Elizabeth & Hazel -- the unexpected!

I started reading Elizabeth and Hazel: Two Women of Little Rock (on my fancy new e-reader!) blissfully unaware of the subject matter.  I knew it was about a black woman and white woman during desegregation in Arkansas; I naively assumed it was the story of how they became friends and forged a relationship despite the societal pressures against them.

WRONG.  I'll take, "Sarah is completely wrong for $200, Alex" wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It is about two women during desegregation, but not two women who get along.  Not even two women who engage in a conversation (or at least them haven't yet, I'm only half way done).  But, so far, they are not forming a friendship.  Admittedly, this lack of relationship-despite-the-odds-theme made me feel remotely better.  Apparently, I was afraid of reading another tale of people overcoming situations.  Reading it against my own life made me feel inadequate and I feared the judgement I would bring on myself.  

I'd like to think I'm a fairly decent person who doesn't discriminate or judge others I don't know based on things like race, ethnicity, social class, etc.  But I do fall prey to many cultural norms and tend to hang out people who are like me.  Okay, fine, people who are exactly like me.  I'm not pushing the boundaries of societal pressure with my relationships.  At all.  So when I started reading Elizabeth and Hazel I thought this would be yet another book that would make me question whether or not I would have been able to be as brave as these women were (to be clear, I'm not brave like Elizabeth but that's another story) and if I would have been able to befriend the outsider.  I was actually pleasantly surprised to find the book more of a historical account of the situation that I find completely fascinating. 

As I am realizing that my assumption was wrong and enjoying the alternative presented, it became clear that a fear of having my relationships examined was a bigger issue than I wanted to admit.  I should be making friends with people who aren't like me: that's how we grow and learn.  I should want to be inspired and challenged into change, not just comforted into complacency.   But sometimes comfort is nice.  But when the potential content of a book brings up fear of examination (and internal struggles), then it is time for a change.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Real life and reading

There are a lot of things that are easier to take in a book than they are in real life.  Tragedy, pain, suffering, rebelliousness, ethical questions are all a bit lighter on the soul when they are hypothetical instead of very real and happening to people you know and love. 

My life has been largely untouched by significant tragedies.  I do not boast in the this but realize that life is the most unpredictable thing and, therefore, I simply live each moment fully and try not to worry about that which I don't control (easier said than done, right?).  But when our little friend was struck by a recycling truck while alighting from her school bus and is in serious but stable condition, it seems like the world has flipped over and I want to go back to the moment before it happened--for her sake, for the family's sake, for the bus driver's sake and for the sake of the truck driver.  One minute before the bottom dropped out of their world.  One minute before things changed irrevocably.  

This is the moment when I want to hide in my books, retreat into worlds that aren't real and therefore aren't causing soul-crushing pain.  I want to be the 9 year old listening to Little Women as an audio book and the 16 year old secretly staying up until 2 am to finish whatever love story I was devouring.  I, like anyone, can use books to escape.  To disappear.  To find reprieve when all seems to painful.  And there is nothing wrong with having an outlet--we all need one--but there is something up if the only reason to read is to escape. 

But reading can also help us engage worlds, stories and people we don't know.  This is perhaps the more important function of reading--to give voice to stories and ideas that need to be heard.  For this reason I have branched in non-fiction--letting situations I would generally avoid because they are painful, unpleasant or ugly speak into my life and stretch me.  Thankfully all non-fiction isn't super serious (read the surprisingly delightful Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? and other concerns by Mindy Kaling) but I try to engage some that is super serious so that reading not only allows me to escape into the romance I love so much and the mythical worlds I find enticing but also teaches me to be a better human, to handle the painful moments better, to live with perspective and balance in a world that feels topsy turvy.

We are praying and hoping deeply for our little friend, Lydia.  Her story is real and will be told, I trust, with an incredible outcome.  But for now we wait and ponder how to help.   All I can do now is try not to escape but engage.  Reading can do both of these -- and there is a moment for each.  How I wish escape and fun were for now, but it is not that time.  Now is the time to engage, learn and grow.  And pray, pray, pray. 

The Paris Wife

I read this book with my book club (some of the most fantastic women I know!) and really had no idea what I was getting into.  Book selection for last month and the coming months all happened while I was having my second little guy, so I was not a part of the process.  I have thoroughly enjoyed the selections the group has made and I have loved being surprised by what the books are about.  So great to have someone guiding the choices sometimes as I end up reading books I otherwise might have missed out on.

The Paris Wife is the story of Hadley Richardson, Ernest Hemingway's first wife. At first glance, the title suggests she is central but the very title is actually indicative how how the whole book really revolves around Ernest and his work and not Hadley (even though she tells the story).  After all, the book isn't entitled Hadley Richardson: The Paris Wife but just The Paris Wife.  Her location (Paris) and role (wife) define her in relationship to Ernest rather than explain anything about her own person.  

Ernest Hemingway would have been hard to live with--I'm sure I couldn't have done it and as their marriage disintegrates (not a spoiler alert, it's there from page 1) I really, really wanted Hadley to get out too.  It can be hard to read through such disappointment (my head was ever screaming LEAVE HIM!) but I was curious to see how it all turned out.  Unfortunately, I think this book is only fascinating because it is Ernest Hemingway.  Otherwise, the most interesting character is Europe in the 1920's. 

I am actually a bit more fascinated by how this book was written.  It lives in the land somewhere between fact and fiction.  Historical events and people populating the pages and narratives; meanwhile, the words, behaviours and choices they make are the creation of the author (and, technically, fiction).  I actually love this quality of the book.  Western, modern culture loves black-and-white, true-or-false, fact-or-fiction--when lines blur, when it is hard to discern truth in this hard and fast way, we have trouble knowing what to do.  So this book is fiction but lives in the space of factual relationships.  Can it be true without being fact?  Our desire to determine fact/ficiton, true/false is a pretty new concept.  Before the enlightenment and the 1800-ish's, no one worried so much about fact or fiction...they weren't even really categories.   Therefore, pre-modern interpretations of stories and the world were much more fluid, flexible and open.  Proof didn't come from scientific fact -- proof was in whether or not truth was being told.  Don't get me wrong, I think science has done great things for the world.  But in terms of narrative and story-telling, well, I think we have lost something in our on-going quest for fact and our relegation of fiction.  I like questing for truth--a much more interesting, but blurry, experience!

Some questions to consider:

1.  Ernest is clearly an angst-ridden artist with some deep personal issues.  The hedenistic society of 1920's Paris that he and Hadley inhabit seems to suggest many artists had similar struggles.  Does great art require a certain personal struggle?  Can contendness create great art?

2.  How do you feel about fact/fiction?  Do you value one over the other?  Would you be comfortable reading a book without those labels?  Why or why not?  

What I learned from my children about reading...

I was listening to Stuart McLean yesterday, who I just love, and he was doing a Mother's Day show.   Telling the story of a daughter who taught her mother to read, he said: "A good parent teaches their children the necessary skills to get through life.  A great parent learns from their children."  I thought about how much I love to read and how I hope to translate that to my little boys.  But then I consider what I had already learned from them about reading in their short little lives.  In honour of mother's day, and parents everywhere, this is what I have learned about reading from my children.

Most stories are better if you let someone else tell them.  I'm pretty used to reading in my head and figured this method was the best way to really 'hear' a book.  But as A will bring me book after book and will bring book after book to his grandparents and friends, I started to consider that maybe it much better to have someone else give you their spin on a story.  Then the other person is in control of pace, tone and experience.  And although control is nice to have, it is also good to give up and let someone else guide you through a book.  Easy enough to do with Audio books and friends -- just take a minute a listen.  

Some stories are better when you hear them more than once (and others are not).  Kids books vary greatly in quality--I definitely have some favourites among A & D's collection--and usually I hope those are the ones that get chosen to read.  However, I'm not always that lucky.  Sometimes A chooses the really boring ones or the ones with questionable teachings.  But then there are others, really really simply ones, that you can read a myriad of different ways and with different voices.  There seems to be something good about coming back to books that have lots to them (even if written very simply).  I have learned from A that most likely I haven't gotten everything from a book by reading it once.  If something seems to hold more, it likely does.  And it can be worth coming back to.

Books are better in community.  My little guys love to read with us, or with anyone, for that matter.  And knowing how much they love those moments of sharing a story reminds me to read in community with others.  That is one reason I write this blog -- to foster some small community around reading.  Because I certainly don't have any more expertise to offer than anyone else and it is so good to hear many voices.  That's why I love book club and why I love hearing what others are reading whether it is good, bad or in between.  

I hope to keep learning from my little ones.  Happy Mother's Day! 

Half Blood Blues & WW2

World War Two has an interesting significance for me in my reading history.  When I was younger I found a lull around the ages of 12-14 when books were either too young or too old for me either in content or writing style.  It was around that time that I found a number of books about World War Two and started devouring them -- the dynamic between the Nazis and the Jewish population; the realities of people living in England; the way Canadians and Americans reacted all started to enthrall my young imagination.  Years later, I still love history and even studied history at school.  A lot of that love is rooted in the readings I did as a preteen: I was engaged by the material and wanted to understand more.  

Today, WW2 still looms large on the literary scene and provides a fascinating back drop for telling the stories of marginalized and persecuted people as well as people with tremendous power.  Half Blood Blues  lives in WW2 Europe -- Paris and Berlin -- and modern day Poland, weaving the tale of a group of jazz musicians who found a community in Europe between the wars.  An eclectic group of American, Jewish, Black and German musicians, they find themselves living in the spaces between legal and illegal, legitimate and illegitimate, accepted and yet dismissed.  

I was lucky enough to be in Berlin a few years ago and it was so great to read about places I had been, seen and experienced.  Guess I'll just have to get to Paris sometime soon!  

Before I talk about what I thought of this book, I have to admit something: I'm not quite sure if it is ever important to answer the question: "Did I like this book?"  After all, is any book really about me 'liking' it or are the books about themselves?  The stories being told might be more important than whether or not I enjoyed myself.  Given, I am drawn to stories, places and characters I enjoy but when it comes to important content and important ideas that push my boundaries and challenge my assumptions, well, then I am willing to put myself aside and be pushed.  Half Blood Blues forced me to do some of that.  I found the language hard to understand at first.  Some of the slang wasn't clear and it took me a few chapters to get into the way the story was being told.  By the time I got through most of the book, I was dying for a full sentence.  And by the end, I felt that the emphasis on the past and modern story lines was out of balance.  But (and more to the point) I think the story is good and important -- there are people living in these crevices still today, on the edge of society and they need to be seen.  As the story is told, you get the sense that the gang was only noticed by a few reputable people or the law.  Most 'self-respecting' people steered clear.  Why?  Because they looked different, because their music was different and because they were told to.  It is an on-going goal in my life that I try to see beyond what I am being told to see, but books like this one remind me to open my eyes and notices the places in between.  The spots where no one is looking.  The spots where great music and great tragedy can meet.  Because it is in those small spaces that life happens.   


Coming soon: other WW2 books that are well worth reading!

The Wild West, Frontier America and Some Sisters Brothers

 Wild West might be an exaggeration -- but The Sisters Brothers is set in frontier America, on the West Coast, during the Gold Rush -- so really, similar timing, just a *bit* later on.  And, well, not really in the Wild West but more so in the Pacific Corridor.  But you get the picture -- gun-totting, horse-riding, beard-wearing, gold-stealing miscreants on a hit job.  Sounds violent?  It kinda is, but not so much that it is off putting.  Sound sweet and a little touching? No?  Well, it kinda is that too -- the characters are well developed in a simple style and with enough depth that you end up rooting for the apparent 'bad guys'.  

Patrick DeWitt's writing is compelling without being complicated and his off beat sense of humour jumps off the page in little fire cracker moments.  The sparse nature of his narrative adds to the setting and helps you feel the sparseness of life on the edge of the law and society.  Not surprised it won several awards.  Like good food, simple but well executed always triumphs. 

Truly enjoyable read!  That brought a few others to mind...

I've also read Willa Cather's The Song of the Lark and O Pioneers! which are both set in a similar time period -- the cusp of the modern era, the mid-nineteenth century, as the USA finds its footing and its personality.  Cather's writing is more dense (but compared to DeWitt, my 1 year old's books look wordy) but still entices you into a place that seems almost impossible to reach -- what is left of the imagination of discovery and pioneering?  Travel is simple, accessible and common.  I love the spirit of the characters in both DeWitt's work and Cather's: they are all attempting to forage out life against the odds.  

Finally, The Sisters Brothers couldn't help but make me think of one of the strangest little books I have ever read: McTeague.  I had to read McTeague for a class in university, with a professor who taught history without dates and just wanted you to get a 'feel' for the era.  Well, to his credit, I suppose I did.  After all, as I read The Sisters Brothers, that class came right back to my mind (and it has been awhile since I did my undergrad).  All I could think about was the characters and story of McTeague which are almost beyond description.  A multi-layered, graphic look into the psyche of a turn of the century San Franciso, McTeague stays with you -- for better or for worse. 

Books, babies and teething...

Monday morning: it's been a week and our little guy, A, has decided that he is above sleeping.  Or napping.  Or being content.  He has good moments, sure, but he certainly is not himself.  For the first time in 14 months, I feel pretty confident saying this little patch is teething.  Afterall, I can actually see molars and eye teeth pushing through with white little points and I'm guessing that can't feel good.  What also doesn't feel good?  Not sleeping.  Any of us.  And being nine months pregnant & not sleeping = a deep sense of worry.  What will I do when there are two babies?  So, as I cuddle A to sleep and remind myself that all of parenting is more or less a 'phase' I ask myself, what am I modelling for this child?  What am I teaching him?  I hope he is learning that he is deeply loved.  On top of that, I am trying to show him that we read, that we play outside, that we snuggle and that there is no greater gift than love.  But when all you want to do is drift off to sleep all day long, it is hard to remember parenting is an amazing honour and not a tiring burden.

Pride and Prejudice is far and away my favourite book.  But when Elizabeth and her Darcy don't fit the bill, I often turn to another life long friend--Anne of Green Gables.  Particularly Anne of Avonlea and Anne of Ingleside, two in the 7 book series about Canada's favourite willowy red-head.  It was a good thing that I re-read (okay, skimmed for the parts that make my heart swell) Anne of Ingleside last week.  Now a mother, Anne finds herself living with the big adventures of little souls (as well as some classic Anne-Gilbert interaction) and spends a good deal of the book reflecting on motherhood.  She talks of chubby knees, velvet elbows and grasping hands that are so incredible, so lovely and so worth loving.  When A is crying in his crib and B and I are both living in sleep deprivation I listen hard to the words of Anne as she reminds me that this little man (and his soon-to-be sibling) are worth every minute.   What are a few hours of my night?  What are long hours of my day?  What else is more important than nurturing this little soul? Yes, my sanity is up there because that is what I need in order to do the nuturing, but motherhood has made me find that sanity at a deeper level.  Strength from new, deeper sources.  Although Anne Shirley and her little brood are ficticious and not a terribly well balanced look at motherhood, they are nonetheless an example of seeing beyond the precarious moment and remembering that this second is fleeting and worth savouring.   

Not that I think he needs to be spoiled--his newest baby sign language sign is 'please' and we are pretty insistent on responding to 'please' over the point-and-grunt that A so prefers to use.  I also know that sometimes he just has to cry and that you don't learn to walk without falling.  But when he is in pain, a little fevery and distressed, what else can I do?  Perhaps you have ideas.  But in the moment, all I have is my instinct. Thank goodness for books that remind me of truth beyond myself.