The Power of Books

I am in fourth grade.  We have a period in our school day called SSR, sustained silent reading.  For fifteen minutes a day we are all, including the teacher, to be reading for pleasure.  We are allowed to choose any book we want, even a comic book.  The teacher sets a timer to let us know when our time is up. 

I look forward to SSR every single day.  It's part of what is keeping me sane this year because the teacher is a nightmare.  I've never gotten in trouble in school.  I am careful to do my homework and turn it in.  I get good grades.  For some reason though this teacher has it out for me and for about three other girls in class.  He looses our homework and makes us re-do it.  He accuses us of misbehavior when we are behaving.  He makes nasty comments at every turn. 

SSR is my chance to retreat into some pages and find relief. I may only be nine years old but books have been my refuge for a long time already.  It's easy to get lost in the world between the pages and I often do.  This is something encouraged by both my parents.  They regard it as a good thing.

Two years ago I discovered a biography of Helen Keller.  I was amazed by her teacher Anne Sullivan who was able to reach into a world of silence and darkness and anger and rescue a little girl who had no way to make herself understood before.  I was impressed by Helen's determination to overcome once she understood there was a world of words at her disposal.  It gave me hope that I could deal with whatever problems I had because mine certainly weren't nearly so challenging. 

This year I have found biographies about Martin Luther King, Jr. and Harriet Tubman.  They are more people who overcame more than I ever imagined could happen to a person.  I read about how Dr. King was able to allow himself to be mistreated without striking back in order to make his message be heard and to demonstrate the rightness of it.  I learn his powerful words that challenge us to our best selves.  I read about Harriet Tubman's bravery to not only escape the abuse of slavery but courage to walk back to it in order to bring others out.  I learn she could not read books but she could read people and nature and she did not allow her deficiency to define her.

I read all of these things during SSR, during the respite from harsh words and taunting words and what I will one day learn are entirely unprofessional and inexcusable words.  I am lost in my book, inspired, refreshed, strengthened, when I hear more words.  "Miss Lime... Miss LIME....MISS LIME.  Well class, I suppose we'll just move on to math class without her since Miss Lime can't seem to be bothered to join us.  She's too involved in her books."  His last word drips with disdain before he lets loose with a derisive cackle with the class joining him.  When his words and laughter register I feel a fleeting moment of shame before I remember the character and lessons of my true teachers in between the pages of my books.  This man and his methods are unworthy of my embarrassment.

Bibliophilia

I'm currently reading Ex Libris by Anne Fadiman.  I'm enjoying it but I'm not even halfway through.  Fadiman suggests there are two types of book lovers.  There are courtly lovers who treasure the physical properties as much as the intellectual content of a book.  As such they are utterly horrified by dog-earing, laying a book face-down and splayed open to save a spot, writing in margins, and other forms of mutilation (Fadiman even recounts the story of a friend who would not use overly thick bookmarks).  There are also carnal lovers for whom marking up a page with one's own notes, carrying a book into a sauna, or even tearing out pages are expressions of consuming love unconcerned with maintaining the physical integrity of the book since it is only the ideas contained therein that matter.

Fadiman puts both feet firmly in the camp of being a carnal book lover as she describes the indelicacies of her treatment of bound volumes.  I am breathless at the carnage perpetrated upon her books.  Clearly, it would seem I am a courtly bibliophile.  Since infancy my children have been instructed in the proper care of books and they have had an extensive library at their disposal.  When they took books from the public library the rules became even stricter as to what was permitted.  Diana herself can tell you the story of months worth of drying the dishes for money to replace the library book she took to the tree house and left in a puddle overnight when she was about seven years old (At Chez Lime personal books were permitted in the yard but library books remained indoors).

That said, I have to confess my own carnal tendencies toward a few of my books which bear considerable underlining and margin notes.  As for Diana, even though she is a heavy underliner and note taker, I do believe she would recoil at the notion of ripping a page out of any book.  I would posit a third type of book lover.  The common book lover recognizes the value of physical integrity as a courtly lover but does not consume the book in the same destructive orgy as a carnal lover.  The common lover merely leaves his or her marks upon the book in a way that makes it even more personal and more beloved.

So now I ask all of you.  Are you courtly, common, or carnal lovers of books?  Do different books warrant different types of love? What are the marks of your love or the efforts you take to avoid marks out of love?

Hi I'm Lime...

...and I'm a book-aholic.

But I have no intention of entering any kind of program or counseling to change this addiction.  In fact, I recently joined the local library's "Friends" group so I can encourage the addiction.  I did this after going to the used book sale...twice...The first time was with a mere $20 in my pocket.  I reasoned I would be naturally limited in what I purchased as a result.  Oh, it's so much fun to live in my delusions. At $1 for hardcover books and 50 cents for paperbacks there were too many bargains to be had.  I just whipped out my checkbook.  All I can say is it's a good thing they don't accept credit cards.  Shoes and clothing hold no allure in shopping but I am not to be trusted with a credit card in a book store.

When I returned a couple of days later it was $4 a bag day.  I took my own bag, which was smaller than the bags they offer.  I still crammed it to overflowing.  I have 50 new-to-me books sitting on my dining room table waiting to be shelved (on shelves which have a decided lack of space).  This does not count the dozen children's books I purchased, some to give away, some to add to my own collection. (Yes, I collect Caldecott Winner and Honor books because even as a grown up I love a well done picture book and some day I will have grandchildren who need to be read to.  If my children never reproduce I will go out and find little people who need to be read to.)  In the den, I have an entire wall of shelves that are full.  I have a small shelf unit in the living room that is full.  My living room has stacks of books on the floor.  My night stand has more stacks of books. 

I dream of building my own house, not so I can have some huge mansion but so I can customize spots for all my books.  I'd make spots like this, or this, or this, or ooohh...this...and furnish the house with this, or this.

I found out the county library is considering moving one of its branches to across the street from my office.  I could indulge during lunch hour!  Oh happy day!

I am itching for my annual visit to Maryland so I can take a huge stack of books to chew through while I sit on the beach.

If loving books is wrong, I don't want to be right.

RIP Mr. Sendak

Maurice Sendak has died.  Most folks will recall him for his book Where the Wild Things Are.  It's a wonderful book with a naughty protagonist, Max.  It was rather revolutionary in that it was descriptive of the inner life of a child rather than prescriptive in how the child should behave.  Sendak respected his audience enough to let them be who they were.

Among my favorite Maurice Sendak works are the illustrations to Elsie Holmelund Minarik's Little Bear series of books.  I had such fond memories of those books as a child that when I became a mother I sought them out for my own children.  I loved how Little Bear's own imaginary life was depicted and validated.

Mr. Sendak, thank you for giving children credit for greater sophistication than many grown-ups conceive and for both sparking and celebrating imagination for generations.  You live on in your wonderful books and illustrations.  And now, let the wild rumpus start!

Some Have Suggested I Have a Problem

Remember when I posted about how sad I was about Borders closing?  Well, I've been there several times since that post.  I can't help myself.  When I drive past and I know I don't have to be anywhere there is a strong magnetic pull and the car turns itself into the parking lot.  I always assume I won't find anything because the pickings have to be getting slim.  And yet. I always come out with an armload of books.

Sometimes I sneak the bags of books into the house and hide them away.  I keep books stacked all over my house so I can put my hands on them whenever I feel the need.  There are full shelves in the den, a "to red" pile in the living room, gift books hidden in my bedroom closet, piles of recent purchases on the dining room table, single books scattered about the house in random places, and still a couple bags from the library's summer used book sale (another dangerous place for me, especially on dollar a bag day).

I decided to gather up the recent Borders finds and see just how many it was*.  Even I was surprised.  In my defense I've already read several of them.

* I found 3 more scattered through the house after I took the picture.

Swiped from Suldog

Suldog did this over at his place. His list was so interesting and varied I loved it so, of course, I decided to swipe it. Here are the instructions he posted.

List 15 books that had a dramatic impact on your life, or that make you happy in your pants, or that you took out of the library and never returned, or something like that. Anyway, list 15 books. Folks who are looking for a good read will find some worthy choices, while folks who like lists will be gratified.

I'm not sure any of them made me happy in my pants but maybe as I go along I will find one. If I do, I'll let ya know.



1. Go, Dog, Go! by P. D. Eastman. I learned to read before I ever went to kindergarten. My parents both instilled a love of books when I was very young. My mother taught me to read before I ever entered school. It's probably a very good thing because there were a number of teachers who seemed determined to make me hate reading. My parents' early influence was a good inoculation against school inflicted drudgery. As it happened, they also encouraged me to express my opinion. So when, in the due course of time, I entered kindergarten and found the available reading material less than fascinating I let my teacher know. I requested to bring in my favorite book from home and read it to the class. She insisted I did not know how to read. She thought she could placate me by offering to read what I brought in IF it proved suitable. I insisted on presenting the book myself and assured her I could, in fact, read it myself. She remained unconvinced until she spoke with my mother. Thus I came to read this book to my class during story time. Really, how could anyone not love the way the tension builds between the boy dog and the girl dog trying to impress him with her various hats? Who could resist the exciting tree top dog party at the end? Only those with the dullest imaginations. That's who!



2. The Crane Maiden by Miyoko Matsutani, Ill. by Chihiro Iwasaki. This was a book my mother got as a freebie trying to lure her to subscribe regularly to a children's book club. It's based on a Japanese folktale about an poor, childless, older couple who aid an injured crane. Shortly thereafter a young woman who needing shelter appears on their doorstep and offers to pay for her keep by weaving cloth for them to sell. Her only condition is that no one must watch her while she weaves. The couple agree but eventually give in to curiosity thus discovering the girl turns into a great crane who plucks feathers from her body to weave into the beautiful cloths. The crane maiden must leave once her secret is discovered. Although it has a sad ending I loved the story and I was utterly captivated by the illustrations. Long after I gave up other picture books I'd take this one off the shelf and marvel over the soft watercolors. I still love artfully done picture books and would love to have a collection of all the Caldecott winners.



3. The Favorite Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris. Dad brought this home for me after returning from a business trip. Mom seemed horrified by it. She hated the poor example of grammar in the dialogue and the somewhat un-PC tone. In retrospect, I think she also hated it because of other things that went on during that business trip. Anyway, after Dad left, Mom told me I wasn't allowed to have the book at our house. I had to keep it at Dad's. PC or not, the stories made me laugh. I liked that the language was "bad." It was strange to realize books could make people angry but I liked sitting on Daddy's lap while he read such subversion to me.






4. Helen Keller biography. I have to admit I am not sure who wrote the version I remember reading as a child. My mother had taken my brother and me to the Jersey Shore for a weekend when I was 7. We were each allowed to pick one souvenir from a shop on the boardwalk. Nothing appealed to me until we found a bookstore. I was in heaven. I'd been to the library bunches of times but this was the first time I remember being set loose in a bookstore and being told I could pick one to take home forever. I took a VERY long time to choose. I found this book and was immediately intrigued by the blurb about how a woman who was blind and deaf could manage to succeed in the world. Life seemed like a tremendous trial at that time since it was only about a year after Dad left. When I read this and saw all that Ms. Keller had overcome I felt a spark of hope. She became one of my heroes and I reread that book so many times it nearly fell apart. I was also proud of the book because it was the first "grown up book" I ever read. By that I mean it had chapters and no pictures. I felt very big being able to manage a book like that. It set me on a path of loving biographies, memoirs, and stories of overcoming adversity that has lasted to this day.



5. The Funk and Wagnalls New Encyclopedia. (no longer published in hard copy) Dad bought this for my brother and me after the divorce. At first I thought it was a very strange thing for him to do, but I was only 8. What did I know? Well, with this set I could eventually answer that with, "Lots!" I spent many a rainy day pulling volumes out so I could follow cross references. Hours would pass and I'd suddenly notice I had more books spread on the floor and flipped open than remained on the shelf. As great as Google is, there is nothing quite like being able to see all the information spread out in sequence on the floor in front of you. It helped me see connections between things. It instilled confident nerdiness. It was fun to know things.




6. The Little Prince by Antoine de St. Exupery. Yes, another "children's book" but I think it should be required reading for everyone regardless of age. Over the years I have found a number of people who share a special fondness for this book. I think there is a very sweet kinship between those of us who would include this on our list of favorites. I read it for the first time in 3rd year French class. This required us to go slowly. It was discussed at length during class obviously as a means of getting us reading and conversing in French but the teacher also clearly had a deep love of this story and wanted to impart its lessons beyond grammar and comprehension. Some of the students thought this was all very smarmy and overly sentimental. The Little Prince tamed me (if you've ever read it you will understand exactly what that means). M. Colasanti, merci de me présenter au petit prince. This book and the next one on the list are the only two I own in 3 different languages.



7. The Bible, NIV. As a high school student I received a copy of the New International Version. It was in a form of language I could understand instead of all that flowery, antiquated language. Although I always read ahead of grade level I've also always had a mental block against that style. Even Shakespeare can drive me batty. This was approachable and comprehensible. I was deeply grateful to be able to "get" what it was saying after spending a portion of my teen years terrified of reading this book. After all, it was a heavy, gilt-edged volume that was read in very serious tones on Sunday morning. My fingers or eyeballs might catch fire if someone so unholy as me were to dare touch it or attempt to understand it. Really, I thought that until I laid my hands on a version I could understand. Not bursting into flames was a pretty transformative experience. The added benefit of comprehension proved to be even more so.




These are only the books that had a dramatic impact on me before I ever reached adulthood. Ok, I realize if I give this much of a review on all 15 books I am going to loose everyone long before they get to the end of the post. In the interest of keeping readers interested (and milking an idea for as long as I reasonably can), I'm going to break this into 2 parts. You'll get the books which impacted me as an adult next week.