I wanted to name this piece “Reading Fiction Will Save the World” or “Reading Memoirs Will Save Your Life” but that sounded a little too dramatic, even for me. At the heart of it, though, I believe it.
I grew up spending my summers luxuriating in the air conditioned stacks of our local library. I would ride my banana-seat bike just two blocks in our one stoplight town of Hortonville, Wisconsin, (population 2,016), hop off, not lock it up, and stride in with all the confidence of someone who carries the power to unfold the mysteries of the ages via the creased cardboard library card in her back pocket.
My best friend was also a bibliophile, and when we weren’t forming our own detective agency or careening down a Slip ‘N Slide littered with grass clippings, we were reading together. I remember the afternoon we had each picked up a copy of Little Women and the only sounds came from page-turning, a most satisfying sound I recall when I hear my youngest daughter bite delicately into an apple.
That was before we had novels assigned to us in school, before vocabulary lists and studying the text for thematic elements won out over reading for the sheer sensuous pleasure of it. In a way, school killed books for me even as I learned to analyze them better. What E.B. White said of comedy is true of fiction: “Explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You understand it better but the frog dies in the process.” I still loved reading, but as high school and college wore on, it became harder to keep the frog alive.
John and I were married shortly after college graduation, and we were both relieved to have left syllabuses and term papers behind us. As newlyweds, we rediscovered reading for pleasure, finding two library copies of a novel about immigrants who came through Ellis Island in the early 1900s. We stretched out on the mattress we had moved from his parent’s house and contentedly turned the pages as our feet touched. Afterward, we discussed what we’d read over the simple meals we knew how to make, like grilled cheese and tomato soup, peanut butter chicken, and adding a can of tuna to a prepared box of Kraft mac-n-cheese. It was amazing how intense literary discourse could make the humblest meal feel like we were in a Parisian salon.
At some point, we found things to do on that mattress other than reading, resulting in five time-consuming bundles of joy in nine years. During the blur of early motherhood, the quality of books I was willing to read jumped up a couple of notches. I wasn’t about to waste my time on trash. A notable exception was when I burned through the Twilight series during a scorching bout of mastitis. I couldn’t think straight, so YA vampire fiction was the perfect prescription. The best books of that era were Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. The former ripped out my still-beating heart while the latter filled me with the sheer joy of being alive along with the desire to write more letters. These novels provided a much-needed connection to history, philosophy, and theology while living out my important — but often isolating — calling as a mother.
This summer, reading real books has again given me connection, enlightenment, and at times, an escape.
Books transport me anywhere, anytime.
Travel plans have been smashed to smithereens. John and I were looking forward to taking a week-long cruise in mid-July with shore excursions on Italy, France, and Spain. Our plans, like so many people’s, have been canceled.
Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.”
Mason Cooley
Instead, I am taking a virtual vacation in a dirt-poor, early 1900s neighborhood as I reread Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I’m going on holiday to London and quaint surrounding villages in Rosamunde Pilcher’s The Shell Seekers. I’m revisiting Italy in the delicious yet heartbreaking memoir of Tembi Locke’s From Scratch. I’m not limited by days off, budget, or travel restrictions. I don’t have to pack a suitcase, kennel the dog, or secure a house sitter. Within moments of opening the Audible app or book cover, I am transported to not only places but time periods I could never visit in real life.
Reading real books allows me to see life from multiple points of view, which is especially poignant this summer.
People are screaming to be understood, and I am struggling to understand. The voices from social media are conflicting on how to even broach the subject of injustice and inequality. Reading books allows me to educate myself which lays the foundation for conversations with friends whose background differs from mine. Don’t believe the meme that you can’t ask a person about their story because it isn’t their job or my job to educate you. Read the whole article. Educate yourself first, and then ask away, proceeding thoughtfully.
If you don’t know where to begin, remember that characters in books will never judge you for not knowing. Celie and Shug were patient with me in The Color Purple as they unfolded their stories of pain and perseverance. Poets like Langston Hughes let me chew on verses until I sensed the flavor and texture of a dream deferred. Maya Angelou understood when she said of her autobiographies like I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,
I want to write so that the reader … can say, ‘You know, that’s the truth. I wasn’t there, and I wasn’t a six-foot black girl, but that’s the truth.’ ”
Maya Angelou
Books build a bridge of understanding between us.
Reading makes me feel connected to friends.
Remember when you could meet a friend at the local coffee shop and see their mask-less face light up with delight or struggle to hold back tears as you caught up on life? I miss face-to-face connection dearly, and Zoom will never beat the real thing. I am hopeful that it won’t always be this way, but this summer, I am taking the time to read the books recommended to me by friends. When I read a book that spoke to a friend, it’s like we’re sitting together, turning crisp pages on a summer’s afternoon.
How about you? Do you find yourself reading more these days? What new authors have you discovered?
You can check out Goodreads to see what your friends are reading. Also, I highly recommend downloading the free 2020 Summer Reading List from Modern Mrs. Darcy–not just because I love her name, but because she reads more books in a year than I could get through in a decade. She has a conversational podcast where she answers the question, “What Should I Read Next?”
You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
C.S. Lewis