The books I wish I had written
I was an avid reader since I was in second grade. Back in kindergarten I didn’t enjoy it at all, and only recently I realized why: the book they gave us to read wasn’t entertaining at all. I can still remember it had colored pages, with a four verses poem on each page. Both boring and superficial. No wonder I disliked those couple of hours a day when we were supposed to practice reading.
Something happened during my second grade. Our teacher had each of us start a reading journal. Each week she would take our journals and gave us ratings, depending on I am not sure what criterias. We had to write down the name of the book, its author, the characters, the plot, and other information we found relevant. What started as a necessity (to get good grades) had soon evolved into a desire. Having discovered so many worlds and ”friends”, real-life and fictional stories, I wasn’t able to stop, and reading soon became an obsession. There were times when I would finish a book each day. My optometrist wasn’t very happy with that. Neither were my eyes.
It has been a little more than a year since I realized I enjoy writing as much as I do reading. I do read differently now. I like it as much as I did before, only now I also pay attention to the words, not just the feelings they generate. Earlier this year I read a book a friend of mine suggested, and for the first time ever, my only thought when I finished it was: I wish I had written that. And this became the highest level of my appreciation for a book.
This one was a short novel — Le Confident (The confidant), by Hélène Grémillon. It captured my attention when the letters started appearing — real handwritten letters, arriving in Camille’s mailbox. (Yes, I’m a little old school, I still send handwritten post-cards and letters to some of my friends and family.) Reading it felt just like breathing, easy and effortless, and so natural, and calm, and peaceful.
The plot is simple (in a way): a single woman with an accomplished career, who just broke up with someone, looses her mother in a car accident, just after finding out she is pregnant. And then someone starts sending her letters, that will soon turn her world upside down. The ending is a liaison between all the puzzle pieces, from the letters, together. Seeing the world from a bird’s eye view can often help us get a different perspective. And then she understands everything, and she knows she’ll be fine. It just feels so right. And so perfect.
Sometimes there is no point in struggle, and being able to accept things and to let go can be the best thing you can do. You will also learn about a mother’s unconditional love and the power of patience and forgiveness, and the willingness to make sacrifices. It works for some people.
I also have to admit I love finding out secrets. This is another reason I loved it so much.
A few years ago I decided to try to never watch a movie based on a book before I read the book (that’s the main reason I haven’t seen A Clockwork Orange yet). After this year’s Oscars I had no other option than to read Markus Zusak’s The book thief, if I wanted to see the movie. And, oh boy, I was so grateful I did. This one is an absolutely brilliant work of art. Death has a heart and feelings, and it tells stories. And this is only the beginning.
While reading, I had the feeling of an old grandfather telling me a story from his youth. That, of course, if you skip the parts when it tells you about its ”job”, although he does it with such wit and in a playful manner, that you almost feel grateful it does exist, and it does have a heart, at least in this story.
Death and hope, and the desire to love and to be loved, to learn and to help, this is a story about friendship and the human strength. I laughed my lungs out a few times, and at times I did cry a little, and the ending put a warm smile on my face. (And it was way better than the movie, by the way. I watched it recently.)
Another masterpiece I read this year is The Children of Men, by P.D. James. I ordered it from a book selling website, for a friend’s birthday, and I got myself a copy, too. She had been crying while reading it. I was touched, and I absolutely loved it, mostly for the plot, the wise choice of characters and for the ending, of course. (I might have a secret desire for that ring, but let’s keep it a secret for now.)
For the most part, I read for the journey. Still, I’m always curious about the ending. This was one of the cases when I couldn’t wait any longer, and went to the last page and read it, while still being in the middle of the novel. It was so intense. And I also do the same with movies. I pause and go online to look for the ending, in order to know what to wait for (O.K. maybe I am a bit of a control freak).
It kind of puts this ”I don’t want any babies” thing into a different perspective. ”As the sound of the playgrounds faded, the despair set in. Very odd, what happens in a world without children’s voices.” But there comes hope.
A couple of days ago I finished reading another book I found very special. Ved’min vek (Age of the Witch) by Marina and Sergey Dyachenco was not yet translated to English, but it definitely should be. This is the third book of an unofficial series (as declared by an old friend of mine). The previous two were Peshera (The cave) — a world like ours, but with no crime and aggressiveness, only there is a catch: on some nights people enter ”the cave” in their dreams, as animals (depending on their type of personality), where they live by the nature’s rules — the strongest survives — and they might never wake up again from their dream, if they get killed while being inside it. The second one is Dolina Sovesti (Valley of the Conscience) — where a little boy discovers his power to attach other humans to himself, with potential life threatening consequences for them. Then one day he finds his match.
With such a beautiful and colorful style of writing, the ukrainian couple has become one of my favourite novel writers. This being their third book for me, it was not surprising at all that I loved every line I read. What was astonishing instead, was the ending. Unlike the other two, where the ending feels like a natural outcome, this one goes beyond that, it transcends the ”happily ever after” (which is not the case). It ends with hope, and not in a cheesy way.
I think humans are powerful, all of us. Some might not know it, some might not want to accept it, and some are afraid of the simple thought of power, but we all have it within us. And we do have the answers, if only we would be brave enough to open our eyes to them. These characters do open their eyes in the end and they do find the answers to the questions they were too afraid to ask in the first place, but it is too late. Or maybe it isn’t? I fell asleep smiling that night.
Mundane actions, in an ordinary world, lived by common and, at the same time, extraordinary people, had me completely hooked for the past three weeks. And it gave me hope. And there are so many things to learn from it, about humans, about decision making, about being afraid and about having the courage to do the right thing, even if you might not make it.
I can’t say The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery is one I would love to had written, but I did like it. Not it the beginning, as I found it being very pretentious, but after a while, when it became a pleasant reading. It deserves a place on my list, thanks to its characters. I like the way the two misunderstood inhabitants of the same flat building find each other and help each other discover new parts of themselves. It is beautiful and touching.
The descriptions are very vivid, as I could almost smell the flowers in the courtyard and I could almost see the expressions on their faces, during their interactions. It reminds us that life is worth living, even in a small concierge flat, even when it seems like there is no one around you who understands you.
As I was getting closer to the end of this article I couldn’t help but notice the recurring feeling I kept referring to, which is hope. I guess this year was one I really needed it, and as it looks like, it came to me in more ways than I thought it did. Another thing to be grateful for.
Looking back, I can pick some other books that had a huge impact on me, but I would have to read them again before adding them here. This is a short list of the books I wish I had written, that made 2015 better for me. Oh, and one day I will.
