Things I've Read, February 2015: Mostly about stories really
Dear reader,
A terrible thing happened in this last month. I looked up from my Kindle and admitted it to Mary: "I don't feel like reading." It's been that kind of month, with thoughts slow like molasses and a weighty heart. Part of it, perhaps is a new year, and a new season of writing projects which brings both rising excitement, and being dragged down by the hand of expectations.
Not feeling like reading isn't the worst thing in the world, but it is a thing of some substance when being paid as a writer and reader. What did I do?
I waited, I kept at it, I drank lots of coffee. I wrote sporadically in a journal. I thought about stories.
Which brings me to The Faraway Nearby by Rebecca Solnit, which is parts memoir, reflection on family (and the loss of her mother to Alzheimer's) and interconnected essays. And a reflection on story. Here's the part I quoted to my friend Sonia:
"Stories are compasses and architecture; we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice ... Which means that a place is a story, and stories are geography, and empathy is first of all an act of imagination, a storyteller's art, and then a way of traveling from here to there."
So many things are about the stories that we tell ourselves - the narratives that we build around us to keep us going forward. The story that I needed to be a good enough writer to engage in this project (i.e. pride), the story of what being a good parent/husband/writer/Christian looks like, the story that addresses the gap between who we are and who we think we're meant to be.
From a similar lens of re-examination is Tiny Beautiful Things, a book compiled from internet advice columnist Dear Sugar. Which may sound to you like it sounded to me: a terrible idea for a book. Except that as with everything, it's not about the idea but the execution, and gosh, the writing in this book is somehow tender, warm, funny, wise and above all things, honest. She confronts difficult topics with the bravery that only scars can bring, and we're all the better for it. Here's an example column about writing that I keep reading over and over (slight language warning).
Finally, All the Light We Cannot See is one of those books that lots of people are already talking about, and lots more people will be talking about soon. You can't help The Book Thief comparisons—it's set in World War II and features unconventional viewpoints—but this is perhaps better. The prose is consistently melodic and eloquent, the fabric of research behind it is outstanding. I remain a little unsure about the way the ending comes together, but that is a small quibble against a thoroughly enjoyable book. Recommended, especially if you, like me, like to get ahead of 'what everyone else is reading'.
But then, that's just another story I like to tell myself, I guess.
If you read any of these things, or want to recommend something to me, I would love to hear from you.
Best,
Guan