When books are more than just books

As I continue reading Lord of the Rings, I am getting further and further drawn into Middle Earth. My love for Sam Gamgee is growing very quickly, and I got chills while reading the stories told in the Counsel at Rivendell. Seriously--chills. I could think that I shouldn't have put off reading the book for so long, but on the other hand, I wonder if I needed to be where I am now to enjoy it as much as I am. It's been long enough since I've seen the movies that nothing from them is fresh in my mind (besides remembering Orlando Bloom as Legolas...), so I feel untainted as I read. I just came off reading another fantasy book that set me up for reading about lands unfamiliar to anyone but fans of the books, which prepped my brain for reading a lot of names of places that only exist on a hand-drawn map in an appendix. It also helped, I think, that I was ready to read a book that went into more detail about the fantastic journeys of the main character--if you remember from my last post, I mentioned that as one of the few things I didn't enjoy about A Wizard of Earthsea. I wanted more details from it, and Lord of the Rings gives me more detail about its story and characters. A lot more detail. So my brain and my book soul are happy.

It amazes me that we all have those books that we have to read at just the right time to really get the full impact of them. I have several books that sat on my shelves after buying them for a long time (or that sat on my books-to-read list for a long time), only to get picked up at just the right moment for me to enjoy them most. Books included in that category are Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier), The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake (Aimee Bender), Garden Spells (Sarah Addison Allen), Lake of Dead Languages (Carol Goodman), The House at Riverton (Kate Morton), The Secret History (Donna Tartt), Water for Elephants (Sara Gruen), The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows), Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen), and The Inner Game of Stress (W. Timothy Gallwey)--among other great books. These--and others like them--are then the ones that I often talk about most and share most freely with friends. And yet they're often the ones that take me the longest to pick up.

I think that avid readers--or maybe it's just me--have a sort of book ESP. We know when we pick up a book or choose one from the store that it's going to change the game for us. Maybe the book is going to make us look at life differently or at other books differently. Maybe the book is that comforting friend we may need in a time of craziness. Maybe that book will serve as our private moment of escape when we need it most. Because of that special little bit of knowledge that largely remains unconscious, we avoid picking up the book until the right moment--whether it's a week or three years down the road. Then, when we do read it, it becomes a part of us. I can't look at some of the books on my shelves without being taken immediately to the feelings I had when first reading the book. I can't part with most of my books (even though books are heavy to move, and we seem to move a lot) because, to me, they are more than just books.

I also acknowledge here that I don't get that feeling about all books that end up becoming very special to me and were, in fact, impulse purchases that I read immediately after buying. The Help (Katheryn Stockett) and The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield) are examples of books like that. However, maybe that impulse is the same as the impulse I get to read a book I already own--maybe it's all connected.

I think people who read for the love of reading have a very special connection that non-readers just can't understand. That's why my husband can't figure out why I get miffed when I'm interrupted mid-chapter in a book that I've been buried in all day. That's why people don't always understand how hard it is for me to put down a book in the morning to start working on things that actually have to get done. Books feed my soul. And the really good books--the ones that touch me most--become a part of me. The characters cease to be words on pages and become role models, friends, stories of my own past.

That's some deep thought for a Wednesday morning... It's also completely different than what I had intended to write when I sat down to type a post. Funny how those things work.

Tackling a Doozy: LOTR

Yesterday I finished reading Ursula K. Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea. In truth, I've had the book for some time but didn't get the inspiration to actually sit down and read it until I watched the movie The Jane Austen Book Club. In the movie, one of the characters mentions several times that one of his favorite authors is Le Guin, which made me think, "I should really read that book and find out what all this fuss is about." You see, that wasn't the first time someone had told me (yes, I realize the movie wasn't directly speaking to me) to read her books--which is why I had A Wizard of Earthsea on my shelf in the first place. I needed a break from heavy reading and thought a 200-page fantasy novel just might hit the spot.

And, for the most part, it did. I was frustrated at times because I wanted more from the story, but I realize that I may need to read the rest of the series to get that something more that I wanted. There were details mentioned but never connected, and--here you can really tell I'm a linguist--none of the names (of people or places) sounded truly authentic. The book mentions that the main character speaks Hardic while others speak other languages; yet, on the maps, the islands have names like "The Hands." I know, I know--it's meant for younger readers, and I'm most likely one of the few to get bothered by so much English throughout the book. However, I did like the depth of intent for the story. For how much is packed into such a small book, the story itself has a lot of character. So, in the end, I enjoyed the book. I'm not sure I enjoyed it enough to go out and buy the next one, but I may check my local library for them...

Once I finished reading A Wizard of Earthsea, I sat in front of my bookshelf for a while, trying to decide what to read next. Some people may remember that I went on a kick a while back to read all my unread books. I had one of those moments when I realized just how many books I owned that I had yet to crack the cover. I'm nearing the end of my reading quest, and I'm down to only 20 books that I haven't read, but some of them are doozies (in the sense that they are pretty darn long and will take some time to finish). So as I sat there, I decided that I should start tackling the doozies to make the rest of my reading quest look easy. The three biggest books swam before my eyes: Pillars of the Earth, Just Enough Jeeves (a collection of Jeeves novels by Wodehouse), and Lord of the Rings. Since I had just finished a fantasy book, I decided I'd tackle Lord of the Rings first (the entire collection--all 1100 pages of it).

I picked it up with trepidation. I tried to read The Hobbit some time ago and stopped about 100 pages in, uninterested in finishing it. I watched all three Lord of the Rings movies but didn't leave feeling like I had witnessed something amazing (just something cool). I figure the movies problem is that I didn't read the books first and missed out on a lot of character development and such (which is why I tell people never to watch the Harry Potter movies unless they've first read the books). My biggest worry was my lack of success with The Hobbit. That in and of itself is pretty funny because I bought the Lord of the Rings long after failing with The Hobbit. You may wonder why I'd do such a thing, and my reason is simple: I teach an invented languages course, and two years ago when I was planning out lectures for my course, I thought I'd need to read Lord of the Rings to speak credibly about the Elvish languages. It may seem silly, but it also seemed very important to me at the time. Once I got the book, though, I had a lot of things going on and put the book by my desk, promptly forgetting to read it. Now, two years later, I'm teaching the invented languages course again: perfect timing to pick the book up again.

I decided I wouldn't pressure myself and would even start reading another book while reading a chapter at at time from Lord of the Rings, if need be. But here's the surprising part: I'm over 100 pages into the book (so roughly 10% finished) and loving it. I haven't bothered picking out a "back-up" book because I'm enjoying LOTR so much. I realize that hundreds of thousands (millions even?) of readers who have read the books before me are probably saying, "Yeah, we know!" For me, though, it's a pretty big deal that I'm liking the book so much. I can't decide if it's that I just needed to give it a chance or if I'm at a place in my life where I can better appreciate the story.

I suppose it just goes to show that books you've purchased are ones that you should at least try to read.

Who Says America Isn't Reading?

I hear complaints all the time that Americans are no longer reading, yet reading trends have swept the country. First it was Harry Potter, and now it is Twilight. Evidence of our country's love for Twilight came in the form of a list of the most popular names for babies in 2009 (the link here is to the article on MSNBC). The top two names in our country are Isabella and Jacob. While Edward didn't make the top list, a surprising leap of the name Cullen came from 2008 to 2009. I wonder why Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't top the lists of the preceding years...

The Twilight phenomenon fascinates me. I am one of the many readers in our country (and beyond) who gulped the books down when they came out, but now looking back on the series, I get bugged by themes presented in the books. I get mad that Bella is such a wishy-washy character, and I feel that the love presented in the books is an idealized, yet archaic form of what love could be. It's funny how angry I get, but I can't deny the addictive nature of the books. I know that if I were to pick up Twilight right now, I would read all four books without stopping all over again. Just like I know I can't pick up the first Harry Potter without continuing on to read all seven books in the series. (As a side note, I do not think Twilight holds a candle to the Harry Potter series. I'm simply using it as a comparison.)

Do you have any books like that in your life? Ones that if you take the time to think about them, you wouldn't want to read them, yet you still love them?

Voting for the book I'll be reading once I finish my current one is still going on in the left-hand sidebar. Please make your way over there to cast your vote so you can have a say in what book I'll read next.

Happy reading!

To Keep Reading or Not To Keep Reading... That is the Question

At what point do you, as a reader, give up trying to read a book? I find it difficult to call it quits when I'm reading--I keep pushing myself, thinking, "It might get better on the next page. What if I miss something?" The fear of missing something is what made me never want to take baths in the evening as a kid--what if I left the living room and something amazing happened while I was gone? I couldn't let myself be the only one to miss something potentially amazing. When I look at books, I look at each page as being a new possibility for something amazing, so it is no small feat for me to put down a book only to never pick it up again--I might wait a year before actually finishing it, but I usually finish books I start. If I don't finish them, it's a testament to how much I dislike the book (whether the dislike is due to style or plot or character or all of the above).

Why am I stressing about this now? Nearly a year ago, I started reading I, Elizabeth by Rosalind Miles after a student suggested the book. At first, I was enthralled because the language drew me in, and I'm fascinated by Queen Elizabeth and that whole era. But then I started getting frustrated by the density of the book and by Miles's take on Queen Elizabeth. I've found that I'm a fan of interpretations of Elizabeth as a minx--no, a vixen--who knew what she wanted and did what she needed to in order to get it. I like thinking of her as a progressive woman before her time who took the world and moved it in the direction she saw fit. In I, Elizabeth, though, Elizabeth is portrayed more as a woman who had things happen to her instead of being a woman who shaped those things. She is more passive and innocent, which is making it hard for me to continue the book and cheer her on. I'm frustrated. I'm 273 pages into a 618-page book, and I feel like the story still hasn't started yet.

I made it a goal for me to finish that book before picking up The Brightest Star in the Sky by Marian Keyes, but I just couldn't. So I started reading MK's book, and I'm halfway through it already and loving every minute of it. And I'm staring at I, Elizabeth, wondering if I should push myself to continue, little by little, and finish the book or call it a bust and put it in the donation pile. I keep thinking that maybe the next chapter will be the one that pulls me in, but, as my sister so wisely put it, if I'm 270 pages into a book and still not intrigued, chances are I won't find that something amazing on page 280. Even if I do, would it be amazing enough to be worth the first 273 pages of lackluster reading?

What would you do? Would you force yourself to finish the book? Or would you realize the book just wasn't for you and move on?

Perfect Reading Days

I love remembering perfect reading days. Some reading days are perfect because of what I am reading—how could any day that I get to read Sarah Addison Allen be a bad reading day? But other days are perfect because of the atmosphere I’m in while I’m reading. The book being good is an added bonus, but the atmosphere is what I remember--and the atmosphere is what I'm celebrating today. Based on atmosphere alone, here are my top five perfect reading days:


5. Family Camping Trip
This one is the vaguest of the memories I have because I don’t remember how old I was or where exactly we were… but one summer while my family was camping (a pretty regular summer tradition for us back then), I spent my days sitting outside in a lawn chair and reading. Book after book. I don’t even remember what books I was reading, but since I know I was young-ish (9-12 range), they were probably not incredibly long or in-depth books. Even with all the vagueness surrounding the memory, what is crystal clear is the feeling I had as I was sitting in nature and completely losing myself in books. As soon as I finished one, I got another because I never wanted the feeling to end. For me, everything physically surrounding me disappeared: the mosquitos (even as they were eating me alive), the humidity, the heat—everything but the sounds of nature to add a soundtrack for my reading.

4. College, freshmen year

When I was a freshman in college, a friend loaned me some Frank Peretti books. I devoured three books in one weekend, and while I enjoyed the books, I remember even more clearly the sensation that I was being taken away as I read. My mind went fuzzy and forgot all the stress that had been building up about my first semester of college and everything that goes with college life, and I just was. In the background, I had my Enya Paint the Sky with Stars CD playing so that even now when I hear Enya, I’m immediately taken back to that place where I was as I sat in my bed and read word after word, sentence after sentence, chapter after chapter, book after book while the world melted away from me.

3. Alaskan week

This past summer, I was a little stressed. My family and I had done our second cross-country move in just over two years, and I was starting a brand new job while my husband was still, for all intents and purposes, jobless. I was miserable because stress was tearing away my ability to enjoy what I did have while I worried about what we didn’t have figured out yet. When my sister mentioned she was thinking about going to Alaska to visit our dad, my husband jumped online and bought me a plane ticket. I didn’t complain. During my week in Alaska, I got to do absolutely nothing. I say I got to as in I was able to—I was able to kick back, not think about anything and just enjoy. [Insert satisfied sigh here.] While the majority of my week was devoted to defeating the world of Peggle, I was able to spend some time reading and doing crossword puzzles. I didn’t read so much that I read entire books, but when I did read, it was perfect.

2. Sunday morning with Sarah

A little over a week ago, my friend Sarah came to Texas for a weekend to visit her family. Since her family only lives a couple hours from where I now live, I happily jumped in my car and drove down to see her. We spent our “girls’ night out” on Saturday night at the local Barnes & Noble, where I perused the young readers’ section and found some gems to bring home with me. On Sunday morning, we woke up and gathered around the kitchen table for breakfast. Sarah and her parents were reading the papers, and I got out one of the books I had bought the night before—a book called Frindle by Andrew Clements (which I enjoyed so much that I’m thinking about requiring my students to read it to start discussions on language). 

Once Sarah finished with the paper, she also got out one of her new books, and we spent our day together reading. It’s marvelous to have people like Sarah in my life who understand that sometimes the best quality time you can spend with a person can be spent reading. It’s even better that our tastes in books are so similar because I know I can always turn to her for book suggestions if I’m looking for something new to read. After I finished Frindle, I got out How to Train Your Dragon. As both Sarah and I read our books, we’d throw out ideas brought up by the books or read a great quote out loud, but other than that, we just read.  You know it’s a good day when you can relax and read two entire books before noon while enjoying a dear friend’s company.

And my number one perfect reading day memory is...

1. Eiffel Tower

When I was living in Germany, my sister came over to visit, and we decided to take a day trip to Paris. We went to Belgium the night before to visit a friend of mine, and then we took a train to Paris in the morning. I love traveling with my sister because she is exactly like me when it comes to seeing a new place: There are certain things we wanted to see, but more than anything else, we just wanted to be able to soak up the atmosphere of the city. 

We spent the majority of our day in Paris sitting on a park bench right by the Eiffel Tower and reading. The day was a gorgeous spring day, and the sounds of the people enjoying the park—laughter, dogs barking, conversations in so many different languages I lost count—filled my spirit and enhanced the words that were seeping from the pages and into my mind. Every once in a while I’d stop reading and look up just to make sure I was still really there by the Eiffel Tower. Thinking back on that day, that atmosphere, reminds me of just how blessed I’ve been. Perfect day, perfect atmosphere, perfect company, perfect reading. That memory is, in a phrase, 'joie de lire.'

My nostalgia for my perfect reading days is making me look forward to the possibility of having another perfect reading day just around the corner. Could it be today? Or tomorrow? That’s the great thing about perfect reading days—they sneak up on you and present themselves in the randomest of ways. Any day could be a perfect reading day.

Have you had a perfect reading day lately? What’s the best reading day you can remember?

Happy 'joie de lire'!

Reading Slump of '10

I've hit a slump.  A reading slump, that is.  I haven't cracked open a fun book to enjoy in well over two weeks, and my non-reading state leaves me feeling a bit ... slumpy.  I want to read, I want to get my 'joie de lire' on, but I just haven't.  Why is that?  Why is it that someone, like me, who enjoys reading so much doesn't do it all the time?

Above is a picture of an actual slump (taken from the Giant's Causeway website).  Notice ridges in the hillside that show the ground is collapsing beneath itself and causing somewhat of a landslide.  Thus, the metaphorical slump of a downward spiral where things collapse and pull the slumped person down.  *Sigh*

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in my big, comfy chair with my laptop perched on my lap.  I'm wistfully staring at the small bookcase beside my chair, which holds the three books I'm currently reading and my Kindle (which stores the other two books I'm reading).  Just writing that sentence makes me wonder if part of my problem is that I started too many books at once and now feel overwhelmed with the thought of getting through them all.  But, no, that can't be it because I've read had times in the past where I've had more than five books cracked open during the same time frame.

I want to read, so why don't I?  I know I can provide a short-term answer.  At this very moment, I can't let myself get caught up into a book because I'm taking a short break from grading and getting prepped for courses and meetings that will take place later on today.  In fact, I blame my schedule for my not picking up a book to read--plainly put, every time I sit down and have the mental capacity to read, I am reading something that's not for personal enjoyment.  Instead, I am reading something I have to read.  Maybe it's the fact that I have a job that requires me to read that pulls me away from my personal reading time.

I want to blame all sorts of external things for my lack of reading, yet I know it all boils down to me: I go through periods in my life where I will be super-dedicated to something and then periods where I can't get myself to do that very thing I had been so wrapped up in for weeks/months.  I'll read book after book for a few weeks and then not pick up a book for a while.  I'll do crosswords every day for a few weeks and then not even want to look at a crossword for a month.  I don't like that all-or-nothing feeling and wish I could have a bit of moderation in my life while still being productive, but that just doesn't seem to be me.

Normally, I wouldn't be so concerned about my reading slump.  But now that I've started a reading blog, I feel like I'm letting somebody out there down when I miss a posting or don't have anything inspired to say about books because I'm not currently wrapped up in one or two or three.  Then again, I can't be so pompous to assume that my readers have their lives on hold because I haven't posted.  Still ... I feel a sense of duty to be regular in my posting because I hope there are readers on the other end wanting to find a new post on my blog.

I've missed two postings in the past five days, and I'm going to be honest--I will also miss tomorrow's post.  I'm working on something for Friday, so if all goes well, I'll be back on track.  I'm also scheduling in 30 minutes of reading for tonight.  I don't feel like reading for fun should have to be scheduled, but I'm worried that if I don't push myself to get back into the reading habit, it may be another couple weeks before I get back into reading.

Are any of you out there like me?  Do you have reading slumps, too?  If so, how do you get over them?

Weekly Poll 2/24/10: Reader Type

During the last week, I had a poll question posted:

What type of reader are you?

1. Literary
2. "Pop culture"
3. Nonfiction

Last Wednesday, I defined these reader types in a short post; here they are again:

• Literary readers prefer what could be labeled as classics or what is meant to be broken apart and discussed with questions like "What does this mean?" (e.g., Jane Austen, Jack Kerouac, Nathanial Hawthorne, Ernest Hemingway)
• "Pop culture" readers prefer the books that make the New York Times Bestsellers List or the books most talked about in the moment (e.g., John Grisham, Stephen King, Marian Keyes, Stephenie Meyer, J.K. Rowling)
• Nonfiction readers prefer just that--nonfiction (e.g., biographies, autobiographies, historical works, essays)

All the voters who responded labeled themselves as the second group: "pop culture" readers.  I firmly put myself into that category as well (in case you couldn't tell by the types of books/authors I blog about).

One reason I was inspired to ask is that question is that I work in an English Department, where I am surrounded by literary readers.  Every day, I am bombarded (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating by using that word) by literary references that, quite frankly, I just don't get.  It's interesting that for some people, to be a serious reader, you need to be a "literary" reader.  I was speaking with one colleague, who, after finding out that I love to read, started talking about authors whose books I'd never read before.  When I admitted that I had never read authors like Kerouac and Faulkner (though I am familiar with their works, I've never actually read them), I got a strange look that could only translate into words as, "Whaaaa?!"

I used to be embarrassed with my reading repertoire and so tried to supplement my reading lists with classic works . . . but found that they bored me--or just didn't interest me.  In fact, the only "literary" works I enjoyed reading and studying were Shakespeare's works.  It has taken me years, but I can finally say that I wholly embrace who I am as a reader.  I may never read my way through the books listed in The Book of Great Books, but I can happily say that I will enjoy every book I take the time to read.  So bring on the King and Grisham and Keyes!

Do any of you have a similar story?  Have any of you ever felt judged based on the types of books you enjoy reading?

Happy reading, whether you enjoy reading books from the "Best of All Times" list or from the "New York Times" list!

Weekly Poll 1/27/10: Connecting with Other Readers

The question from last week was this:

What is your favorite way to connect with other readers?

• reading group/book club
• blogs
• online social tools, such as Twitter or Facebook
• other

My motivation for asking the question was that I'm realizing the importance of making reading a community event because discussions about books can help make the material more relevant to your life, spark a renewed interest in reading, and develop reading habits that span new genres or authors.

What I thought was the more traditional answer ("reading group/book club") didn't get any votes.  I have posted in the past about my problems with sharing the reading experience with others, but I did join an online book discussion, which I think is the modern equivalent to a reading group, and I enjoyed myself.  I am at least open to getting involved in more such adventures.  Now that I'm getting over my "fear" of sharing my 'joie de lire' with others, the only problem I still have with reading groups is that you have to make sure you have time to read a book on a set schedule, which is something I can't always accomplish.  I like that reading is not a scheduled event for me--I like picking up a book without knowing there's pressure to finish it by a deadline.  And yet, I think book groups are possibly the ultimate way to interact with other readers because the focused discussions with multiple inputs can help you think about the material in new and exciting ways.  I'm just not sure they're practical for all schedules...

The most popular answer was the second one: blogs.  One of my favorite things about reading blogs is that they are like mini-book clubs every day.  You can go online and read reviews of books to find something you want to read, or you can find discussions on books you've already read and join in on the fun by leaving your own comments.  Sometimes the comments section is just as exciting as the post, with whole discussions taking place among the readers of the blog.

The third selection also didn't get any votes: online social tools.  If you had asked me five months ago if I thought Twitter was a good way to connect with other readers, I would have laughed.  Now that I'm a Twitter-fanatic, though, I honestly have to say that Twitter just might be my favorite way to connect with other readers.  With Twitter, you can get a lot of contacts and meet new contacts through other contacts, all the while perusing profiles of said contacts for finding links to blogs or other online resources you might otherwise not have found.  Also, using the hashtag (#) feature makes it so you can have an organized discussion focused around a particular theme/topic with other Twitter-ers.  While I like blogs for content, I like Twitter for helping me find those blogs.  It's a cool tool to help you get to the good stuff.

One person did vote for "other."  I'm curious to hear what the "other" was--I know there are many more ways to connect with readers than I listed (which is why I included an "other" option), but I'm curious to find out if the "other" that was voted for was something I hadn't even considered.  There might be a whole new way of making connections that I never thought of and that I might consequently be missing out on...

One of my many fellow readers who inspire me to dig deeper with the content I'm reading is Julie, the writer of the Literary Jules blog.  Julie helps remind me that reading is about so much more than taking in the words on the pages in front of us--it's about experiencing new ideas or cultures or worlds and allowing ourselves to grow from those experiences.  In fact, her recent post on feeling small every time she thought about the Haiti crisis prompted my own reflection on the books I've read that have filled me with hope.  Because of that reflection, I began re-reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and I'm reaping the benefits of the beautiful writing in that book all over again.


The important thing is that we, as readers, are making connections--if for no other reason than you might inspire another reader to pick up a new book.  How has connecting with other readers helped shape your own 'joie de lire'?


Happy reading and connecting!


P.S. The new poll question for the week is up in the left-hand sidebar: Are you more inclined to buy an author's book if you know that (s)he has a strong online presence and interacts with fans?  I look forward to seeing your responses!

Why I Changed My Mind on the Kindle

I love books.  I love the way books feel in my hands, the sound of turning pages, the smell of new books, and the look of the covers.  There is something magical about looking at an unopened book, knowing that between the covers are the words that build possibility.  In fact, my "happy place" is being curled up with a book in my hands.  With my deep-seated feelings about books, I am a loyal collector.  Every time my family moves, the first thing we have to look for in a new house/apartment is whether or not there is enough wall space to support our many bookshelves.  So when I first heard about the Kindle, I was appalled that people would choose to read books on an electronic device rather than in real form.  I had never had any experience with electronic readers, and beyond using them to read newspapers or magazines or other documents, I couldn't imagine why I'd ever consider getting one.  One of my good friends, Sarah, brought hers on her trip to visit me last May, and I chided her for selling out.  I'm not sure why I felt that Kindles were signs of selling out, but that's how I felt.  I played with hers and shrugged, saying, "What's the big deal?"

Later that summer, I was getting ready to pack for a week-long vacation in Alaska.  Since I know I can't sleep on planes, I wanted to make sure I had plenty of entertainment for myself for the six-hour flight from Houston to Anchorage, but at the same time, I refused to pay to check baggage and was determined to fit everything into a carry-on.  The stack of books I had sitting by my duffel bag taunted me; I wanted to take them all but knew I'd have to stuff the bag to fit even one or two in.  Over the next few days, I found myself being drawn to the Amazon Kindle page; finally one afternoon, my compulsive index finger hit the "buy" button.

When my Kindle arrived, I still had mixed feelings about whether or not I would actually enjoy reading on my new device, but I trudged on and downloaded some books to prepare for my Alaskan vacation.  Out of curiosity, I started reading one of the newly downloaded books to take it for a test drive.  Once my eyes adjusted to the blinking dark screen when you hit the "next page" button, I found that reading on the Kindle felt like reading a book.  The actual feeling of the device is obviously different--there are no pages to be turned, and sometimes you feel like you fly through a Kindle page because only so much can fit onto the screen.  Yet, the words were still there that took my mind on an adventure and allowed me to revel in my 'joie de lire.'

Six months later, I regularly use my Kindle and appreciate the many free books that are offered (not to mention the books that are much cheaper on the Kindle than in hard copy).  And yet, I still hold a love of books--when I read a really good book on my Kindle, I have to stop myself from going out and buying the hard copy to have sitting on my shelves (though I'm still considering buying The Help because it was too good to not have on my bookshelves).  While I still buy books at bookstores, my bookstore-perusing habit has slowed as our apartment has reached its limit for book space.  It's nice to know that I can still buy the books I want to read without overflowing our small apartment because the Kindle doesn't take up much space. 

I'm not sure if it's actually the case or not, but I feel like I read books faster on the Kindle--there's something about it measuring your progress for you, with a percentage bar at the bottom of each page telling you where exactly you are in the book, that makes reading feel more fluid.  I also like the features that allow me to bookmark pages, highlight passages, and take notes; I have issues with marking up my copies of books because there is a certain voice inside me that tells me all my books need to be kept in pristine condition (when I finish reading a book, it looks exactly like it did before I opened its pages).  The Kindle lets me get past that since the pages are on a screen, and any marking can be deleted without showing traces of it ever having existed.  The one major drawback to digital books is that you can't lend them out to spread the 'joie de lire' with those around you unless you lend out your entire electronic reading device.

I work in an English department, and many of my colleagues feel like I once did about the Kindle: They turn their noses up at it and shake their heads that people would use such things.  I smile and nod, saying, "I used to think that, too."  After breaking down and trying out the newfangled device, I now have two places in my heart for reading: one for my shelves of books and one for my Kindle books.  If you find yourself rolling your eyes at anyone professing their love of an electronic reader, keep in mind that reading comes in many forms and that you, too, may find yourself using such a device one day.  It's a good thing my friend Sarah doesn't bother throwing around the phrase "I told you so."

Happy reading, whether you're reading a hard or digital copy of a book!

Ingredients of a Reader

Not too long ago, I overheard a student speaking with a fellow English professor; he said he knew he was meant to be an English major because he could "read a book--any book--in three days or less."  I had to stifle a laugh when I saw he was being serious.  It is interesting to me that students have these misconceptions that to be able to study English successfully, one simply needs to be able to read fast.  Thinking about that misconception started the spinning of my metaphorical hamster wheel, and I began thinking about being a reader in general, specifically about how many of us tend to live under the misconception that reading fast and reading a lot is all it takes to be a reader.  Unfortunately, we tend to forget to ask the important questions like, "Do you interact with the books?" or "What about reading is important?" or "What changed after you read that?"

Lately, I haven't had time to read as much as I would like to.  I barely made it through Something Wicked This Way Comes in time for an evening book group discussion on it.  Now that I've finished that, though, I've only been able to make it through the first three chapters of the next book that was on my reading list.  When life moves too fast, my reading time suffers.  I worried that not reading enough would somehow make me less of a reader.  I worried that I couldn't claim to be a reader if I didn't have time to read.

Yet when I do talk or write about books, a passion blooms inside me and leaves me feeling satisfied yet more open to possibilities.  Reading books fulfills me yet pushes me to start new journeys.  There is a certain inspiration borne from reading that I can't duplicate in any other activity, and that is what makes me a reader.

So I don't count how many books I read in a week, a month, or a year.  I don't care if the person next to me is reading faster than I am (unless that person is reading out loud and spoiling the ending for me).  What I care about is that I spend quality reading time with my books.  I want to know that what I am reading is making a difference in how I think about language or relationships or authors or maybe even life.  I want to know that when I do have the time to curl up with a book, I breathe in the 'joie de lire' that comes with it.

What makes you a reader?

Happy reading!

Not-So-Static Dreams

I recently finished reading a book called Firefly Lane, written by Kristin Hannah.  My step-mom had read the book a couple weeks ago, and as soon as she finished the book, she mailed it to me.  In the box, she included a single tissue.  At first, I was a bit confused, wondering if she had meant the tissue as some sort of padding for the box to keep the book from sliding around.  But that didn't quite seem right since the box was about the same size as the book--there wasn't a whole lot of wiggle room.  A note was also included, which explained the tissue.  It was a "starter tissue" because she couldn't fit an entire box of tissues in with the book.  She promised I'd need more than just the one, and she was right.  I got to the end of the book, the most emotional bit of the story, while my students were writing an in-class essay.  As they wrote, I silently (and at times not-so-silently) cried.  And sniffled.  One thing I love about books like Firefly Lane is that in between the main events that further the plot line, meaningful interstitial issues force me to take stock of my own life and beliefs.

One theme that struck me is the ability (or inability) to know what you want out of life.  So many people spend life wishing they had more--or at the least, something else.  I was--and am still--a person who has a hard time identifying exactly what she wants to do in life.  Growing up, I changed my mind about every six months.  I wanted to be a doctor, astronaut, veterinarian, cartoonist, clothing store owner, interior decorator, lawyer, teacher, and the list goes on.  And on.  As an adult, the only thing I can say for sure is that I need language to be a part of my life.  Most of you are probably shaking your heads, thinking that everyone has to use language to communicate, so really unless I stopped communicating altogether, I'd still have language in my life.  But when I say I need language in my life, I mean I need to do something with language--I need to be able to play with it, whether that's accomplished through writing, reading, analyzing, or studying it.  I used to feel the need to apologize for not knowing "what I want to be when I grow up."  Now, though, I'm not only coming to terms with the fact that I may never know exactly what I want to be, I'm starting to revel in the freedom of wanting more than one career goal.  I still feel a small stab of jealousy for those people who know exactly what they want at all times, and yet I know even those people still end up questioning whether they should have done more or something else entirely.  Mary Lou Retton summed that conundrum up nicely when she said, "Many medal winners dream of competing in a sport other than the one they're famous for."

Speaking for the people who can't quite make up their minds about what they want out of life, Kristin Hannah wrote the following in Firefly Lane (on page 127):

"How could she tell her best friend that she no longer shared their dream?  It should be easy to say.  They'd been girls all those years ago when they'd chosen to embark on their tandem life.  In the years between then and now, the world had changed so much.  The war in Vietnam had been lost Nixon had resigned, Mount St. Helens had blown up, and cocaine had become the Chex mix for a new generation of partygoers.  The U.S. hockey team had pulled off a miracle win at the Olympics and a B-rate actor was president.  Dreams could hardly remain static in such uncertain times."

My mantra has become that last line: "Dreams [can] hardly remain static in such uncertain times."  I am learning to love that my dreams change as I grow.  For me, I think static dreams would be reflective of my giving up on myself, of my thinking that I was finished accomplishing anything new.  I sincerely hope I never get to that point.

Thank you to Janet for sending the book to me, and thank you to all the supporters in my life who stand behind me no matter what proclamation I make about my life goals.  It's nice to know I've got people surrounding me who don't laugh when I announce that I want to be the next Miss America. . .

Happy reading, and happy dreaming!

Beginnings

Thanks to Gilda Radner, I know that "not all stories have a clear beginning, middle, and end," and yet I am compelled to write a beginning blog before jumping into discussions of books and authors and all that is related to reading.

Today is a pretty typical Saturday for me: a lazy day shaped around stolen hours of reading and at least one outing for the day (so I can pretend to have a weekend life).  During the week, I am a professor; Sundays are spent prepping for the week, the week is spent trying to keep up with courses, but Saturdays are mine.  At least, I like to pretend they are.  My son and husband sometimes disagree with that, but I try to get as much time to myself as I can on Saturdays.  When I have time to myself, my first instinct is to reach for a book.  I love nothing more than curling up in my comfy green chair and losing myself in a world that exists between book covers.  When most people think of their "happy places," they think of beaches or meadows or log cabins.  What is my happy place?  I close my eyes and see a younger version of me curled up and leaning against the wooden headboard of the twin-sized bed of my childhood bedroom with my yellow "blankie" that has since gone missing.  I've got my oversized reading glasses on (that have since been replaced with full-time glasses), and I'm holding a book in my hands.  Yes, my happy place is one in which I am reading.

These days, the best I can do to re-create my happy place is to make sure I have a book in my hands.  I can't always curl up the way I want to since my knees don't like to regularly cooperate with me, and I often have to settle for whatever place I can find to do my reading: in the living room while my son watches TV, in the office between student visits, in the bedroom after my son has gone to sleep but before my husband is finished with his work, in various waiting rooms around town, in the car (but I promise I'm not the one driving when I read in the car)...

My love for reading started at a very young age, through adventures with Little Critter, Amelia Bedelia, Winnie the Pooh, and Laura Ingalls Wilder.  My next few posts are going to start with discussions on books that helped begin my love for reading, and then I will move on to my current favorites and most recent reads.  And thus an adventure begins...