Reading Undercover

I don't know what it's like to keep a book a secret. A book that's dangerous to own. A book that's no longer a book, just words typed feverishly on pages, stapled, then passed from one curious hand to the next. Would it be offered to me in a darkened hallway? On my way home when watchful eyes weren't looking? No, probably behind a closed door with shades drawn where only whispers explained its importance.

"Read it, but don't say a word. Then pass it on."

The unspoken story grows large in the minds of its readers. Larger than a dream, cloud-like and billowing over voiceless heads, taking on a meaning much bigger than itself. Because it doesn't need to be spoken as the words become truth and truth finally leads to action. The cloud grows heavier, darker, blacker, as each undercover reader turns wrinkled pages. Then it rains. 

And the reason the book was a secret has been washed away. Just a history lesson. A reminder that although books shouldn't have to be a secret, they have the power to expose them.

I talked with a father at parent-teacher conferences yesterday. He read Animal Farm in Ukraine when it was against the law to do so. He was about thirteen at the time.

"It's a very important text," he told me. "I'm glad my son has read it." 

We didn't read it in secret. Thank god. But I'll never forget meeting someone who did.