Libraries Raised Me

Libraries raised me. Ray Bradbury said it... but his words could have been mine. Libraries raised me.

They nurtured my love of words... and my desire - my need - to tell stories.

When I was 7, I got my first library card. It was pink and it had a little metal plate in the lower right corner. I had to sign my name on it, which proved I was old enough to visit the stacks and choose my own books.

And choose I did.

The library was the first place I was allowed to walk by myself. It seemed miles and miles away, though it was really only about a dozen city blocks. I went every week and I'd check out the maximum number of books, devouring them from Sunday to Friday, to return them on Saturday morning and start all over again.

I loved everything about the library. Everything. The quiet... the smell (oh, the wonderful smell!)... the rows and rows and rows of colorful book spines... the heavy oak tables and the chairs that scraped loudly across the floor when you pulled them out to settle in for a read... the card catalog.

In fact, I'm on the lookout for an old card catalog cabinet for my very own. Can you imagine?

The original search engine.

 

One of my favorite things, though, was to look at the due date cards in the books to see who might have checked them out before me... and when they checked them out before me. I loved the idea that other people - other girls my age - had been checking out the same books for years and years and years before me. I loved to think about how many hands had held the covers and turned the pages and how many people had absorbed the words and cried and laughed and waited breathlessly to see what would happen to characters - to the friends - who seemed so very real.

 



Libraries raised me.

The library was my haven. My happy place. The place that housed the worlds I dreamed of visiting, the people I dreamed of knowing, the adventures I dreamed of having.

I still visit the library, though not so often as I used to. I spend more time in bookstores now, as I like to own my books and not just borrow them. And when I purchase books that turn out not to be ones I want to keep, I donate them to the library. Giving back... in just a tiny way... for all they gave me... for all I gained and learned... for how I grew.

Libraries raised me.

And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

More Good Reads...

It's rainy and cold out today... a perfect day for curling up with a good book and a cup of tea. So I figured I'd list a few more of my favorite reads... you can see my first book post, Reads with Staying Power, right here...

Here's a list of five more, in no particular order:

The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron

This is not a book to simply read... it's a book designed to help you find your creative center, your creative path, when you're stuck. It's a 12-week program and each week guides you through a new un-sticking process. I've taught writing/creativity classes loosely based on the book, using the methods in it, and I've used them myself when I've been stuck. I should actually break it out again...

Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

This is the first book in a series by two brilliant writers (one of whom is Dave Barry, the humor columnist) -- the prequel to the Peter Pan story. It's marketed as a series for young people and, indeed, I read it to Ryan when she was 7 or so, but it's so much more than that (and everyone I've recommended to or bought it for has loved it). The story is so beautifully told; it's complex but not confusing, mature but not pretentious, delightful but not cutesy. I would get so excited reading it out loud that Ryan would put her hand on my arm and say, "Breathe, Mama! Breathe!"

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne

This a heartbreaking story set during World War II, at Auschwitz. It focuses on a little boy whose father is the Commandant of the camp. The family lives just outside the fence and the boy, still innocent, believes the people within its confines are working on a farm, treated kindly and fairly. He secretly befriends an imprisoned boy and their friendship results in a devastating turn of events, which reminds us that we're all human, and that our actions have consequences. This little book affected me deeply and I had Ryan read it before we visited the Holocaust Museum in DC the first time.

The Freedom Writers Diary by The Freedom Writers and Erin Gruwell

This is the amazing story (stories!) of a teacher who successfully reached and elevated a class full of (supposedly) unreachable and un-teachable high school kids -- primarly through writing. The book is filled with their brilliant, poignant, and heart-wrenching diary entries, which are, at times, incredibly difficult to read. I absolutely sobbed through it.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Anne Schaffer and Annie Barrows

I crazy-loved this book! Set just as WWII has ended, it's told strictly in correspondence. The characters are so beautifully developed and I fell in love with each and every one of them. I wanted to move to Guernsey in 1945 and live with them forever. It breaks my heart to know that the author died before the book was completely finished (her niece completed the editing) and she'll never know its success or how it affected people.

Reads With Staying Power

A while ago, I did a Facebook meme, which required me to list ten books that affected me... stayed with me... changed me in some way. It was a difficult list to compile, as I think every book I've ever read has affected me in some way.

But, of course, there are some that stay with you longer than others, aren't there?

After I wrote my list (which was actually comprised of twelve books... I'm an overachiever... sue me), I thought of another ten (or thirty) that could have been on it.

So, tonight, I'm going to list five... and then, maybe, five another night... and then, maybe, five another night... and then, maybe...

You get the picture.

Here are the first five in my list... in no particular order:

The Color of Water by James McBride

This is beautifully-written -- a black man's account of his mother's life; his mother -- a woman who raised her twelve black children while denying her own white, Jewish skin. I read this book about 16 years ago, in one sitting, on a plane from Mississippi to New York. I'd been visiting my new baby niece, whose skin was chocolate brown. Mrs. McBride's story is remarkable, and the love with which her son tells it is palpable. It is never far from my nightstand, even today.

A Time to Kill by John Grisham

It took me several years to get through this book. Every time I would start it, the first chapter would nearly do me in and I'd have to put it down for another several months. The book begins with the rape of a black child by white men and moves on to the trial of her father, who kills them. I struggled with the story because I understood her father's actions, but I also believe that taking the law into one's own hands is wrong. There is a part of the book, though, which sums up that conflict and makes it OK... an old (disbarred) lawyer tells the young, idealistic attorney handling the case that it's a highly unusual one, in that if the father is found guilty, justice will be served; and if he is acquitted, justice will be served. It summed up an amazingly well-told story for me.

Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan

Finding myself somewhat obsessed with the food industry in this country and coming to believe that it, via agri-business, is poisoning us, with support from the government, I was lead by a friend to this book. Michael Pollan writes clearly and compellingly, explaining exactly where our food comes from and exactly how our economy and our health are affected by the processes. It made me angry and interested in learning more about how to support healthy, sustainable farming.

 Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris 

David Sedaris is brilliant... and brilliantly funny. This book made me realize the essayist I would like to become. Sedaris' work makes me howl with laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks, and, at times, makes me tear up because of the honest, poignant manner in which he relays a thought or memory.

Open My Eyes, Open My Soul compiled by Yolanda King and Elodia Tate

I have a very personal connection to this book, which is a compilation of essays on diversity, put together by Martin Luther King's daughter, to honor his birthday. The essays in it are by people like Maya Angelou, Robert Kennedy, and Stevie Wonder... and by 'ordinary' people, too. About ten years ago, I submitted an essay - late - for consideration for submission to this project. Because it was late, I knew I had little chance of being selected but, to my surprise, I received an email from Yolanda King. She said that she'd been so touched by my story, she was going to find a place in the book for it. And she did. I remember the first time I saw it in a bookstore... I was in the airport and there was a display at the front of the store, full of brand new copies. It was all I could do not to open it to my essay and run around the airport squealing, "Look! This is me!"

So, what books have stayed with you?