This is not going to be a book review, but please allow for a few comments. Little Bee has been laying in wait on one of my bookshelves for about two months. I got completely wrapped up in a 3-book series (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Who Played with Fire, and Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest), all of which were fabulous and enthralling, none of which provided me the pleasure I found in Little Bee. I can't tell you with certainty why I initially bought Bee or why it went straight to the shelf, but I grabbed it on my way out of the door before my 10-day hiatus from home.
I am a fast reader. But I'm not supersonic and I enjoy really immersing myself in a book. So I started it about 2pm yesterday and finished at about 11:30 tonight. With a lot of play time in between.
My parents won't buy me books for Christmas anymore because I used to come down the stairs on Christmas morning, grab the book, and spend the rest of the day with my nose glued to the spine. Its almost out of my control. If a book hooks me, I can't seem to walk away. Or I can put it down, but the characters keep talking to me and the plot dictates how I interpret every day motions. I suppose that is what makes a book great, worthwhile, an impact.
Bee was not what I was expecting. Or, rather, I didn't expect anything, but I really did not expect greatness. I've done (more than) my fair share of book reading, and I am still surprised when a book finds me and provides everything I need. Great literary style, intriguing voice, and full, beautiful characters. And a message that is imparted upon the reader without force or overbearing inflection. I love a book that can mean something different to anyone who reads it. A book that gives the reader room to think for themselves. An author who doesn't think his audience is stupid. I would think that once you trust a reader with the story, the writing would be really fun to do. The trust definitely makes it more fun to read.
If you like to read, read this book. I'm sad that I've finished it. I'm a little lonely without my new friends.
I finished the book and became suddenly aware of how quiet it was in my room. The movie reel in my head clicked off and there was white noise. There's a moment after you stop reading where your brain takes a break because it knows it is about to be overloaded with the impending analysis.
At some point in my life, I need to join a book club. But I want some serious members. Not too serious, mind you, because I like to cook and I enjoy wine and all that, but if we're going to talk about books, lets at least be intelligent. I think I will need to create my own so I can make all the rules. If you want to sign up to be in my book club, you can email me your applications. There will be a test. But it won't be too hard.
I am enjoying this time in my life. It is unlike any other happy times that I've ever had, I think. Because I'm old enough to expect the difficult things and young enough to ignore many of them. I'm excited about exploring what these next few months and years will bring. I am loving and appreciating all the dimensions of my many relationships. The hope that I feel right now is refreshing compared to how I felt in September after my surgery.
Little Bee helped me realize a few of these things. If you've read the book, you might call me crazy. Pieces of the story seem hopeless, but the story in its entirety is triumphant.
About a week ago, I wrote a blog that got erased. If you write, you know how hard it is to rewrite. Pretty sure it got erased for a reason. An advice column about learning, basically. Learning from everything. But it wasn't written from the right voice. Thinking about it now, it may have come off as chastising. A holier-than-thou monologue criticizing self-help books with an attitude of GET OVER IT. And in hindsight, I think I was talking to myself.
In my mind, everything doesn't just "happen for a reason," everything is a challenge. A challenge to face the situation and a challenge to learn from it. We are constantly building off of the challenges that have been set before us so that we can become more aware of ourselves and the life that surrounds us. It is when we have stopped stepping up to the challenge that we have lost ourselves. Some of us will be defeated. Some of us will give up. And the warriors will simply regard each challenge as action, result, reaction--believing that no one moment can define an entire lifetime of learning. One moment is just another moment to learn from.
I believe that if everyone thought their story was worth telling, we would all be authors. Everyone has a story. They aren't all dramatic or large. Some of them are happy, a lot of them are sad. You may even say that many of them are boring. It depends on how you look at the story that defines its interest. How you tell the story. It also takes courage to tell it.
One day, when I find the right way to tell it and have the gumption to overlook the haters, I think I would like to write my story. The unfinished story, of course. Because no story is ever finished. I could write an entire book solely on my scars, how they made me feel dead for a long time and how "a scar means, I survived."
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