Gifting Books
Gifting a book has been a tradition in my family for as long as I can remember.
At Christmas, there were always two packages under the tree: one biography and one novel. Fact and imagination. History and story. In fourth grade, top on my list: a thesaurus, which I have lugged around ever since — a tribute to a book yet to be written and to a schoolteacher grandmother who once said, “Why use one syllable when you can use four?”
When life delivered headwinds — breakups, career crises, the death of someone beloved — the answer was often the same: a book. When life delivered milestones — graduations, weddings, births — again, a book. Or simply when you need a good laugh or a trip down memory lane.
My signature gift book? The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein, given to me by my godfather in 1976. It has moved with me for fifty years. I wrote my college essay about it. I have gifted it more times than I can count. A small book that stands the test of time..
On college graduation night, instead of heading straight to a party, I stopped at Olsen’s Bookstore and chose a children’s book for each roommate — a story that fit her personality. It felt more lasting than champagne toasts. Those books still pass the test of time.
I have moved at least twenty-four times. Shelf space scarce in city apartments. Boxes heavy on cross-country hauls. The books that survive every purge? The gifted ones. A few slim volumes from Georgetown’s Problem of God Class and high school English classes. And the yearbooks and facebooks, dusted off at reunion time. In the end, it’s the books that carry stories — and the ones that carried us through.
Since I was ten, I have wanted to write a book. For years, I carried half-started manuscripts and outlines across zip codes: Dating the Portlands. First at Third. Are You There God, it’s me Laura. The Union of Massissippi. But when the creative burst finally crossed the finish line, it grew from this tradition of gifting.
The concept was simple:
A lovely book for the coffee or bedside table.
A book you can read in under ten minutes.
A book a child could read — and an adult might need.
A book that stirs nostalgia. That makes you smile-cry. That meets you in a moment when you need it most.
Not one book — a trilogy.
Three slim companions: grief, grit, growth. Angels, alligators, anglers. Designed to sit side by side. Lovely to look at. Generous to give. Sturdy enough to move.
Gifting a book is not just giving paper and ink.
No talking required. Just words, waiting to be opened.
Keep gifting books.
What has been your favorite gift book?
