As I was putting together my list of 2017 books, I kept thinking of reading experiences that didn’t exactly fit into a list of titles, so tonight I’m writing a post about some of my memories of reading (rather than the books themselves, if that makes sense). I’m listening to Will Schwalbe’s new book, Books for Living, during my time at the gym this month, and there was something that stuck with me this morning. Summing up because I don’t have the print book to refer to, he says something like “the person I am when I finish a book is different from the person I was when I started it.” This struck me because I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it exactly that way—but still find it completely true. Books change us, if we let them. They give us scraps of wisdom we can use in wider ways than the story might’ve intended. They help us become better people: more compassionate, more kind, gentler, more empathetic to situations outside of our own lives. They sometimes put into words what we cannot yet express by ourselves, and by doing so they bring us peace, understanding, the relief of knowing we are not alone in the world with our sorrows and our joys.
This blog post is about that—about how my life has been changed by books in 2017.
- I loved the movie The Arrival so much that I sought out the book that includes the short story the movie is based on, The Story of Your Life. It’s a sad, amazing, lonely and lovely story, but what really influenced me was the first story in the collection, “The Tower of Babel.” In it, the novelist imagines what might’ve been the process of building the actual tower of Babel, and why the people would do such a thing, and what God would think about people doing such a thing. This short story broke my heart. It was a powerful reminder to me that God must value, perhaps above all else, our freedom to choose, even if what we choose is foolish or dangerous or pointless. This knowledge has become a bitter truth in my life; it isn’t exactly comforting but it is because it helps me understand why some of my choices have had the consequences they did. I finished the story reading at my kitchen table and when it was done I had to put my head down and weep. I don’t know if all of the other stories in the collection are as powerful as that one—but I needed that one.
- One thing I miss about having little kids is reading lots of picture books. I mean…I can still check them out and read them to myself, and there is still the pleasure of a sweet story and condensed language and amazing images. But it doesn’t feel the same without a small little someone snuggled in at your side enjoying those things with you. But I couldn’t resist checking out Dave Eggers’s picture book, Her Right Foot. I checked this one out because even though I don't have a little one to read to anymore, I wanted to read it. It's about the Statue of Liberty and an often-overlooked part: her right foot is in motion. I read it one afternoon when I was covering the children's desk and that is one reason I try not to read at the desk: maybe I am more open-hearted at the library, but anything that is vaguely moving makes me cry. And I don't like crying at the desk. But the illustrations made me cry, and this made me cry: "Liberty and freedom from oppression are not things you get or grant by standing around like some kind of statue. No! These are things that require action. Courage. An unwillingness to rest." Hopefully the young generation is learning this, and maybe they will be able to repair the many ugly things that are happening in our country right now. But it also inspired me: I need to be courageous, too. I need to act, to move forward, to try to make change happen even if my actions feel small and pointless.
- For work, I am on the committee that chooses the children’s poetry long list nominees for the Beehive Award. I had so much fun reading almost 30 different junior poetry books. Some were, of course, better than others, and I’m pretty picky about what I will accept as far as rhyming goes (forced rhyming being a cardinal writing sin in my view). But I was reminded that there are so many excellent writers writing excellent poetry. I remembered, as I did this, the first time I discovered that there even was such a thing as “children’s poetry,” at least anything beyond Shel Silverstein, and how from that moment—when Haley was still going to the library with me in her stroller, so 1996 or ’97—I read poetry to my kids. I hope it is a thing that lingers in their memories and shapes their psyches in beautiful ways.
- One book I forgot to put on my list is called Poetry in Motion. Actually, I haven’t finished it yet, as I am savoring it, so I think it will go on my 2018 list. It is a collection of poems, both typeset and as images, of the work that’s been displayed in the subway trains in New York City. I’ve only seen a few in person (and, come to think of it, I saw exactly zero during our second trip to NYC last fall), but just the fact that someone puts poetry in the subway makes me happy. I bought my own copy of this, after seeing the library’s copy (which I also ordered!), and I read it here and there when I have a few minutes for a poem. It makes me think of one of our non-subway experiences in New York, strangely enough, when Kendell and I walked around Astoria looking at murals and then walked across the Robert F. Kennedy bridge to Randall’s Island. My feet were killing me and once we got to the island I’m not sure why I wanted to go there so we got on a bus and rode into Harlem. Maybe the book reminds me of that experience because it felt like a poem, both difficult and beautiful all at once. I don’t know. But every time I pick up the book, I’m back there to that early afternoon.
- Every week, I almost always read the new issue of The New Yorker. Not cover to cover, but I always read the poems and flip through to see the comics and drawings. A few weeks ago, I also read a short story (even though I’m really not, technically, supposed to read at the desk at work). It was titled “Cat Person,” which caught my eye when I was looking at the table of contents, so I flipped to it and read it. It was an engrossing story about a woman trying to make a relationship work with a man who turns out to be entirely not for her. It is uncomfortably true in its handling of their experiences. What I loved best about it was how it described the way we try to make peace with someone’s problematic behaviors; I have made those same excuses for others. But what really turned this short story into one of my memorable reading experiences that the very next day, when I checked my social media, “Cat Person” was all over my feed. Tons of other people had read it and were talking about it. It’s not often that I manage to be right in the middle of a cultural literary experience, so this felt pretty cool to me.
- But, speaking of being in the middle of a cultural literary experience. Do you know that the novel The Handmaid’s Tale was one of the country’s best sellers in 2017? Even though it is more than thirty years old? And that everyone is reading it? And that I am completely bugged by this? I know…that’s a strange reaction. But this is a book I’ve loved since I first read it in 1990. It’s a book that literally changed my life, because when I read it I wanted to learn both how to write like Margaret Atwood and how to find more books like it, which influenced my education choices in a dramatic way. In theory I should be thrilled that everyone is loving something I have loved for so long. But…I don’t. Instead, I’m annoyed because everyone’s like “oh, it’s prescient!” and “how did she know?” and “this is so good” and I’m like…yes, I know. I’ve known for a long time! (For what it’s worth: I have not watched the TV adaptation. Many people have told me it’s excellent. But The Handmaid’s Tale is definitely one of my top-five favorite books of all time…and I don’t want it reinterpreted for the screen. I don’t want someone’s vision of it. I just want my own. Is that crazy?) This all has something to do with the fact that I like liking things that everyone else hasn’t ever heard of. Does that make me a snob? Perhaps. But it’s a thing about me that hasn’t changed in decades. If everyone likes something, it feels less important, somehow. Less meaningful. So I really have not enjoyed having one of my favorite books becoming diluted throughout the culture. I know, it sounds lame. But it’s bothered me all year.
- Reading in Hawaii. Dare I confess that I don’t really love the beach. If I’m there by myself or with other adults, I’m OK. But when I’m at the beach with my kids, I’m always terrified that someone will drown. When we were in Hawaii this spring, we went to the beach every day. The kids swam and wandered and snorkeled. And I happily volunteered to sit with the towels and keep everything safe, when really what I was doing was trying to trick my heart to stop beating so hard and my head to stop filling up with worries. And I was also performing that mom mindtrip thing, which is that if I’m thinking very hard about my kids, I’m literally keeping them safe with my mind, right? So, in Hawaii I sat on lots of beaches, covered in sunscreen, worrying about my kids, and reading. (Yes, one can perform the mom mindtrip while simultaneously reading. Obviously, as I read and no one drowned.) My carefully-chosen books were the first two novels in N. K. Jemisin’s series The Broken Earth These books are so good. They give me exactly what I want from a fantasy series: excellent & beautiful writing, characters who are deeply human despite whatever magic system exists within the world, a magic system that makes literary sense (even if not scientific) and is not used as a deux-ex-machina for every problem, a plot that isn’t derivative of Tolkein or C. S. Lewis or George R. R. Martin. A strong female protagonist whose strength is also not a deux-ex-machina. Companion characters who are equally intriguing as the main ones. And, if I am fully completing my wish list, some women’s issues dealt with in unique ways. These books had all of that and an expansive underground tunnel/cave system that I will never completely erase from my psyche. They would’ve been great reads anywhere, but in Hawaii? On the Big Island under sun, on sand, under the shade of our rented umbrella? They were perfect. I was happy.
I feel like 7 is the perfect number of memorable reading experiences for one year. Did you have any? How have books changed you over the past year?
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