describe a book lover’s fear of not having enough to read. Literally, ‘not-book-fear’. We who purchase books at a rate that far exceeds the speed at which they can possibly be read may be said to ‘suffer’ from this condition.

I became acutely aware of my own abibliophobic bent this week while on holiday, once again, in the Lake District. Now with adult children, as a family, we sometimes walk together and sometimes do our own thing. On this particular day I was on my own. Returning from a two hour morning walk to the lovely cottage we were staying at, I put the code into the key safe outside the front door to take out the keys to let myself in only to find that the blessed thing was jammed. The keys were, to be fair, very long and only just fitted inside the small box in they were lodged. I patted and bashed the box about a bit hoping to dislodge what I supposed was the wedged key out of its position to free the mechanism. It didn’t work. I tried again. I used a small piece of slate from the driveway to try to force it open. I tried another code combination. However, so convinced was I that I had remembered the four-digit sequence correctly, I didn’t set much store by this.

So I prayed. In faith! The Lord would surely help me get in. The others wouldn’t be back for a good five or six hours. My phone battery had died just as I reached the house from overuse of the new All Trails app I was trialling (which I hadn’t realised munched battery like a greedy underfed Labrador). I had no car keys – these were inside the house along with my watch and, crucially, the book I was reading, Helen Taylor’s 2019 book, ‘Why Women Read Fiction’.

It became apparent that God was not going to answer my prayer in the way that I hoped so I lay down on the slate bench outside in the sun and asked Him what He wanted to teach me. I couldn’t ring anyone. There was no one in the house next to ours to appeal to for help. Who knew if there was a public telephone box anywhere within 10 miles and if there was, would it be functional? Probably not.

I was stuck. I lay there in the sun and the only thing I could discern apart from a strong feeling that I was a complete and utter fool was that perhaps I was being invited to stop.

AN INVITATION TO STOP

This word struck me as possibly relevant. After all, I had recently been reading about the importance of slowing down to hear God’s voice. But I couldn’t read the bible on my phone. I only had a bottle of water and a bank card with me.

OK, Lord. So I’ll stop and sit here meditatively for the whole of the rest of the day until the rest of the family return.

It became apparent to me after about 20 minutes that I didn’t have the serenity of spirit to do this. How could I bear the next five to six hours with nothing to read? Another, longer walk as a means of passing the time wasn’t feasible without a map (oh the folly of relying on a battery operated device). I was a bit stumped by the situation.

I decided to look for a bus stop into the nearest town. At least I could do some grocery shopping and buy something to read and perhaps another notebook so I had somewhere to write (a lesser but also very real fear – having nowhere to write down my thoughts).

I found a bus stop soon enough. It wasn’t too far. I waited there. And waited. And waited. I had no watch on my wrist and no ability to tell the time (without my phone) and when I asked a passing local she told me that the buses were very ‘random’. I waited for a bit longer and after about 40 minutes decided to ask the two hedge cutters further down the lane if they had any insight into the bus situation. No need! A bus was coming! But from the other direction. Being the north, where everyone is so friendly, the driver stopped, wound down his window and asked if he could help. It turned out that there had been an accident on the A66 and that all buses were delayed by two hours. He suggested I walk into Keswick instead.

And so I did. I have not mentioned my additional folly of wearing my younger son’s old, cast-off walking boots which are half a size too small for me. I’ve been wearing these for years, telling myself that they will do. They’re ok but blisters form quickly, despite the wonders of Compeed, and as I walked, and walked, and walked, I continued to ask the Lord what on earth He was trying to tell me. It seemed like such a complete waste of a beautiful day. I had planned to spend the afternoon reading and writing in blissful solitude before the others got back wanting supper. It was not to be. And the worst of it? I had nothing to read!

Another ‘S’ word came to me.

AN INVITATION TO SURRENDER

Was this what God was saying? There was nothing I could do except put one foot in front of the other until I got to Keswick, which I did, after about an hour and a half. I bought the groceries we needed and then wondered around and enjoyed the bustle of the Saturday market, treated myself to a cherry sorbet cone and decided to simply drift. But I was still bothered and annoyed and, I confess, a bit bored and wondered how much time I could fill like this.

The Keswick bus station was crammed like an airport whose flight schedule has been frustrated by bad weather. I queued for a while but soon realised that the other frustrated souls forming the line would fill the next bus, when and if it came, long before it was my turn to alight.

So once again, I decided to walk. This time, however, I was laden with a rucksack now holding not only my water bottle but also a bottle of olive oil, another of All Surface kitchen spray, a jar of mustard, a jar of mango chutney – all those things that I meant to bring with other supplies from home on a self-catering holiday but forgot, along with two large punnets of market strawberries all weighing me down. It was hot. I was a bit fed up by this time and wondered what the third ‘S’ might be that would come to my mind. But nothing did, until I passed the little church we sometimes go to when we’re up here which had one of those verse posters outside. And this was the verse:

‘Seek the Lord while He may be found; call on Him while He is near’. Isaiah 55:6

And there it was – the third ‘S’ – Seek.

AN INVITATION TO SEEK

This third word has really got me thinking. What am I seeking with all this voracious reading? What is it that makes me so desperate not to waste a second of life so as to maximise all possible reading time? Is it a better understanding of the world? Is it the companionship that reading gives, the stimulation, the escape from my own thoughts, the reassurance that others have felt as I do, the community of a shared experience, the satisfaction of a good story, the satiation of my curiosity about other people, places, experiences? I’m still trying to work this out with the help of Taylor’s beautifully written and hugely engaging but now dated 2019 OUP publication.

In the meantime, I am reminded that there is a much more important seeking to be done which I am in danger of overlooking. Seeking Him in Whom true satisfaction, meaning, companionship and yes, story are found. What do I hope to find in a book that I won’t find in Him? What story is there that can edify my soul more than the greatest love-rescue ever told? What character in fiction can relate intimately to my experience the way that Jesus can? What answers does reading give me ultimately about the purpose of my life that the Bible does not give me?

I’m not proposing to ditch my reading. It’s a passion and, I believe, a God-given one, but after that day, once back inside the cottage (I was wrong about the code it turned out) and surrounded by the comforts of my books and notebooks, I felt challenged to subordinate my abibliphobia to a more appropriate and fruitful fear.