Books

Why I Read

October 15, 2011

I know a few people who simply don’t read. Well, that’s not quite accurate—they don’t read books. They read things on the internet, or they flip through magazines or the newspaper. Some simply aren’t interested in books, while others say they fall asleep as soon as they sit down with a book.

This is unthinkable.

My life would be immeasurably poorer without books. They’ve been my teachers and companions since I first deciphered letters on the page. If I were an Egyptian queen, I’d want to be buried with my library.


“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.”
—Jorge Luis Borges

I find connection with other people through reading—a sort of validation that my feelings and thoughts are not unique to the world. I find this particularly in the writings of women, especially those who have the experience of trying to balance family commitments with some type of artistic life.

“We read books to find out who we are. What other people, real or imaginary, do and think and feel is an essential guide to our understanding of what we ourselves are and may become.”
 —Ursula K. Le Guin

I read to learn—not only about practicalities, like how to take better photos (The Digital Photography Book) or use my time more effectively (168 Hours), but to see what it would be like to live in a different time, or as a man, or even as a horse (Black Beauty). As a writer, I read to improve my writing by immersing myself in beautiful language. I observe how other writers structure their work, and play with words. I read to try to understand other people’s points of view, thus expanding my own. I read to escape to new worlds, to laugh, to enrich my life. I know reading books isn't the only way to do these things, but I feel that people who don't read books miss out on a lot.

“If you would understand your own age, read the works of fiction produced in it. People in disguise speak freely.”
—Sir Arthur Helps

Mostly, though, I read for the sheer pleasure of it.


Why do you read?

“In a very real sense, people who have read good literature have lived more than people who cannot or will not read. It is not true that we have only one life to lead; if we can read, we can live as many more lives and as many kinds of lives as we wish.”
—S.I. Hayakawa

October

October

October 12, 2011


Here’s a poem of mixed feelings by Don Thompson to help us launch October. Thompson lives in Buttonwillow, California, which sounds like the name of a town in a children’s story, don’t you think? [Introduction by Ted Kooser]

October

I used to think the land
had something to say to us,
back when wildflowers
would come right up to your hand
as if they were tame.

Sooner or later, I thought,
the wind would begin to make sense
if I listened hard
and took notes religiously.
That was spring.

Now I’m not so sure:
the cloudless sky has a flat affect
and the fields plowed down after harvest
seem so expressionless,
keeping their own counsel.

This afternoon, nut tree leaves
blow across them
as if autumn had written us a long letter,
changed its mind,
and tore it into little scraps.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by Don Thompson, whose most recent book of poetry is Where We Live, Parallel Press, 2009. Reprinted from Plainsongs, Vol. 30, no. 3, Spring 2010, by permission of Don Thompson and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2011 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Happiness

What Is This Feeling?

October 10, 2011

Something strange happened this morning. I was driving to pick up my mother-in-law after she dropped off the rental car she needed following an accident that totaled her vehicle but left her with only some sore muscles, when I suddenly felt…happy. I felt the dark mood of worry and anxiety that has so often hovered over me this year—this year that was supposed to be all about “light”—lift off my shoulders.

My word of the year—light—has been anything but. If I wished and hoped it would bring me a lessening of problems and concerns, I was wrong. This year my family has had broken bones and family explosions and sick animals and car accidents. I’ve watched and mourned for those afflicted by natural disasters, and worried over the state of the economy, the nation and the world. And you know what? We’re still here. We still have each other, enough to eat, a comfortable home. We’ve coped just fine with everything 2011 has thrown at us, not because of my worry and anxiety, but despite it. Worry and anxiety have done nothing for me except steal the joy from the present moment.

Perhaps I chose “light” (it chose me?) so that I could begin to learn the lesson of letting go—letting go of what I can’t change or affect, letting go of worry, letting go of the future and concentrating on the now. No, not just concentrating on—rejoicing in.

For just a few moments this morning, I realized If I were to stop worrying about the future, I would be happy. I would feel a lot more light. And for a few moments, I actually felt that way.

Life is good
What have been 2011’s lessons for you?

Fear

If Only

October 05, 2011


“Fear is temporary. Regret is forever.”
—Seen on a t-shirt

Quirks

Got Quirks?

October 03, 2011

“Indulging our quirks is the secret of contentment.”
—Sarah Ban Breathnach, Romancing the Ordinary

I have a complaint. Where has the Table of Contents gone? Two of the books I’m reading have chapters with names instead of just numbers, but no Table of Contents. The publisher couldn’t spare the space or paper for a Table of Contents, yet they can have a page in the back with details about the book’s typeface?! I’m as interested in the typeface as the next person (not very), but I’d rather be able to read the chapter titles and speculate on their contents. I also like consulting the TOC to see how I’m progressing through the book. I don’t like flipping through the book to read the chapter titles, or trying to assess my progress through them this way. It’s just one of my quirks.

A quirk is a peculiarity of behavior, an idiosyncrasy. Our quirks are part of the reason we are who we are—and most of them are completely harmless, though they may seem strange to others. Some of them become habits, or even superstitions—like the hockey players who will not step on the team logo on the floor of their locker room (and won’t allow visitors to do so, either) or the Hollywood writer who backs out of a room in which something good happened.

Quirks can be as simple as whether you put on both socks, then both shoes, or a sock and a shoe and a sock and a shoe; how you take your shower; in what order you eat the foods that make up your dinner (“never end with a bite of something you don’t like”). Some of my additional quirks include:
  • I often get the hiccups when I take the first sip or two of a carbonated drink.
  • I don’t like mayonnaise on anything except steamed artichokes.
  • I keep lists of all the books I read each year.
  • I talk to my dog and my horse just like they are people. (They don’t talk back, however, at least in words…)
  • I prefer to slice fruit like apples, peaches or plums rather than eat them whole.
I could go on, but…I’d like to know: what are some of your quirks? Do you ever try to change them?

Morning quirk habit