Sharing is Caring

I love when people recommend books to me. I will read pretty much anyone's first recommendation because I think reading is a worthwhile pursuit, but also because I like knowing what people enjoyed. You can lose that privilege if you recommend a bunch of crappy things to me, but at least in the beginning: Bring on the recommendations!

However, recommending books for others I find very intimidating. It's not because I am ashamed or embarrassed by what I read, but it's because I don't want to give someone a story that won't speak to them. Or that they hate. Or that I really love (mostly for fear that they will hate it or dismiss my love of it). Intimidation aside, I love the exchange of ideas and understanding that happens when we discuss and share stories. So I try to overcome my irrational dread and recommend books based on what I know of the other person.

An acquaintance at work recently asked me for a few recommendations, which led to a great discussion about books, belief systems, and then a flurry of loaning. We each brought in three books for the other to borrow, and I am very excited to read her recommendations.

I lent her Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride, Neil Gaiman's Ocean at the End of the Lane, and John Steinbeck's Cannery Row.

She lent me Ishmael Reed's Mumbo Jumbo, Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body, and Ian McEwan's Atonement. I'll come back and let you guys know what I thought (and if she lets me know, what she thought).

Do you enjoy lending books, taking recommendations, and/or giving recommendations? Why or why not?

Sherman Alexie and My Love Affair with the Library

I love libraries. One summer, I think I was five, my aunt took her kids and my siblings and me to our local library and signed us all up for library cards. Every week that summer either my aunt or my mother would drive the five cousins to the library. It was heaven on earth. That tradition continued for many years.

When my daughter was small we attended story time at our local library--much bigger than my first local library. We went to the library almost every week. Sometimes more than that. We moved two years ago; my daughter started school; I started working again. And going to the awesome library in our new neighborhood became a more rare occasion. A few weeks ago on our way home, she asked if we could go to the library. So we did, and we're trying to make it a habit again.

Last week, I went to the library on my own, which was a nice treat. I wandered around the fiction section without feeling rushed. I picked up probably nine novels before I decided that nine novels is probably too many for the time I have. Three is a much easier number to manage. I grabbed a Judy Blume novel (turns out I had already read it, but I enjoyed the re-read) The Edible Woman by Margaret Atwood, which I'm currently reading, and Flight by Sherman Alexie.

Here's one of the things I love about the library: I love Sherman Alexie. I know that I love Sherman Alexie, but I sometimes forget that I want to read Sherman Alexie. Now this has less to do with Sherman Alexie and more to do with my own fleeting and flighty memory. So the library is great because I wander down an aisle, see an Alexie novel, and am reminded that I wanted to read more of his work. The library provides.

List of 10...

There is a Facebook status that was making the rounds in my group of friends a while ago, and it's one I wish would come back. It's simple. You list 10 books that have stayed with you for whatever reason. You do it quickly...no over-thinking. Then you ask, cajole, and/or order your friends to do it as well. I like it for numerous reasons: 1) I like it anytime we talk books; 2) it interests me because it isn't planned. These are supposed to be snap judgments; 3) writing my list reminded me of many wonderful people who have given me the right book at the right time; and 4) this list could change drastically due to the quick forum that is Facebook--I feel like every time I would think of ten different books. On Facebook, you simply list them, but I wanted to explain why I chose the books I did because they all made me approach reading and the world in a different and new way.

So here is my quick list turned not-so-quick with explanations:
1. The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck
My sister gave me Cannery Row to read when I was probably a little too young to understand its nuance. But I loved it. It filled me with feelings I had had before but had never articulated. When I was older and read it again, I realized it had helped me learn how to articulate them. After I read Cannery Row, I found The Winter of Our Discontent. I asked to borrow it, and my sister, who always knows best, told me I probably was too little. I read it anyway, or rather I read to within a page and a half of the ending and couldn't go any further. It broke me. It was too sad, too despondent. Years later I read it and loved it, but I needed those years before I could understand the beauty and hope and love that carry you to the end of that story.