The Hope That Sustains

While 2016 was a strange, strange year for almost all involved, one of the biggest personal upheavals for me was the loss of my desire to read.

I've had bouts of reader's block before: from having to read something for school and not being interested, overwhelmed by all the choices on my shelves and unable to choose, or just too involved in other things before I notice the same book has been in my bag for months on end.

Towards the end of the year, when I visited my family for Thanksgiving, I noticed myself falling into old routines from my youth, particularly my ease of grabbing a book when I no longer wanted to continue a conversation. For the first time in months, I devoured two books within the span of a few days. I felt like my old self who could flip pages and take in the content at breakneck speed. Unfortunately, I seemed to lose the motivation again on the flight back to Virginia.

Maybe it was a difference in location once again, but I tore through another book when I went with Brett to his parents' for Christmas, finishing a 300+ page book within roughly 12 hours.

As 2017 moved from future to now, I was reminded by Goodreads to set my reading challenge for the year. I fell woefully short in 2016 (a mere 27 of my 55 goal). I seem to do better in odd-numbered years, oddly enough. So, in an effort to not lower the bar to be too easy, I set my goal as 52—a book for each week.

Yesterday, though, I was looking through one of my many listicles bookmarked with potential "to-read" additions to my list, and I came across a book that I thought, I know I have a ton of books at home, but man, that one sounds really really good.

Another New Year trope is to read organizing and how to de-clutter one's life articles, in an attempt to stave off my inner hoarder of all things printed and bound. One of the suggestions I recently read regarding books, courtesy of everyone's favorite "less is more" guru Marie Kondo, was that the best time to read a book was that initial reaction period when you first had gotten the book, before it was placed on the to-be-read-at-a-later-date-aka-when-I-win-the-lottery-or-inherit-enough-money-to-never-need-to-work-again. She then advised that if you haven't read it within that introductory excitement period, it's best to go ahead and get rid of it.

While I won't heeding that last snippet any time soon (sorry, Brett), I thought of that in the seconds after I had read this book's blurb. Conbine that with yesterday's weirdly rough morning, and bam! I spend my lunch going to Barnes & Noble to pick it up and start reading it before I return to work.

Now, just over 24 hours later and finished with that same book, I feel invigorated in reading again. To try and capitalize on it, and to fulfill some of those goals to myself about writing more, I'm taking on PopSugar's 2017 Reading Challenge to inform which books I read and reviewing them in individual posts.

I know oh so many of you are clamoring to make sure that you don't miss a moment of my book reviews, but don't fret, dear readers. I'll aggregate them on a single special page that I'll link with the appropriate entry as the year progresses.

I feel really hopeful right now, as I usually do after finishing a book. (Usually. I'm looking at you, Bel Canto and Super Sad True Love Story, for being the exceptions to that norm.) I hope that this feeling continues, throughout the year, for all things. But I'll have to remember: this hope came through effort, through action. I can't just sit by idly and expect hope to fall down. I have to make it happen.

Dear Harry: A Love Letter to Books

Lately, I've had the urge to reorganize my books, to put the ones I haven't read towards the front, where I'll read them before the ones I've already read and enjoyed (or not).

Many of my fellow bibliophile friends are sticklers for well-kept books: no creased bindings, no dog-eared pages, no major damage to the book. I'm of the opposite camp: while I am saddened by some damage, especially to vintage tomes, those marks of a well-digested read are as much of an harbinger of memories as the story itself.

In this foray into my hundreds of books (not hyperbole), I came across my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The one I actually read from back in 1999. This book is the best example I have of why I find well-worn books so enjoyable.

The cover itself is fairly intact, considering its age and the distances it's traveled:

Oh, Harry. So young and naive and hopeful.  

I first heard of this orphaned British boy from my 5th grade homeroom teacher. She read various books aloud to us from time to time, to make sure that we were hearing stories outside of the textbooks we read. I recognize now that it's because her background in elementary education made this second-nature to her, even if it seemed to us "baby-ish" at the time. To be completely frank, it's the one thing I can say I liked about her (she is one of my least favorite teachers, for various interactions we had that pivotal year.)

But I digress. She read to us, chapter by chapter, the exploits of this boy who discovered this secret magical world that he was a part of. Her reading schedule was inconsistent, so it could be weeks before we could read more. As someone who read books often in five sittings or less, this was unbearable for me. During spring break in March 2000, my sister, brother, and I were staying with our MoMo (maternal grandmother). She brought us to visit her sister NanNan and NanNan's longtime boyfriend Harry (that's a whole other ballgame, y'all). As a grandmother, MoMo was also very good at the game of spoiling grandchildren, so it didn't take much to get her to stop by the Books-a-Million near NanNan's house. I knew myself well enough that I got both The Sorceror's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. (I was right; I finished SS before getting home to Mississippi later that week.)

The back of the book shows what happened after:

I promise, Officer, it was an accident! 

I have always been a lender of books. Even now, when there are more than I want to remember that never made their way back to me, I am willing to lend someone books without limit (as long I know how to reach you to remind you to return it...) So I lent the book to others who couldn't wait either to learn of what Harry would do next. This wavy set of pages in the back should be familiar to my fellow clumsy people--the aftermath of a spilled Coke. My memory tells me it was my fault on this one, but that it happened at school, so I think it was after someone returned it to me. The missing chunk of backcover? I needed to write something down.

As I grew older and really began to dive deep into the images and ideas that reading can evoke, I even became okay with writing in books. Harry isn't exempt from this. Notes from a young adult lit course I took senior year of undergrad:

Dumbledore gettin' deep.  

The people have questions, Rowling! 

I am always available for snarky commentary. 

This is why I love books with all their scars intact: they show the reader fully ingesting this work rather than treating it as some unattainable object. Interaction with it, letting it inform your life rather than idolizing it.

Don't get me wrong. I still find plenty of beauty in a book that is well-kept and bound and make sure to keep those books safe and secure--I have a Longfellow collection from the 1900's I keep in a showbox to protect it. It's more, for me at least, of an appreciation of the past and what is irreplaceable while knowing that part of reading without abandon means there is risk of harm to the pages. It's a small price to pay to potentially change how we see the world.

Life As I Know It RSS

Day 14 (+2): Book Club--I Promise, We Actually Read (Sometimes...)

[One day, I will catch up to the day. Until then, I will continue to add that plus, to remind myself).

So, yesterday's post talked about a book I read, that I normally wouldn't pick on my own. That's because, I'm in a book club!

It's kind of big for a club (about 30 people), but not everyone shows up every time. Usually about 10 people. Anyway, this post is going to talk about how I found The Cville Page Turners, joined up, and took a hold of my sanity back. And it might be gif-heavy. Because...

Alright, flash back to last April. I was in a slump of a mood, not feeling stimulated intellectually. So I did what any person would do:

I Googled it :P

Came across Meetup.com, a site I had perused before but never really did anything with. If you've never been to the site, you can find groups in your area based on a specific interest, ranging from the norm (nature hikes and such) to the very specific (like vegan women that married foreign men). Okay, that one's not actually a thing, but you get my point.
Anyway, I decided to go with my interest in reading. It would stimulate my mind in a way working in retail wasn't, make me read more, and I could meet fellow readers and gush/scorn with them. I had been in two book clubs before (one as part of a dissertation group, and one that never actually got around to meeting), so I knew the basics of what to expect. Finally found one that

• read books that I might like and read a variety
• wasn't ridiculously large. There's one book club here that has multiple meetings for each month, and you pick the one that fits with your schedule. Though once those very limited meeting spots are filled, you're screwed. And it had 100+ members according to the site, so more than likely I would never have seen someone even two months in a row.
• would meet at night. At the time, I didn't have a set schedule, but I knew that eventually I would want a normal work schedule.

Found The Cville Page Turners (for those of you that are slow, Cville is slang for Charlottesville...). So I signed up for May, checked the book out from my local library, and began to read.

When I pulled into the restaurant that night, I was nervous. Part of me wanted to turn around and leave. Would they like me? (Maybe) Would I be the only one that showed up? (Probably not) Would I be comfortable? (Not entirely, but that's to be expected)

It happened to be a month with only a few of us, so I got to talk extensively with four other people. And I had fun, so I returned the next month. Got to meet a majority of the group that meeting, and reconnect with the others. And I kept coming back.

I really enjoy my book club. We meet at restaurants, so there's no awkward factor of going to someone's house or frazzle factor of hosting it. A large number of us are not Charlottesvillians by birth, so it's nice to be able to connect with someone on that "I didn't grow up here either" level. And while I may not have all the experiences as the other members have (that's the nice way of saying that I'm the youngest in the group by a sizable amount), I get to pick their brains for advice, which is nice. In turn, I let them make fun of how young I am.

I have really liked how it's made me read so many different things. I'd always avoided Dan Brown on lit snob principle--if it sells super duper well, it must not be good. But June's selection was Inferno, the newest in the Robert Langdon series. It gave me as good of an excuse as any to read all the previous ones, which were on my list anyway (if very, very low priority). And there were parts I liked, and parts I didn't, in his works. But I was able to say to myself, Hey! Look! You're learning to look past a book's popularity and actually try it! Good for you for not being as pretentious!

And next month, we're reading A Time to Kill. I've always enjoyed the movie, but never got around to reading the book. So, yay for knocking another one off my list! (It's also the only movie where I like Matthew McConaughey.)

I also like how we talk about the book, but we definitely don't allow that to limit our conversation. We've connected with other things.

Basically, the book club has given me a way to make friends, which has helped me regain some of my sanity back :)

Group hug!

[Side note: yesterday's post was under 500, as I was typing it on my phone and couldn't check my word count, so I made sure this one was long enough to make up for it :P ]

Day 4: Right Beneath Our Feet--A Review of Andrew Carroll's "Here is Where"

Let me start off with saying that this book is much better than what you might imagine if you knew how long it took me to read it (Oct. 22 to Jan. 3).

I first discovered the book sometime this summer on a plane ride (I want to say in May on my way back from my brother's graduation, but it could have been in July on the way back from Seth & Suchi's wedding) in the airplane magazine. They had printed the introduction, which I read and enjoyed. It seemed like something right up my alley for non-fiction: random historical knowledge few people now about, told in a travel log sort of way. When I got back, there was a wait list for a copy from the local library, so I put in my request and kept reading other stuff.

I finally got word back in October that it was my turn. I can't remember if I started reading it right away, but meh, not a big deal.

I re-read the introduction, in which Carroll discusses discovering the Edwin Booth saving Robert Lincoln's life, and visiting the station to get immersed in the place. It's a story I've heard before (many times), but I liked how he went out and searched for the setting--in this case, Exchange Place in Jersey City, NJ. It might not be the same way it was back then, but it's still the same location. What's really astonishing, he says, is that there's no indication of what happened here. And while some people may disagree with him about the importance of this event, he lists the events of note on the plaque there and argues that this happenstance should be noted as well. He goes on, when a passer-by asks him what he's looking at, to recount the Booth/Lincoln tale, something I would as done myself, as I am quite the over-sharer. On his way back to DC, he decides he's going to take a trip to these forgotten bits of history, or even just the ones that aren't really commemorated as they should be.

At first, I was worried--he visited Niihau, HI, and tells the story of a Japanese pilot who crash landed there after Pearl Harbor, and how the villagers fought back to protect America, by keeping the pilot's information papers from him and trying to detain him until authorities got there. It's actually a really great story, and I'm not doing it any justice, but the problem was I had heard this story before as well. It was one of the few times in my life I was angry at myself at being so trivia-nerdy, and hoped that the rest of the book wasn't filled with stories I had heard before.
Thankfully, my fears were soon quelled, as the rest of the book contained American historical stories that I hadn't know.

Well, I was 100 pages into the book, and it was time to return it to the library. Since there was someone else who had requested to borrow it after me, I couldn't renew. So I had to bring it back; I noted my page, and asked the librarian to put it at the bottom of the list.

When I finally got the book again in December, it was heyday season of me reading the book club selection and holiday preparation, so I didn't get started on it again until the day after Christmas. And I powered through the remaining 350 pages pretty quickly.

The book in general is quite good, and I suggest history buffs, fans of travel writing, and almost anyone in general to read it. His voice is quite self-aware, and I found myself giggling at those moments when in his quest across the US put him in awkward positions (like taking pictures of what he thought was a former military base, when it turns out it's very much active, as he soon finds out when the "men in black" roll up). I sighed at some of the more heartbreaking parts of our country's past, like the orphan children from large cities shipped out to the country (with the best of intentions) to help them from starving on the streets but often found themselves in worse, more laborious situations. I cringe at some of the medical stuff, especially when Dr. Joseph Goldberger, in an effort to prove that pellagra was a deficiency disease like scurvy and not communicable, "mixed the dried, flaky scabs from various pellagrins with their urine, nasal secretions, and liquid feces, and then, as colleagues looked on, swallowed the concoction whole." I don't know what's worse: this disgusting act, or the fact that I could think of a very similar situation immediately. As Brett aptly put it when I told him about Goldberger, "Science is gross sometimes."

My only problem with the book is the way that he goes off on tangents at every site. And while there are connections and the line of thinking is easy to follow, it becomes information overload sometimes, and fairly quickly. I could see people that prefer the more "straight-shootin' " type of writing to be put off by his winding way of having everything connect. Which they do, quite naturally, in unexpected ways.

I'll end my review with the quote he begins the last chapter with:

I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list.--Susan Sontag

This book made me want to go out and search for places, to show my gratitude for what other people did to advance my country in various ways. And while I'm not planning on making a cross-country trip to do so (though that would be fun), I'll get to all the places on my list eventually.

Day 2: "My Best Friend is a Person Who Will Give Me a Book I Have Not Read.”

Abe Lincoln speaking some truth right there.

When you step in my small but cozy apartment, the first thing you notice? The books.
There's a short but wide bookshelf to your right, under the the front window. It's my newest addition and one I'm particularly proud of--not only did I buy it new for half-price (thanks for closing, Office Depot down the road!), but I put it together 95% by myself. [Brett helped hold a piece while I screwed it into the base] And the shelf looks damn spiffy, if I do say so myself.
The next one is behind the loveseat. It's taller but skinny. It's technically Brett's, but I feel connected to it as well, because I was there when he got it and helped put it together.
Right next to that one is a plastic one, kind of like this one. I got it while in Herget, because I needed some way to give my desk more space. More for office supplies and that sort of thing. However, like a lot of my square-shaped furniture, it has become a bookshelf, save for one square that's holding my teaching materials box.
In the corner next to that one is a converted DVD shelf. My roommates from Brightside were leaving (I had taken over a sublease), and one of them was leaving the shelf. I was all, You're not taking that? She responded no and asked if I wanted it. I giddily took it off her hands (no exaggeration). It's held up pretty well.
The last and largest (at 6 ft.) is my baby. It was a graduation gift from Brett, and it's taken a bit of a beating between Brightside and here. But nothing a little wood glue couldn't fix. The best part is the top of it is stable enough to stack books upon as well.

If you've gotten this far, you're probably thinking, this girl is insane. Five bookshelves in one room? Does she have enough books to fill them?

The short answer? Yes. I actually have more books than shelf space.

A large portion of my books are in cardboard boxes still. The cardboard boxes were at one point in time all stacked atop one another to the side, serving as a makeshift book shelf. Surprisingly, it lasted until early last month (a year and a half) before toppling, and only the top ones fell.

Why so many books, you ask? Well, for a few reasons:

• I have always, always, enjoyed reading. I was that kid that squealed at getting B&N gift cards at Christmas time.
• Problem of being a good reader is you usually fly through the books you do have fairly quickly. And while I did go to the local library as a kid, the Humphreys County library isn't large by any means.
• I can't pass up a good deal at a garage sale/book bazaar/thrift shop. Ever.

Possibly a picture from my youth.

• I like to have the books I've read. I have memories tied to those books, so it's hard to part with them, even if I thought the story stunk.

I know the final hard copy count is somewhere around 1100. I also have at least a hundred or so digital books (some PDFs, some Nook-based), those some of those I have in hard copy too. [You can never have too many copies of Jane Eyre.]

The main reason I keep my books though is they're a comfort. Put me in a place with tons of books, and I'm instantly at ease. While the way we read them and what we get from them changes, the books themselves stay the same. And there's a peace I get from that.

And I really really just like to read.