How, What and Why I Read

 

Not being endowed with a reliable memory, in recent years I’ve started to keep a running list of all the books I “read” (this includes books on CD, iPod and/or digital downloads) each year. This helps remind me that I actually did do something vaguely worthwhile with my time on earth as the calendar year comes to its inevitable and often dispiriting close. If all else has been folly—the family dramas, the endless domestic drudgery, the squeaky-tight budget, the painfully flawed human temperament—at least I can look back and think, Well, I broadened my mind’s horizon in some way through these books, that’s something.

But another legitimate purpose, for me, of reading, is to remind myself on a daily basis that there is an entire, huge, enticing universe of thought, art, history, personality, science and literature out there, mine simply for the taking. I can think of few better reasons for getting up in the morning, no less slogging on and on decade after decade in this mortal coil. Well, there’s love, yes. And nature, surely. But let’s face it, life’s a pain and then you die. Geez, I’m sounding like Woody Allen or Nietzsche: “the food is terrible and the portions too small.” (I’m paraphrasing Woody; Nietzsche wasn’t nearly as cheerful.) Most of all, reading makes me feel good.

I’m fairly random in terms of how I select books: New York Times Book Review, Amazon recommendations, friends’ picks and often, just browsing the library shelves in search of an appealing title. At any given point, I’m working on at least six books, often more. This is not as confusing as it might sound, because odds are those six books will be completely different genres, subjects and styles, each so distinct that one could not possibly confuse one with another if one tried. Lately I’ve made a concerted effort to read recently published books, rather than the classics or some old favorites that I tend to return to over and over.

For instance, right now I’m reading Why Does the World Exist? by Jim Holt, “an existential detective story,” that explores the timeless and vexing philosophical question of why there is something instead of nothing; listening to (and reading along with the companion book) Jacqueline Kennedy’s interviews with Arthur Schlesinger, which took place in 1964 just months after JFK’s assassination; The Wild Blue Yonder and Beyond, The 95^th Bomb Group in War and Peace, by Rob Morris with Ian Hawkins, the “first book to cover a WWII bomb group from its inception through the present day” (my father was a B-17 tail gunner in the 95^th bomb group, the only reason I have any interest in combat warfare, to understand what he and others who flew in WWII experienced); Radical Homemakers, Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture, by Shannon Hayes, a scholarly but practical look at how our culture views and approaches the domestic side of life, and what we can do about it (given to me by a writer friend); and, in my one nod to fiction, I’m about to start The Uninvited Guests, a novel by Sadie Jones that is described by Ann Patchett on the back cover as “a shimmering comedy of manners and a disturbing commentary on class.” Sounds great!

I often choose biography or autobiography simply because it encourages me. This year there was Yes, Chef, by Marcus Samuelsson, the remarkable memoir from this innovative Swedish-American chef born (and nearly died) in Africa. His uplifting story will cure anyone of feeling sorry for themselves or making excuses about their life’s disappointments. And by anyone, I mean me.

And also this year, A Family Farm in Tuscany, Recipes and Stories from Fattoria Poggio Alloro, by Sarah Fioroni, chef, cooking instructor, sommelier, and manager of her family's organic farm near historic San Gimignano, Italy, is a delectable potpourri of family stories and traditions, along with over 50 recipes and month-by-month accounts of daily farm life. This book (winner of the 2012 Living Now Book Award for Cooking/Ethnic/Holiday category) transported me on endless flights of imagined travel to that magical region, Tuscany, and this special family farm where the Fioroni family has worked the land for over 50 years. Sheer pleasure.

A highly recommended new family memoir, When We Were the Kennedys, by Monica Wood, is in turns hilarious, heartbreaking and deliciously written, the story of a New England family that lost its father (and breadwinner) during the early 1960s in Mexico, Maine, in a time when, in this town, the paper mill reigned supreme and the young first Catholic president and his lovely wife held the nation in thrall. Someone said that Monica Wood is a “stunning” writer. That she is. Ken Burns called the book “breathtaking.” That it is.

The year is not over yet, but also read and recommended this year are:

My Side of the Mountain, Jean Craighead George, a children’s classic novel that tells Sam Sibley’s saga of living alone in the woods of NY State for one season.

Dearie, by Bob Spitz, the fascinating life of Julia Child by the author of The Beatles

(Although engrossing, comprehensive and entertaining, Dearie contained an uncomfortable amount of grammatical and factual errors, reflecting sloppy editing, making you wonder what else in the book was incorrect). Julia would be horrified at the lack of quality control!

Betsy-Tacy & Tib, by Maud Hart Lovelace, darling book in beloved children’s series set at the turn of the 20^th century. Adorable and a window into a time long gone by.

The Place I Call Home, by Maria Mazziotti Gillan, the most recent book of poems by this important figure in American poetry, released in conjunction with the documentary about her life and work, All That Lies Between, which I saw on October 6 at Passaic Community College with my dear friends Eileen and Charlie Moeller. Any of Maria’s poetry books, and certainly this new documentary, are not to be missed, whether you think you like poetry or not. Trust me, you’ll see.

97 Orchard, by Jane Zielegman, the engrossing, true story of several immigrant families on the lower east side of NYC in the 1920s - 40s, via their food customs and recipes.

Father Joe, by British writer/actor/comedian Tony Hendra, a spiritual memoir, wonderfully touching and in parts hilariously funny.

These gifts are free (if you haunt your public library as I do), bounteous and proof positive that life is good, despite all the hardships and challenges that most of us face each year. There for the taking. Give thanks.