So Many Books to Love

Books are wonderful, and I am an avid reader. I’m certainly not qualified to be a literary critic, but I do have my opinions.  I have lots of opinions.  And I am here to share them.

There are many great books, and you know all the classics: Jane Austin, the Brontes, Dickens, Henry James . . . whomever you prefer.  Then the newer classics:  C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, Ayn Rand, to name a few. I’ve read them, plus some Tolstoy and others.  I have loved them and know they are good for me – reading great books increases your vocabulary, improves your ability to speak and write, and critically think.  I willingly admit that I skip boring parts, like Ayn Rand’s hundred-page philosophical speech, and the songs and poetry in The Lord of the Rings. I prefer plot over pontification: guilty as charged.

When I go to find something new to read, I generally look to my daughter’s Kindle library (which we share), what’s currently available on the library website in the way of history or biography, book reviews in the WSJ, or recommendations from friends. Another confession: I usually take screen shots of the WSJ book reviews, but then forget about them and never read the books. 

I stay away from modern fiction, anything paranormal, and I don’t like mysteries (or at least not since the Hardy Boys when I had a crush on Shawn Cassidy), or women’s fiction. My daughter works part-time at Barnes and Noble, and huge sellers are paranormal romance and women’s fiction, both of which are euphemisms for bad literary porn. I can do without that.

Thus, I tend to read more benign books. I just finished a book which has a good premise and plot, but it’s making me nuts.  It seems obvious that the author wrote this book and that an editor told her it needed more detail.  Thus, whenever someone enters a scene, she describes her outfit and hairstyle – it’s actually kind of laughable, but boring. If thy’re driving a car somewhere, I don’t need to know the make, model and year. And this is the problem with a lot of current fiction:  it's just not as well written as it should be.

I also just finished Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey. It had the most beautiful, moving descriptive prose of the western landscape.  I loved it.

I enjoy books where I learn something new: either about a person, culture, history or experience.  My daughter got me on a biology and science kick for a while and I plowed through some really interesting books on everything from 19^th century gentleman scientists, to great women scientists where men got all the credit, to how we came to the great advancements. About five years ago I churned through all the James Mitchner novels; some really have not aged well, particularly in how he portrays women (in terms of beauty, and then barely in terms of their persons), but there are masses of information about lands and cultures in his tomes. I enjoy straight historians, like Steven Ambose, Erik Larson, and David McCullough; I like Kristin Hannah (well-researched historical fiction), Alison Weir (English Queens) and Svetlana Alexievich (Soviet and Russian living history), the last of which hits me in the gut.

I’m also always down for a good theology book, particularly the ones that use good biblical and extra-biblical sources to show that yes, women should be ordained and lead. There are tons of others, but I have an all-time favorite that I keep going back to.

Let’s Don’t Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood, by Alexandra Fuller, is weirdly one of my best loved books. It’s autobiography covering a span of about ten years in her life as a child in Zimbabwe (formerly Rhodesia) during their war to gain independence from Britian.  Theirs is a white Scottish/British family, and they are poor farmers who live on the outskirts, in fairly remote places. 

And the reason why I love it so much? Because even time I turn the page I’m slapped upside the head with the thought, “I can’t believe they did that!” It’s just wild that people actually lived that way.  It’s utterly different from anything I’ve ever experienced, but also jarringly real, and sometimes hilarious. The racism of the time is obvious, and just so unbelievable; it will make you feel uncomfortable. Their attitudes and experiences blow my mind. She straight up says that it’s a world where you teach eight-year-olds how to deliver a baby and start an IV, because they are probably going to need to do it.  Plus the amount of alcohol they consumed is impressive. And their parents are grossly irresponsible, and not everyone survives. But I love it because it gets me outside of my own world to something I could never have imagined. 

But isn’t that what books, literature and storytelling are all about?  Which brings me to my next point:  I still love children’s books.  There are so many that the girls and I read together that continue to shape my thoughts, and that just make me happy. When they were little, I would get them each a new Christmas book that they would open on Christmas Eve, and we would spend the evening reading books together. We continue to read those books on Christmas Eve, even now as they are well into their 20s.   On snow days, we would have Seuss-a-thons, where we’d pile onto our bed and read all the Dr. Seuss books, and then some others. 

When we went to the library, I’d bring my XXL Land’s End tote, and we’d stuff it full.  One time it wasn’t big enough to return all the books, so we started bringing a laundry basket.  The highest library fine I ever paid was $75. The sympathetic librarian allowed me to make it as a donation rather than a fine, so I could at least write it off on my taxes.

I keep a list of our favorite children’s books, and I often give a printout to expectant mothers at baby showers.  Many of them are out of print, and I am not ashamed to give used copies as gifts. Somehow these books not only tell a beautiful and usually moral story, but the writing is wonderful.  Really well written. Beautiful language and humor and tenderness that speaks to children (and me). Plus the illustrations are really gorgeous; they draw you in, in a way that some modern illustrations don’t.  I don’t understand the point of Rugrats or Sponge Bob type illustrations – they strike me as jarring rather than beautiful, but then again, I am a traditionalist in these things.

I find these books as enthralling as the girls did.  Recently I had purchased one to give as a gift and I read it to my sister while we were on a zoom call; she cried.  Powerful books.

So without further ado, here are my favorite kid’s books:

Farmer Will (Jane Cowen-Fletcher): this is for very early childhood, and is about a little boy with wooden farm animals and a wonderful imagination, and truly beautiful pictures.

All the Places To Love (Patricia Maclachlan and Michael Wimmer): about family love on a farm and multiple generations. Also wonderful illustrations.

A Cloak for the Dreamer (Aileen Friedman): a family where one kid doesn’t fit the mold, but they love and support him as he lives his own life. Don’t we all need that affirmation?

And the Relatives Came (Cynthia Rylant and Stephen Gammell): a tale of the extended family getting together over the summer, and the wonderful time they have together. We all long for families like this.

The Best Place (Susan Meddaugh): an old wolf searches for something better, but comes back to his friends. The girls and I make references to it the all.the.time.  We love the Old Wolf.

Bringing the Farmhouse Home (Gloria Whelan): after grandma passes, the extended family including kids, gets together to divide up her things, and it’s a story of family kindness and sacrificial love. Very tender and all about life; it doesn’t dwell on grandma’s death, but rather it sets the stage for the living.

Boxes for Katje (Candace Fleming and Stacey Dressen-McQueen): an absolute favorite. A American girl gets a pen pal from devastated Holland after the war, and her town shows wonderful generosity to the Dutch community as they struggle to make it through the winter. Corny as it sounds, it makes me so proud to be an American.  It’s a true story.

Goin’ Someplace Special (Patricia C. McKissack and Jerry Pinkney): We live in a very white community, and I was always looking for ways to introduce my girls to issues of Civil Rights, our history, and race.  It’s about a little girl during Jim Crow and the first time she ventures out on her own to go Someplace Special. About black Americans and their dignity in the face of horrible racism

When Marian Sang (Pam Munoz Ryan): Marian Anderson, again during Jim Crow, who had an absolutely stunning voice.  She was invited to sing before the Queen of England while still not allowed to perform in segregated concerts here. Also about black Americans and their dignity in the face of horrible racism

There are so many more books I love.  Some books stay with us forever, as certainly these children’s books have.  And while there are also grown-up books that stay with me, these kids’ books evoke more emotion than I can say.  Even if you don’t have any kids to buy these for, consider picking one up at the library or off Amazon.

I’ll add two more things.  First, when my daughter was in the fifth grade, she had maxed out of the leveled readings and there were few available books of her level in the school library. She then brought one home she didn’t understand and I read it.  It had abuse and unwanted pregnancy in it – totally inappropriate for a fifth grader.  So I took it (and later talked to the school about it), but had to give her something else to read. 

I pulled Gone With the Wind off the shelf.  I can think of plenty of other books that would have been more appropriate and which didn’t have war and, again, racism, but it’s what I pulled in the moment. She started reading, and at first hated it.  What she later articulated and that I had never really thought about is this: in most longer, classic novels, the first hundred pages or so is there to introduce the characters and set the stage.  You have to get past that to reach the plot that is truly engaging. So she trudged through the first chunk of it until Scarlett goes to the barbeque at Twelve Oaks, and then she was swept up and hooked.  After that I couldn’t recommend the classics fast enough. 

Second, I must note:  kids really do pick up on word constructions in books.  Her first grade teacher told me she was using the word shan’t (shall not), which we concluded came from the Dear America series.  In middle school, she used the word ejaculate as a synonym for exclaimed, because that’s how Jane Austin used it.  And in high school she used the word impotent to refer to powerlessness, while the teacher and the rest of the class interpreted it as sexual impotence and ran with it.  Obviously, the daughter shall remain nameless.

So I’ve included lists of my favorite books and my favorite kids’ books.  Links are below (if I can make it work).  Read them or don’t, and I’d love to hear what your favorite are. 

Sharie's Faves for Grown Ups.pdf

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Children's books.pdf

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