This drawing started off as a pun. A literal roof over your head – cue the laughter! But it didn’t seem that interesting to me when it came time to ink it. So I added another wrinkle: making it a book that looks like a roof (and vice versa).
I know that books both feed and starve me unlike anything else. When I’m feeling in a rut – and not just in my writing – I often find a worthwhile remedy in a worthwhile book. Sometimes it’s a bit of nonfiction with enough truth to jolt. Often it’s fiction with sentences both luxurious and incisive, the kind of writing that makes the world feel a little bigger and a little wilder and aswim with possibility. At the same time, I have a To Be Read (TBR) pile surrounding my nightstand like a stacked-paper wall , forming a mental barrier of entry far more formidable than any army could dream up.
This year, I’ve been working with a new student who’s love of books is impossible to exaggerate. Their face is rarely seen in the halls; it’s too deep behind another book. As a team, we all discussed it like it was a real problem to be dealt with. They needed to walk faster! They needed to socialize more! They needed to realize there was more to life than books! All of these arguments are valid. But I was often surprised how many overlook the one that made the most sense to me: that this was a child who moved a lot in their short life, who went through COVID lockdowns and missed social time, and who just might find a book to be the most comfortable thing to take shelter under. It is safe. It is reliable. It is undemanding. It always provides, be it adventure or feelings or a kernel of thought to be stuck in their mind’s teeth. No matter where you go, there is always be a book to be discovered. There is always a book to cozy under and make your own little home.
