I've never seen the movie "Gone With the Wind". I don't think my Mom was ever really into it, so I wasn't exposed to it when I was younger and I guess I just never got into it. As I got a little older I met a gal who really loved the movie and had started reading the book. I put it on my mental things to do list and went about my merry way.
This summer as I was poking around a yard sale, I ran across a copy of Margret Mitchell's highly acclaimed novel and picked it up for a whole nickle. This particular copy had been published sometime in the 50's. It was in pretty good shape, had the red ink around the pages and smelled like some one's attic. I took it home and put it on the shelf to be read after I made it through the entire Twilight saga and several other books my kids had been telling me I HAD to read.
I finally pulled it off the shelf a couple of weeks ago. I was hooked by the second paragraph. Mitchell's way of using language, the incredibly developed characters, and a love for Scarlett kept me up into the wee hours of many nights. It is a book of it's time, riddled with political incorrectness, lush with Southern proprieties, and absolutely dripping with antebellum charm. As I read the tiny print on each of the 867 yellowed pages, I couldn't believe that I hadn't read it sooner.
With tears in my eyes I closed a battered copy of Gone With the Wind tonight. I have toted that book to football and soccer games, orthodontist and doctor appointments, it has been repaired with a roll of UNICOR packaging tape, it even made an emotional journey to the beach and back. It is now held together with a hair bob because the last 30 pages or so came loose a few days ago.
I bought a new copy a week ago when I figured the old one wasn't going to make it. The new copy has a romance novel picture of Scarlett and Rhett on it. The type is big and the pages smell like bookstore and overpriced coffee. I think I'll put the old one in a Ziploc bag for the next time I want a really good read.