Bookshelf of the Month, February 2018
When asked to write a piece for Bookshelf of the Month my immediate thought was I am not interesting enough for this spotlight. I am a lot of things, like quirky and funny, but interesting? No. Perhaps I am boring, perhaps I do talk about my daughter and husband too much (though I’m not entirely sure that’s possible). But after looking at my shelves, I realized I may not be the most interesting or fascinating person, but I do have a story to tell, and these shelves represent that story.
Each book on here came to me for a reason — most of them I purchased (Imperfect Justice, Modern Magick, Chariot of the Gods, etc.), some were given to me (Finnegan’s Wake, Lord of the Rings, Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames), some were required for classes I’ve taken (Sense and Sensibility, Ulysses, Dubliners, Middlemarch, Pamela). But every book on here is a little piece of my life, a little piece of me. I haven’t even read some of the books on these shelves, but my husband has and that’s why they are there. Others I have read more times than I can count because anybody with a toddler knows that when they find their “favorite,” you can certainly expect to read it multiple times a day, every day, until their next “favorite” comes along.
As I peruse my shelves (something I rarely do), I am reminded of times in my life that seem like a lifetime ago. Before I became a mom I wasn’t sure who I was, I was in constant search of something, anything to give meaning to my life. I bought books that I thought would lead me on a spiritual journey of some type…books that I thought would help me find the missing piece of the puzzle that was my life. That’s how Modern Magick, Maiden, Mother, and Crone, and The Book of Wicca came to me. There’s an Alcoholics Anonymous book up there, too. Though I’m not Wiccan or an alcoholic, in these books I found inspiration, and I used them like a spiritual buffet and took what I liked. While none of these books were as magical and powerful as I was hoping, they did bring me one step closer to finding myself and realizing that I don’t need some ultimate meaning and purpose to live my life and enjoy it. They give me little bits of reason to keep on keeping on, and I refer to them when I feel as though I’m losing myself in the hustle and bustle of life.
Some of these books, like James Joyce’s Ulysses, changed me in ways I never thought they could. I took a class that was focused solely on Ulysses and I remember being in awe of such literary genius and also frustrated at the same time because “Why is it so complicated?” That was the beauty of this book, though; in a class full of diverse students, we all brought our experiences to the table to highlight what we thought Joyce was saying or trying to say, and it was a powerful experience. I think of all the parts of Ulysses, the episode titled “Penelope” changed me the most. I saw a lot of myself in Molly Bloom, and her episode brought to light bits of myself that I tried to ignore. She was a hopeless romantic, who just wanted to love and be loved. Her marriage resembled my own and it made me feel normal, in a sense. I hope to read it again someday with a large, diverse group (I’ve heard that’s the best way to read it), and see how my perspective on her has changed since reading it years ago.
Other books didn’t change me, necessarily, but they were the catalysts that inspired my daughter’s love of reading. When we went from reading books like Corduroy to the Fancy Nancy series I was thrilled. Fancy Nancy had little adventures and is such a cultured little girl and she brought that world to my 5-year-old daughter. Mia asked me if Jackson Pollock and Vincent Van Gogh were actual painters after we read Fancy Nancy: The Aspiring Artist. Though she’s outgrown Fancy Nancy the books remain on my shelf, as a keepsake, a memento of that time in my life and in hers.
Each book has become a part of who I am, even the ones I haven’t read — notice the 2 copies of Finnegan’s Wake that I never got around to reading. Though I didn’t read them, they are a part of me because my husband bought them for us to read together, not knowing the level of difficulty and interpreting required to understand. I’ll note here that my husband is not a reader, and before marrying me he never read a book cover to cover. Now we have a few James Patterson books on our shelves that he has added to my vast collection. Finnegan’s Wake remains on our bucket list. Seems silly to have a book on a bucket list, but it’s not necessarily the book, but the act of reading and engaging together that we aim for. And isn’t that part of the purpose of reading? It seems like an individual activity, but every book we pick up, every word we read connects us to those who have read those same words. These books connect me to others in a way nothing else can.
The contents of these shelves have lead to me a better understanding of not only myself but the world in which I live. I am not the most interesting person in the world, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a story to tell, and these books are a part of that story, they are a part of my growth and evolution as a woman, mother, wife, and student.
