StephanieVandrickReads' One Year Anniversary

It has been one year today, January 24, 2011, since I started this blog, StephanieVandrickReads. I have very much appreciated and enjoyed having this place to write about what I have been reading, about favorite authors and books, and about reading-related topics. I also appreciate very much and thank everyone who has read the blog, and those who have responded, either by commenting on the blog site itself or by contacting me by email or otherwise.

To mark this one year anniversary, I am listing here my most treasured authors, the ones I go back to and re-read over and over, the ones who give me the most sustenance, pleasure, and food for thought. I do not claim that these are necessarily the "best" authors, although many of them would in fact be on most "all-time best" lists. And there are, of course, many, many more writers whose work I have liked very much. But those on this list form the core of my love for reading; these are the authors I personally feel most connected to, and most grateful for. My life would be far poorer without them.

In no particular order, here is the "short list" of my twenty most treasured authors:

-Jane Austen
-George Eliot
-Elizabeth Gaskell
-William Thackeray
-Charlotte Bronte
-Thomas Hardy
-Edith Wharton
-Willa Cather
-Virginia Woolf
-E. M. Forster
-Elizabeth Bowen
-Barbara Pym
-Alice Munro
-William Trevor
-Carolyn Heilbrun
-Penelope Lively
-Anne Tyler
-Carol Shields
-Mary Gordon
-Gail Godwin

I dedicate this one year anniversary post to my dear friend of almost forty years, C.

"A Room with a View"

I just finished listening to a CD version of E. M. Forster’s "A Room with a View" (originally published 1908; Books on Tape, 1993). Forster is one of my all-time favorite authors, so I have read and/or listened to all of his novels several times, especially “A Passage to India,” “Howard’s End,” and “A Room with a View.” As with any great fiction, I notice new aspects, new insights, every time I read this novel. This time I was more struck than ever by Forster’s portrayal of how claustrophobically constricting the social rules lingering on from the Victorian era were, at least for those of the upper middle and upper classes, especially for women. Lucy Honeychurch, the main character, was only allowed to go to Italy under the protection of her fussy, traditional, annoying older cousin Charlotte. There, a huge (in the eyes of Lucy and Charlotte, but especially Charlotte) crisis arose when a man Lucy met there suddenly kissed her on a hill full of violets near Florence. Charlotte and Lucy felt they had to leave Florence abruptly the next day and go to meet friends in Rome; then, and after they returned to England, they kept worrying that someone would find out about the kiss, and Lucy’s reputation would be ruined. The complicating factor was that although she soon after was engaged to another man, she couldn’t quite get the man who kissed her out of her mind. Lucy and other young women of the time had so little control over their own actions, movements, and fates, and although they were very privileged in other ways, the social rules could make them feel smothered and miserable. Of course Forster’s novels are not “about” just one thing; they are all, in some way, portrayals of people’s needs both for human connection and for something transcendent in their lives.

"Books as Bombs"

In the current (1/24/11) issue of The New Yorker, there is an article by Louis Menand about highly influential, even life-changing, nonfiction books published in the 1960s and 1970s; he particularly focuses on Betty Friedan's 1963 book, "The Feminine Mystique." Although the word "bomb" is a fraught one, Menand's use of the word in his title, "Books as Bombs," dramatically represents the way books in those days could make a huge difference, in a way that perhaps they no longer do in today's era of diffused media. Some of the other books discussed in this article are Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" (1962), an enormous factor in the beginning of the environmental movement, and Ralph Nader's "Unsafe at Any Speed" (1965), which kickstarted the consumer protection movement. I treasure the idea that books can have a powerful impact, changing people's lives, even saving lives. I am sorry if Menand is correct that they no longer do so in the same way today.

The Late, Lamented Laurie Colwin

Although Laurie Colwin died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1992, at the far too young age of 48, her books are still popular. She published five novels (one posthumously), three story collections, and two memoir/cookbooks. Her books focus on cooking, food, love, and family. Although Colwin was complicated, as were her characters, she had a gift for happiness, and it is fitting that two of her novels have the word "happy" or "happiness" in them ("Family Happiness" and "Happy All the Time"). She wrote about couples, families, and relationships, and frequently used food, cooking, and shared meals as signifiers of nourishment, connection and joy. I recently ran across one of her novels at my local library sale, and was reminded of how much pleasure her books have given me. I read all of her fiction in the 1980s and 1990s, but not her memoirs; I think I will look for those now.

Am I Playing It Too Safe in my Reading Choices?

When I was in my teens and twenties, and especially during college and grad school and in the years after, I read thirstily and widely, delving into many different types of literature, classic and new, from various parts of the world, in various styles. Over the years, I have developed a a pretty clear sense of my own taste, and have refined (narrowed?) my preferences in reading materials. This is perhaps why I like most of what I read (and blog about here): I have developed a knowledge in advance of which books I will like and which I will not. These judgments are based on years of extensive reading, as well as on reading many reviews. The positive side of this is that I am not too often disappointed in what I read. The negative side is that I am less willing to read books that I don't know if I will like, I take fewer chances than I used to, and thus perhaps miss out on some great literature. The dilemma is this: At this point in my reading life, I know what I like, and I don't want to waste much time on what I probably won't like; on the other hand, do I want to be the kind of reader who no longer stretches herself, who no longer takes a chance?

"Being Polite to Hitler"

I still remember being bowled over by Robb Forman Dew's first novel, "Dale Loves Sophie to Death" (1981). I have read more of her books as well, but that is the one that sticks in my mind. I just finished reading her "Being Polite to Hitler" (Little, Brown, 2011 -- the first 2011 title I've read, I think!), and had that bowled-over feeling again. What a wise novel! First, I should discuss the title. The setting of the novel is Washburn, a small town in Ohio, from the early 50s into the early 70s; people are loath to rock the boat, and feel it is polite not to discuss bad behavior or difficult topics. One day, one character accuses her family and friends of being so devoted to preserving peaceful and conventional discourse that they wouldn't even speak up against Hitler and his deeds. It is true that much goes on under the surface in this town: alcoholism, affairs, feuds, deteriorating marriages, misunderstandings among friends and family members. But there are also a lot of decent people, doing their best, helping each other, preserving traditions. The main character is Agnes, a wise, down to earth, and very likable woman at the center of a large, well-known family in the area. Another main character is the man she marries years after she has been widowed: Sam is the best male character I have read about in a long time. And by best I don't mean most literary or dramatic or best-written; I mean he is a thoroughly good, kind, thoughtful person, a good husband, a good friend, a good citizen, and a person who truly appreciates and enjoys life. I think I am a little in love with Sam! The plot, although a bit meandering, is interesting enough, and we are also given a sense of the events happening in the world around the characters: the nuclear threat, the Cuban crisis, the assassinations of JFK and others, and more. Even a peaceful, prosperous town like Washburn is affected by these events, and by the unease they cause. But the best features of the novel are the wonderful, well-developed characters and the sometimes offhand spot-on observations the characters or the author make. This is a rich, lovely novel, thick with the events of life, large and small, and deeply understanding of the human condition.

More Wonderful Portraits of Writers

On 1/6/11, I wrote about the wonderful portraits (mostly paintings and sculptures) of writers that I saw at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC during my recent visit there. Yesterday I went to the impressive and moving “Henri Cartier-Bresson: The Modern Century” exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; this photographer/artist documented much of the century, especially from the 1920s to the 1970s, and there were amazing photographs from all over the world in this exhibit. Again, I especially looked for pictures of writers, and although there were only a few, I found them fascinating. Simone de Beauvoir’s photo reminded me of how her breakthrough feminist book, “The Second Sex,” affected many women, including me, so strongly, and meant so much to us. Colette’s photo reminded me of how in her fiction she showed us in a different, less academic way what freedom for women could mean. Albert Camus’ portrait made me remember reading his work in college and being stunned, impressed, and depressed by his stark vision. Jean-Paul Sartre was important in my education as well; I remember studying existentialism in both philosophy and literature classes; one of my best college term papers was a comparison of aspects of existentialism and Buddhism. Ezra Pound’s battered face showed both the brilliance and the sorrows of his controversial, sad life. Truman Capote looked so young, smooth-faced, carefree, and yet knowing in Cartier-Bresson’s photograph; I thought of “In Cold Blood” and what an impression it made on so many of us, showing the ambiguity and “grey” that there is in almost everyone’s stories, whether they be victims or criminals. Andre Malraux, that prime example of a particularly French combination of government leader and literary writer, who was as well a dashing traveler and adventurer, and whose “Man’s Fate” and other novels I read, mostly also in college, showed dramatically in his photo. And William Faulkner, whose work I read, studied, and treasured for so many years, until somehow I couldn’t read him any more...what a face! Something about seeing Cartier-Bresson’s brilliantly portrayed faces of these authors whose work I had read quite extensively, often when I was far younger than I am now, was compelling and dramatic. It made me appreciate these authors even more than ever, and also evoked a kind of sad remembrance of how long it had been since they were alive and writing and well-known.