You
know how you read a book and feel consumed by the world of it? It is changing
your life and you believe the change is radical and permanent. And then a few
years later, you can barely remember the title or the author’s name. Some
books, though, remain with you and they aren’t the ones you expected to still
be alive in your memory and affect how you think today.
I
have that kind of piercing, all-consuming sensation sometimes with nonfiction
books. Most of the time, though, it comes only with books of fiction.
One
of the first books I recall clearly in this way was Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. I was so excited when I discovered
Vonnegut’s books, and this one in particular. He includes the "Books of
Bokonon" in Cat’s Cradle and I
took the time to write down all the lines from those Books. Years later I
turned the lyrics into part of a musical composition for a music theory class
at the University of Hawaii.
When
I first read Vonnegut's book, I was deeply mired in the depth and darkness of
my own depression while experiencing my first temperate zone winter – in
Washington, D.C., age 23. Reading the book was a huge respite for me.
That
year I also read Watership Down by
Richard Adams and was delighted and surprised by the warlike rabbits. I bought
a tiny notebook and wrote down all the names of the plants in the book. I still
have the notebook somewhere.
It
seems that all books assigned to me in school – until I got to graduate school –
were meaningless and trite. I’m sure the list was impressive but I just didn’t
care about them. Beginning with Jack and
Jill.
The
one novel of all the ones I read in my master’s program (probably 50-60 total)
that stays with me is To the Lighthouse
by Virginia Woolf.
I
eventually discovered that it begins with a sentence that is exactly 100 words
long and that sentence contains, in its perfectly grammatical and punctuated
form, the entire architecture of the novel, from beginning to middle to end.
One hundred words. How many times did I read it without really seeing it,
understanding it?
Eventually
I wrote a paper about the book and this coded sentence. When did Woolf write
that sentence? After she finished writing the book? Who would know? Perhaps
Leonard Woolf, but he’s gone now, too. Did anyone ask him, ask her about it?
The
book still holds my attention.
Since
then other authors have moved me, enthralled me, puzzled me. Kazuo Ishiguro and
The Remains of the Day. Many
puzzling, intricately drawn characters and scenes, plus multiple themes and
sub-plots. Atonement by Ian McEwan,
though not so much his other books.
The Liars’ Club by Mary Karr, a memoir about a
person and writer extraordinaire. The book was published in 1995 and changed
the world of memoir writing forever. The genre took a hard right turn and
everyone writing memoirs has been playing catch-up to Mary Karr ever since. I
read it before I wrote my memoir in 2007 and received implicit permission to
express myself courageously.
Thank
you, Virginia Woolf, for writing because of your talent and in spite of your
depression. (And damn, I wish there had been antidepressants for you.) Thank
you, Mary Karr, for your big-as-Texas heart and your wide open writing –
skills, storytelling, sharp memories, all of it.
These
two women (plus Dorothy Sayers for her perfectly designed and charmingly
written murder-detective novels starring Lord Peter Wimsey) inspired me to
write and to keep on reading and searching for books and inspiration and
telling my own stories.
Who
inspires you and what did they write that changed your life?
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