After contributing to this column for over three
years, I should learn to take my own advice. I’ve written several articles on
strategies to cultivate and diversify your reading interests and on tools to
help you find your next book. For all of the knowledge I dispense on a
daily basis about finding the right book for the right person, I can’t find one
for me! That’s right, I’m admitting it out loud (or in print): My
name is Kate, and I’m a librarian who can’t find a good book to read. I’m
floating in a state of non-reading, a place filled with aimless internet
surfing and too many piles of unread books on my nightstand. Instead of
reading, I spend my time watching YouTube videos (gasp!) and musing about
various Instagram memes.
Not reading is a tough phase for a librarian to
go through. It’s bewildering on both a personal and professional level.
There’s a palpable sense of anxiety; a worry of “what if I never read
again?!?!” flies through my head when I’m in one of these ruts. Few of my
colleagues have admitted to temporarily being a non-reader but I personally
believe it happens to all of us at some point. Once, I had a colleague
shamefully confess to me about a phase where she read nothing but magazine
articles for three months! Of course, this still qualifies as reading
but, to a librarian, it feels like cheating.
So what am I going to do? I went back and
reread some of the advice I gave in my last column about making reading
compatible with parenthood and have decided to mine my own childhood
for reading ideas. After looking over my own booklists, I’ve realized there are
significant holes in my list of children’s classics that I’ve actually read..
Perhaps it’s time to fill the holes and read all the books I “should” read and
could enjoy as an adult
An avid fantasy reader, I loved Phillip
Pullman’s His Dark Materials series and eagerly awaited the publication
of each title in the late 90s. Lyra Belacqua, Pullman’s protagonist, lives in
an alternative Oxford, England under the theocratic Magisterium, a church that
controls the entire world. She and her daemon, a spirit animal that constantly
accompanies Lyra, live a carefree life until her friend is kidnapped and she is
thrust into the mysterious adult world of her uncle Asriel’s research on “dust”.
Many view Pullman’s trilogy as a direct critique of the Christian
worldview and apology in C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia series.
Lewis sets his books in the mythical Narnia, a magical, alternate world
discovered by four English children who’ve been evacuated to a house in the
British countryside after the outbreak of World War II. Though I’ve seen
the BBC adaptation of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I’ve never
been able to finish any of the Narnia books. I’ve always found the beginnings
rather boring and not enticing enough to carry on reading them. It’s not
a promising sign and I suspect the Chronicles of Narnia won’t be the books to
force me out of my reading rut.
Another hole in my reading history is the
Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I managed to miss the bump in
popularity that these books received during the 80s and 90s obsession with
pioneer life (the eponymous TV show starring Michael Landon, Christy, and
Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman come to mind). I’m not naturally drawn
to historical fiction but the Little House series remains well-loved in
the pantheon of classics in children’s literature. In contrast, I adored
the Anne of Green Gables by Canadian author L.M. Montgomery. Set in late 19th
century Prince Edward Island, Montgomery tells the tale of red-haired Anne, an
orphan mistakenly sent to a local farm to help its elderly owners with the
daily chores of rural life. Anne Shirley is my perfect heroine:
imaginative, fiery, and extremely loyal to friends and family. If I attempt any
more historical fiction, I’m determined to find one with a strong main
character.
Finally, as a lifelong mystery reader, I loved From
the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg. Twelve
year old Claudia knows she wants to get away from the banality of suburban life
and the beautiful, glamorous Metropolitan Museum of Art is the perfect
destination. She strong-arms her brother Jamie, a penny pinching kid with
the funds to make their adventures a reality, into coming along with her and
they become embroiled in a mystery of an angel statue that might be the lost
work of Michelangelo.
Claudia Kincaid is an appealing example of a
common archetype: isolated pre-teen girl with aspirations to something
more. This is the basis for Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet the Spy,
another book I managed to miss. Harriet Welsch is much less likeable than
Claudia with lower ambitions for her future. After deciding in order to
be a writer, she must write what she knows, Harriet begins keeping a pretty
epic burn book of all her cruel thoughts and observations about everyone in her
life. Her precious notebook falls into the wrong hands, causing her to
lose all her friends and learn a tough lesson about the consequences of one’s
actions. Harriet’s nanny, Ole Golly, dishes out the harsh lesson
that there are no do-overs in this life and that she needs to shape up and
start being the person she wants to be.
Unlike life, reading offers us the opportunity
for a do-over, the ability to go back and re-live our favorite book moments or
fill in the ones we never had. It’s particularly satisfying to go back to
old, favorite books and get even more enjoyment out of them. If you are looking
to re-read a childhood favorite or to get some help finding the ones you
missed, come into the Children’s Room and let us show all the books you never
read.
