Reading for Me

Internet connection at home as been sketchy this week, so I’m a little late in posting. I’ll get back to the regular routine next week. I still wanted to make sure that I told you all about The End of Your Life Book Club. It was a tremendous read and one I highly recommend for other book lovers as well as those who enjoy stories about family relationships.

Will Schwalbe and his mother formed a book club of two people as they together faced the endless doctor visits associated with treatment for MaryAnne’s pancreatic cancer. Most of the discussions occurred in quiet corners of waiting rooms or while chemotherapy was being administered. The memoir is a beautifully written account of the books they shared while allowing the reader an peek behind the curtain into this debilitating disease.

I identified with the book because of my own passion for reading that I share with my mother. While we don’t spend lots of time talking about books formally, we are constantly sharing with each other what we’re reading and why we’re enjoying it (or not). It was somewhat ironic finishing the book in the waiting room of the Memphis Gastroenterology Group while Mom was having an initial consultation. (Thankfully, we are not concerned that Mom is struggling with a major health issue at this time….just some things that are making her uncomfortable.) As I read the honest account of MaryAnne’s final days, my heart broke for Schwalbe and his family. While tears rolled down my cheeks, others waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the examining rooms watched me with nervousness.

I can’t say that I fully understand everything Schwalbe expressed in his book. I haven’t experienced the loss of a parent. I haven’t sat at a bedside knowing that the end was coming soon. I can say that I feel as though I have been formally introduced to his mother, a woman with a beautiful spirit that impacted people around the world. My life has been made richer by meeting her on the pages of The End of Your Life Book Club.

I really enjoy getting a glimpse into the reading practices of authors and influential people. That’s what drew me to My Reading Life. Author Pat Conroy tells of his earliest experiences with Gone with the Wind at his mother’s knee, his growing love affair with books as a means of escaping his father’s abuse, and his journey learning to write by reading great literature.  Conroy holds a special place in his heart for the teachers, bookstore owners, and publishing representatives who have shaped his love for reading.  He is passionate about great poetry as well as Russian literature.

Rather than attempting to summarize everything I took away from this memoir, I think it would be more appropriate to share one of my favorite passages.  Conroy tells of the role his mother played in making him a reader.  In many ways, his description of his mother reminds me of my mother’s gentle encouragement to read more and more.

“My mother turned me into an insatiable, fanatical reader. It was her gentle urging, her hurt, insistent voice, that led me to discover my identity by taking a working knowledge of the great books with me always.  She wanted me to read everything of value, and she taught me to outread my entire generation, as she had done hers.  I believe, and I think fairly, that I have done that — that I have not only outread my own generation of writers but outread them in such a way that whole secret libraries separate us.  I have tried to read two hundred pages every day of my life since I was a freshman in high school, because I knew that I would come to the writing of books without the weight of culture and learning that a well-established, confidently placed family could offer its children.  I collected those long, melancholy lists of the great books that high school English teachers passed out to college-bound students, and I relied on having consumed those serious litanies of books as a way to ease my way into the literary life.” (Conroy, p. 195)

Normally I don’t read very many memoirs. They always leave me with a saccharine sweet aftertaste that I don’t enjoy. If not overly sweet, I am left feeling depressed that I haven’t achieved more in my own life. Since I love kids so much, the caption on the cover of the book had me from the beginning:  “The true story of an 11-year-old panhandler, a busy sales executive, and an unlikely meeting with destiny.”

This New York Times Bestseller is a touching, moving story. As I read, I found myself laughing with Maurice’s naiveté and crying with Maurice and Laurie as they shared their individual stories of abuse.  What I expected to find in the book was a charming story of two unlikely individuals forming a great friendship…..and that was certainly there.  What I also found — much to my delight — was a insightful look into the meanings of home, love, and significance.  This beautiful book will certainly hold a treasured place on my bookshelf for many years to come.

As I reminisced over the book’s many scenes and tried to determine how to best describe it to my dear readers, I found myself returning to Maurice’s letter at the end of the work.  I think there is no better description of the book that this:

I know An Invisible Thread is about an unusual friendship between two different people, but I think it is about much more than that.  It is about a mother longing for a child and a child longing for a mother.  That longing had nothing to do with umbilical cords or DNA.  It had to do with two people who needed each other and who were destined to meet on the corner of 56th Street and Broadway.  Every Monday, that mother got to know her son, and that son learned about his mother.

And on those Mondays their hearts were sewn together with an invisible thread. (p. 231)

I think this would be a wonderful selection for any reading group as well as high school class.  The prose is easily accessible without watering down the complex issues explored in its pages.

Wild is not my typical reading fare.  Why did I pick it up, then?  It was the first selection of Oprah’s Book Club 2.0, the re-invention of the program that truly ignited my passion for reading as a teen.  I suppose you might say I read the book out of loyalty.

The memoir tells of Cheryl Strayed’s adventures along the Pacific Crest Trail as she hiked alone from southern California to the Oregon/Washington border.  Her lone journey allows her the opportunity to come to grips (finally) with her mother’s death, her failed marriage, and her life that is in shambles.  Facing one hardship after another, Strayed must come to terms with the truth that there are often situations for which she was not prepared.  The challenges of attempting to carry too heavy of a load, ill-fitting shoes, snow-packed paths, and muscle fatigue almost serve as symbols for the greater crises occurring in her life.

I read Wild as I began my own journey to personal fitness.  As I journeyed with Strayed on the pages of the book, I found myself encouraged as she overcame various challenges.  I was also enthralled as I realized that any journey worth taking brought with it struggle, uncertainty, pain, and fear.  Cheryl’s courage to push through those emotions while keeping her eyes focused on the goal that lay before her became my personal push to see things through as well.

Would I have normally enjoyed Wild?  Probably not.  I found myself getting bored with the descriptions of the scenery of the PCT (as beautiful as it was) and annoyed with some of the lengthy flashbacks.  Memoirs rarely feel as though they are entertaining reads.  Given my current life, however, I am happy to say I have read the book and believe that I will be better because of it.