I still remember when my parents took me to see "Beauty and the Beast" in theaters, when it first came out in 1991. I was five years old, and I saw myself in a character for the first time in my life when I saw Belle. It wasn’t love -- I knew what falling in love was, because I had previously seen "The Little Mermaid" in theaters when I was three and fallen in love with the titular character, red-haired Ariel. She was my first crush. This was not love like that though. I loved Belle the way I loved myself.
She loved to read, and read quickly, like me. She was seen as odd by everyone around her, like me. She was sensitive and kind-hearted, but a little mischievous too, like me. She even had brown curls and brown eyes like me! Best of all, if there was someone out there who could look at her, really see her, and still love her, like the Beast could, then there was certainly hope for me.
I have always greatly identified with the G.K. Chesterton quote, "There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast,' that a thing must be loved before it is lovable."
Still, even as a child, I knew I had to be cautious about giving my heart away. Marriage has always been a very serious oath to me. So I, in my childlike wisdom, told my mother that I would only marry a man if he gave me a library first. That scene was always so moving to me, and the library so beautiful. (The library in the Beast's castle supposedly is based on the Oval Reading Room of the Richelieu Building, at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, in Paris, France. Knowing that, I've always had a reason to want to visit Paris, as if anybody ever needed one!) It seemed like a win-win situation for me, and a super great weeding process. If a man couldn't or wouldn't get me a library, then he wasn't marriage material. Not for me, at least.
Cut to seventeen years later, and I did get married, to my wonderful husband, Joseph, no library required.
On our first anniversary, he bought me a present. He was nervous to present it to me, and I could not persuade him to tell me what it was or why.
"It's not paper," he finally said, citing the traditional first anniversary gift, "and I can’t afford to give you a library yet. But I can give you this."
"This" was a brand new second generation Kindle, back in 2009 when e-readers were new and expensive to own. He had budgeted for me to get a couple of books on it, too, though we've always been very poor. I didn't even buy any books that night, however, because I was too busy downloading free books, stories in the public domain, including -- you guessed it -- "Beauty and the Beast."
To this date, my "library" is the most thoughtful, most romantic gift I have ever been given. That particular Kindle is long dead, though it lasted me quite a while, and now the Kindle app is on my phone, in dark mode, so I can read whenever I want to. But every time I buy a book -- be it physical, e-book, or audiobook -- I tell my husband I am adding to our library. And he will usually laugh, and say, "Okay, Belle."