Last year I wrote a blog on some of the books I am keeping, even as I’m on a campaign to get rid of much of our large collection. There’s not room in this small apartment. In that blog I referred to someone who said that women who love books and were born in the month of September are dangerous (author unknown). Well, that’s me. I certainly love books and I have no doubts as to my September birthday. I’m not sure about the dangerous part.
It’s probably the books that are
dangerous, not me. Books take me away to far lands in other times. They fill my
brain with ideas. They can wring me with beauty. Or make me angry. And most of
them put up a big fight when I try to give them away.
I’ve made strides in downsizing
our book collection since that blog last year. I parted with some dear friends.
It wasn’t easy. But I’ve discovered that the library here in the retirement
community or the town’s local library often has the same titles, should I need
to read the book again. Or check out a new book.
And while there is considerable
pleasure in holding a real book, smelling the leather and printer’s ink,
turning the pages, feeling its heft, even though all that is true, I’ve taken
to buying books on my Kindle. It’s not the same as a “real” book, but this
medium is useful and doesn’t take up space.
In the first
getting-rid-of-and-keeping-books blog, I shared a list of some of my keepers,
books I won’t give away just yet. These are books I’ve read several times and
will probably read again. They’re friends and I like to have them around.
I’m going to add to the list of
keepers that I started last year.
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions
on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott (1994): Like other writers, I find
encouragement and instruction in books on writing, especially if they’re by
people who are themselves good writers. Not only does Lamott give valuable
advice, she’s very clever, sometimes laugh-out-loud funny.
The Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris (1996). This book contains the reflections of Kathleen Norris (a Protestant) who became a Benedictine oblate and spent two nine-month periods living in a monastery. Among other things, I learned that my birthday, September 29, is the feast-day of the archangels in the liturgical calendar. Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and I have been celebrating together ever since.
Stories that Could Be True: New
and Collected Poem by William Stafford (1977). This book was my
discovery of the poems of William Stafford, who became one of my favorite
poets. The book was personally signed by Stafford on the morning I spent in his
house sharing poetry. (That’s another story.) The binding is broken and it’s
now held together with rubber bands. It’s like the Velveteen Rabbit, scraggly
but real.
Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1605). This is another old book, with my parents’ names in the front. They bought it when they were newly married. Some of my favorite people are Don Quijote, Sancho Panza, and Dulcinea. I love the humor and the dance between idealism and realism. And the example of how love transforms. As I write this, I’m realizing that it’s been years since I read it. It’s time to read it again.
One Hundred Poems from the
Japanese translated and edited by Kenneth Rexroth (1964). I have personal
history with this book. I was a college junior and had applied for a Fullbright
scholarship to study drama in Guatemala. I had traveled to San Francisco for
the final interview. I was more than nervous and, consequently, flunked the
interview. (I froze and couldn’t remember my own name.) As a consolation prize,
I let myself enter the sanctum of a bookstore (of which there were hundreds on
the streets of San Francisco) with the goal of buying one book. It was this
one. I love the concise simple beauty of these poems. I’ve long recovered from
the trauma of that interview, but my joy in these poems lives on.
Markings by Dag
Hammarskjold (1964). This book was a gift from my father when I was a teenager.
It’s underlined with my teenage observations written in the margins. Hammarskjold,
Secretary General of the UN in the 1950s, kept a secret journal which he left
to be published after his death. It reveals a man with a rich spirituality,
held in humility. One of my favorite passages contains a simple prayer I’ve
tried to make my own: “For all that has been, thanks; for all that shall be,
yes.”
River Teeth: Stories and Writings by David James Duncan (1995). This is another of my books signed by the author whom I met at a writers conference. Duncan is a writer from the Pacific Northwest; the geography and culture of this region permeate his novels and essays. This book contains one of my favorite short stories, “The Garbage Man’s Daughter.” I tear up every time I read it.
Antología Poética, Vol. 1 and 2 by Pablo Neruda. Wow, could that man write! He was prolific; I’m continually discovering new (to me) poems. My favorite is “Oda a la claridad” (Ode to Clarity). I’ve tried translating it, but am not yet satisfied.
Well, that’s probably enough for
now. I’d love to meet some of your friends, your list of keepers, your
dangerous books. Send me a title or two.
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