The Reading List

by Sara Nisha Adams

He wanted to tell her that reading had helped him find something to pass the time, some way to connect with others, a reason to get out of bed and out of the house.

He thought of the March sisters, of Marmee—they oozed positivity, despite everything they were going through; they proved again and again that where there was a will, there was always a way.

There was something magical in that—in sharing a world you have loved; allowing someone to see it through the same pair of spectacles you saw it through yourself.

“The mockingbird—you know when Atticus says it is a sin to kill a mockingbird, does he mean it is a sin to kill innocence or innocent people?” Priya asked.

“I think you can read whatever you want to into anything. That is the point of books,”

at all. When they arrived at the crematorium, they stepped

up outside unable to hear the service. But they were there for him, for Aidan.

“Please try to remember that books aren’t always an escape; sometimes books teach us things. They show us the world; they don’t hide it.”

This library had come to mean something to him. It had begun to feel like home.

Books always change as the person who reads them changes too. That’s what Ba said.”

This was what her brother could do—bring people together, as he had always brought people together in his lifetime. To help them feel a little bit less alone.

“She loved books. I never understood books until I came here, but the library helped me feel closer to her. It is very important to feel a part of a place and a community, and I would like everyone to come and enjoy it here, just like me.”

He looked around once more and just for a moment, as the sun hit the cars in the car park and refracted through the library’s windows, Mukesh could see all the characters he’d met along the way. There was Pi and his terrifying tiger, very out of place. Elizabeth Bennet, still playing hard to get, with Darcy a few steps behind. Marmee and her little women, linking arms together. Amir and Hassan, young again, carefree, running around with a kite in the car park. But, between them all, there was Naina—still smiling, her hands held together at her chest.

She wondered why this book was the last on the list, whether the list writer had ordered them for any particular reason.

She thought about the journey the books had taken her on, the places they had transported her to—Maycomb, Alabama; Cornwall and Kabul; to the middle of the Pacific Ocean; to some shire in England; to Massachusetts; to Cincinnati; and finally Brahmpur, India.

Through the reading list’s characters, she’d experienced injustice and childlike innocence, terror and unease, guilt and regret and powerful, everlasting friendship, a dalliance with Mr. Darcy (still Zac came to her mind when she thought about Pride and Prejudice), resilience, independence, and determination through the little women, the repercussions of trauma and the po...

He looked down at the envelope again. “Mukesh.” He said his own name as though he had never heard it before. “I think it’s from—” “Naina,” he cut in. “It’s her handwriting.” “The list. I think it was Naina’s.”

She passed the list to him too. His hands were shaking. “And that letter, that letter is for you.”

But books, they had the power to heal.

The library books were stacked on her bedside table. Her final library reading list. They were all her favorite books, the books she had grown up with, the books that had found her at the right time, that had given her comfort when she needed it, had given her an escape, an opportunity to live beyond her life, an opportunity to love more powerfully, a chance to open up and let people in. And now she had read them all once more, for the very last time.

Priya had been the one to suggest she leave a rea...

She hoped that the lists would find their way into willing hands and hearts—in the supermarket, at the bus stop, in the library, at the yoga studio, in the community garden—and brighten them, even if just for a moment.

Now there was just one list left to give. And she knew who this one belonged to: Mukesh. He had never been a reader, but she hoped, after she left, he might start to wonder what all the fuss had been about for her. She didn’t want him to be lonely, and he had a tendency to cut himself off from the outside world when he was sad. This way, she thought, if he did that, he might find some company elsewhere. Within the pages. He might find something to inspire him to meet new people, try new things, he might find some words of wisdom too.

To all the librarians and booksellers who make the book world what it is—you do so much for people and for communities. Thank you!