Debbie Millman

Academic; Writer; Lecturer; Executive; Designer / Graphic Design; Brand Design / United States / Sterling Brands, School of Visual Artists, Host, Design Matters

Debbie Millman’s Book List

When I was a kid there were lots of rules in my house. One of the most horrific for me at the time was the (very) limited amount of television I was allowed to watch. As a result, I read. And I read a lot. I read books, magazines, newspapers, encyclopedias, and comic books; I even borrowed my mother’s Redbook and Ladies Home Journal, and snuck into my father’s library to read the steamy sections of The Godfather when I was sure that no one would catch me.

My fascination with books began as soon as I could read, and Golden Books were my favorite. As soon as I got into grade school, I was introduced to the Weekly Reader and there was nothing—nothing—I looked forward to more than the moment, every week, when Mrs. Mayer handed out those gorgeous publications. By third grade I was introduced to the Scholastic Book Club and while my folks were stingy with television privileges, they were quite generous with my book allowance. I ordered as many books as I could afford and when the boxes came in with my name on them, I spent a moment gingerly fingering the corrugated brown carton. I’d sit for a minute or two and imagine what was inside, what the books would be like, and of course how they would look.

I have been in love with books ever since. In college I majored in English Literature and minored in Russian Literature. The books on my list are some of the books that have inspired and moved me over the course of my life. These books—as Marcel Proust’s famous description of the madeleine—“ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness, this memory, this old, dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has traveled so far to importune, to disturb, to raise up out of the depths of my being . . . But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”

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