Give them a paperback, Give them your life back.
It is undeniable that reading is a pleasure. It can broaden one’s perspective about a number of things that matter in life. The reading for pleasure habit can only be built by giving the youngsters the sort of books that interest them in addition to those that support their curriculum. Here is a highly engaging piece of copy written by Dhanunjay Ganesh that won the long copy award:
By the time you were your child’s age, you’d picnicked with the Famous Five. You’d flown the treacherous skies with Biggles. You’d managed to slip your arm around Frank Hardy’s pretty girlfriend. You’d ridden the open range with the Sacketts, and sung their lonesome songs. You’d been a white man, you’d been brown, you’d been black and blue, and you’d been the Scarlet Pimpernel.
You’d encountered the great white whale. You’d slain the undead. You’d dropped out of sight. You’d picked up the gauntlet. You’d discovered lost cities of gold. You’d solved inexplicable crimes, and flirted with opium. You’d grown a beard, marking time on an unmarked island. You’d been stood up, deceived, bushwhacked and marooned, one alphabet at a time. But you’d never lost, ‘cause that wasn’t in the script.
You’d faced up to Long John Silver. You’d bled with the Highwayman. You’d wrestled with apes, and could say, ‘Kreegah’ with the right inflection. You’d been on the Orient Express. You’d charged with the Light Brigade. You’d seen Buck after an eternity, and he’d remembered you. You’d waged war in the caverns of Mongo. You’d been in the belly of the narwhal. You’d pawed and clambered your way up Sheba’s Breast (the one that wasn’t off-limits for one so young).
You’d been schooled in the art of repartee, by none other than Jeeves himself. You’d dealt with small dusty man in a small dusty room. You’d recklessly chased talking rabbits down cubbyholes. You’d pretended not to stare, slack-jawed, at Lady Macbeth’s state of undress. You’d crossed swords with d’ Artagan’s enemies. You’d healed an assortment of creatures, great and small. You’d been faster than your own shadow. You were the suave cat who, when they reached the scene of the crime, was never there.
You’d known, with perfect clarity, what a crow’s nest looked like, although you’d never laid eyes on one. You’d known the difference between ginger-ale and root beer, although you’d never tasted either. You’d inhaled cordite, you’d caught a whiff of Chanel. Your mind had 20/20 vision, an exquisitely fine-tuned palate, and preternatural sense of smell.
You’d never needed CGI to witness magic. You hadn’t known terabytes from terahertz (unless you were going through an Asimov phase). You didn’t have an arsenal of push-button smiles; you had a single, open grin, and it was genuine. Because you read books.
You didn’t just read them, you devoured them. You worked honestly through them, you lived dangerously through them, you loved innocently through them. They were unselfish. They gave you much more than they took – they took you places. They stole your breath, and repaid you a hundredfold. They supplied you armies. They gave your cronies. They made you friends. They gave you a crown, and didn’t skimp on the size of its jewel. You’re a better, wiser, richer person today. Because you read books.
You could leave your child an automobile. Or a parcel of land. Or a lot of scrips and scraps. Or you could leave behind an enduring legacy. You could give him a chapter, give her a verse. You could give them a paperback. You could give her your life back.