Reading

I love to read. Always have. I blame my parents, in a good way. Between bedtime stories, watching both Mom and Dad reading a wide variety of books in their spare time, and receiving books for birthdays, Christmases, and just because, I learned that books were to be explored and enjoyed. A person can learn a lot from books.

It was on one website that I frequent that I learned about another cool site called Goodreads . Maybe you've heard of it. Or not. But on Goodreads, a reader can keep track of books she or he has read, is currently reading, wants to read (oops, must add the Narnia series!), learn about what others are reading, what others feel are must reads and what can be passed on. One can connect with friends on the site and get emails when books (and comments on these books) are added to friends' lists.

At the moment, I'm reading several books, a habit I got into as a kid during summer vacation. Getting home after the last day of school, I'd grab a stack of five books, read the first chapter of the first book, stick in on the bottom of the stack, read the next book's first chapter, then the next book...You get the idea. When I'd finish one book, it would go back on the bookshelf, another stuck into its place, and the reading would go on. By mid-summer, I might be on chapter one in one book, chapter ten in another, five in the third...Drove my mother crazy.

"How do you keep all the stories separate?" she'd ask. Just do, I'd tell her. She'd wander off, sighing, happy, I'm sure, that at least I was reading.

"I wouldn't worry about it," my grandmother told her when she relayed it during one of Grandma's visits. "I used to that all the time." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "I still do." If it was good enough for Grandma...

Two of the books I'm currently working on are Seasons of Real Florida, by Jeff Klinkenberg, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, by Anna Quindlen. Both are interesting reads, similar in some ways, way different in others

Klinkenberg's Seasons..., as with his other books, is a collection of his columns first published in the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times). He introduces the reader to all sorts of interesting characters and Florida locales. His writing makes the reader think that Klink has the perfect job: wander the state, meet cool people, see cool places, and then write about them. Jeff, if you ever decide to retire, please put in a good word for me at the Times!

Quindlen's Lots of Candles... is also a collection of short essays. (She wrote for the New York Times for several years; several of her non-fiction books are collections of some of these essays.) Her essays tend toward her observations on life.

In one of the essays in Lots of Candles..., she mentions being a control freak, to the point of having a local anesthetic when having a hysterectomy. The surgeon, knowing a control freak when she saw one, told Quindlen that she would not be allowed to talk while the surgery was going on. I really had to laugh while reading Quinlen's description of being a control freak, as I've been there. I, too, tend to be a bit of a control freak, as well as a bit of a slob.

An aside: When Paul was alive, he played Felix Unger to my Oscar Madison; we used to joke that if anyone ever did a remake of The Odd Couple using a married couple, we'd be perfect. While I'm not enough of a slob to be on an episode of Hoarders, it's only because I am a control freak. And maybe the two apparent opposites feed into each other: I can never keep my home as neat as my mom used to, or as neat as I'd love to, so why bother? But then the control-freak-ness kicks in and...

There have been times when I've been in my friend Kevin's cab and told him that I wanted to go somewhere, then proceeded to tell him exactly how to get there. Kev will usually give me a look and ask who I think is doing the driving. If I mention wanting to be in control, he'll tell me that I'm simply neurotic. Nothing like having someone know you too well...

Kevin reads a lot, too; over the years, I've noticed numerous books in his cab. (Cab driving does give one down time between calls.) He's recommended several books, and I've told him about several, even handing him a copy of Elie Wiesel's Night, a book he devoured in a day or two before passing it on. (It was an extra copy and I'd told him to pass it along.)

Paul was a reader, too, liking a variety of books from Tom Clancy and mysteries to short stories. But there were several times when I'd buy a book for myself, put it on the table, then not be able to find it later. "Oh, I started reading it," Paul would say. "You really need to read this: it's great!"

We'd discuss books, what we were reading, what stood out in the book, what inspired us for a variety of reasons...

It's a rainy Saturday, the last weekend in the out-going year. I intend to do some house-cleaning (it's that control-freak thing), but I also intend to get royally lost in a couple of books. Will I read about more quirky Floridians? More Quindlen musings? AWOL on the Appalachian Trail on my Kindle? Who knows...maybe all three. It'll drive Mom nuts, but at least she'll take comfort knowing I'm reading!

To Kill A Mockingbird

I'm a writer, and I'm also a reader. I feel that the two are strongly connected; most of the writers I know also read a lot. Some of us touch base periodically to get caught up on books, articles and stories we've read: "Just started reading..." "Oh, I read that last month. Loved it; couldn't put it down," or "I really couldn't get into to at all because...Finally had to put it down."

I've picked up several books - and enjoyed them - on the word of other writer/readers. I've also felt better knowing that someone else whose writing I enjoy and whose opinion on good books is similar to mine says that he or she really couldn't get into whatever book I found lacking.

Most of us have favorite books that we go back to time and again. One of my favorites is Harper Lee's classic, To Kill A Mockingbird. I just finished it again for the umpteenth time this morning. The copy I put back on one of my many bookshelves is easily the tenth (or more) copy I've owned; I tend to reread it until it falls apart. One copy that I'd bought did manage to get gift-wrapped and sent to my mom several Christmases ago; that one doesn't get added to the count.

"Thanks for sending To Kill A Mockingbird this year," Mom said when she called. It had been years since she'd read it, and had been meaning to pick up a copy. Several weeks later, she called to tell me it was better than she remembered. I'm always glad when the two of us agree on a book; reading is one of the loves she passed on to me.

One of the many things I frequently find interesting in Harper Lee's book is how she manages to tie Atticus Finch's thoughts on Mrs. Dubose's bravery at the end of Part I to the fight Atticus faces in Part II. While Mrs. Dubose's thoughts on Atticus's defending Tom Robinson are a reflection of many of the townspeople's sentiment - as well as the nation's sentiments on race during the 1930s, they are drastically different from Atticus Finch's sentiment, as well as that of several of the people who fit prominently in the book. Atticus Finch may have been appointed to defend Tom Robinson by the court; however, he intends to actually defend the innocent man.

But back to what Atticus says about Mrs. Dubose: After he returns from her house and tells Jem and Scout that Mrs. Dubose has died, he says that she was the "bravest person I know." Why? Jem wants to know. How can Atticus say this, when Mrs. Dubose held such different views from his own? It turned out that, while dying, she was addicted to morphine for the pain from her illness and she wanted to come off it before she died. Courage, to Atticus's way of thinking, isn't "'...a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her...She was the bravest person I know.'"

Before and during Tom Robinson's trial, Atticus tries his hardest to win Tom's freedom. Miss Maudie tells Jem and Scout afterwards that while the verdict was a foregone conclusion - the American South, 1930s, a black man's word against a white man's word - that Atticus was the only lawyer in the area who could keep a jury deliberating for as long as it did. Afterwards, Atticus intended to appeal the verdict. True, this may be something lawyers are supposed to do, but considering the time/place/race issue, many lawyers may not have pushed the issue. Atticus knew, going in, that it would be an up-hill battle, but he was even more courageous than he had given Mrs. Dubose credit for.

The ending - when Bob Ewell attempts to kill Jem and Scout, only to die by falling on his own knife as the reclusive Boo Radley rescues the children - is as moving as the rest of the book.

The somewhat battered copy is now back on the bookshelf, and will be retrieved in another year or so to be reread.