I have started to purge my library: I have waa---aaa-ay too many books for someone who moves as frequently as I do, and worse, they do no one any good if they just sit on a shelf. Books are like people, they need to move around and strut their stuff and work their magic across a community rather than sit at home unloved. The Ladies' Detective Agency series I'll bring to school and put on the book shelf for my students--no sex, good morals, lovely simple language--and there are others that can join them. However, there are some series I can't bear to break up or give away. For example, even if you took all the "fuck wits" out of any Jennifer Lancaster books, there's no way my students would comprehend ANY of it. A lot of the people I work with don't get it either, however excellent their English. I am deeply attached to the books for a variety of reasons--Bright Lights, Big Ass was my first Jen and I still remember buying it at a large chain book store, just tossing it into my basket at the last minute as part of a buy two, get one-half off deal. I don't even remember what the other two books were: I do remember giving a yelp of surprise and delight when I read the first paragraph: I felt like I was coming home. As divergent as my background, beliefs, and values are from the author's, I still had a connection with that marvelous sarcastic voice. I scooped up the other books as soon as I had access---hell, I WON a copy of "Pretty in Plaid" in a contest on Betty Confidential--and I am waiting for the next to hit my hot little hands. Give them up? You'll have to pry them out of my cold dead hands first.
My liberal, hippy, DINK vegetarian sister expressed it best: Jennifer Lancaster is the only Republican she'd ever have over for dinner. Considering what an exquisite chef my sister is--What, you homemade chapatis with fresh fig chutney from figs picked an hour ago from a tree in the garden? No problem!---this is high praise indeed. (To be fair, she usually just serves me Nachos.)
Then there's my Cheryl Peck: I have in my possession right now only one of her books. Revenge of The Paste Eatersis currently in possession of my mother. If you haven't read any of her books, you are missing out. Her explanation on where bad explanations comes from should have been read at my grandfather's funeral--it would have expressed so clearly why we all suffered the trauma of his god-awful responses. As adults, we realized the stress and strain he must have undergone living with my grandmother Totsy, but as kids, all we knew was NOT to ask his opinion on anything. If you haven't read Fat Girls and Lawn Chairs, you are missing out, that's all I'm saying. No one I know deserves this book, so it stays here.
Ah, Laurie R. King! When my friend Diana tried to give me the first of her Mary Russell novels I sneered. I SNEERED! I wasted two years of my life by not reading this book. Once I got over my snobbery (I was dating someone who belonged to an Arthur Conan Doyle society at the time, more's the pity) I was thrilled and haven't put the series down since. I did give away the Kate Martinelli series--somehow, I didn't warm up to that one, although they are beautifully written and plotted and keep me guessing 'til the end--but I am waiting, waiting, waiting, for the other book in the Folly line, and hoping another Russell novel comes along. I have, sadly, given away The Beekeeper's Apprentice to an unworthy bitch, the crazy Valerina (her opening line with anyone is, "I was abused as a child and I HATE China!") who later told me "I didn't get it." Uh, what didn't you get? "Why someone with all that money wore glasses when she could have had Lasik!" (Hello, Anachronism! Goodbye, Common Sense!) Also unworthy: the house guest who took my copy of Sahara Special and never brought it back. If she had at least acknowledged what a fantastic book it was and sped it on its way to a new reader, I'd understand. As it is, I am fearful she tossed it.
My books are pets, friends, companions, teachers: I'd hate to think of any of them leaving my hands and ending up in a trash heap somewhere. I can't break up my Sweet Potato Queenseries, or wonderful Celia Rivenbark: I have to know that at the end of the day I can come home and dip into one and reassure myself that someone else on the planet thinks you should "Stop Dressing Your Six Year Old Like a Skank."
Clearly, there's a reason I've chosen to hold on to these books: the protagonists are women of great strength of character, and I am in search of the same: large-hearted, funny, kind people. The authors are largely female, the lovely Alexander McCall Smith the lone male voice--but then again, he's writing chiefly from a woman's perspective, and a "traditionally built" woman of size as well. Good for him. The sacks of books I have to give away are full of deep pieces, Big Ass Prize Winners, lots of translations of Latin American authors, all of which I have enjoyed, and even wept over (Kite Runner, anyone?) but those that stay on the shelf are my home girls, my chorus, my (forgive the reference) Pieces of Me. A note: there is a lending library here, the Book Worm, but it's too damn far away for me to visit regularly and the books are most annoying arranged: you have to push past patrons eating at tables to access the shelves where the books are stacked up in some order the logic of which escapes me...I am grateful it's there, but it's not a practical option for someone like me with limited time and even less patience. My dream job? Sitting somewhere and reading and then telling everyone what I read...in theory, as I used to teach literature (and have better literary terms up my sleeve than "lovely", such as "verisimilitude") this would seem a perfect fit, but in truth, if you're teaching a bunch of snotty sophomores The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole for an entire term and come final exam time, they still haven't cracked upon the damn book and write their final paper on "A Drain and a Mole" it's not quite the same thing as reading, writing, discussing, and then moving on to the next paper delight.
I must be feeling rebellious: I didn't italicize or underline a single title. Naughty.
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