A gripping escape

I finished Kathryn Stockett's debut novel The Help at 4:30 this morning, refusing to spend another night not knowing how the plot would conclude. I will say that I loved quite a few things about it:

• Getting to glimpse 1960s Mississippi from the perspective of three women (two black maids, one white woman) Every few chapters, the narration switches between the women. While the chapter that changes from one woman to the next is named after the woman speaking, the label was really just a gesture because Stockett did an excellent job of distinguishing the three voices.
• Seeing life in those times (shockingly recent) from an under-reported perspective: the non-white view. To quote one of the main characters in the book: "Everyone knows how we white people feel, the glorified Mammy figure who dedicates her whole life to a white family. Margaret Mitchell covered that. But no one ever asked Mammy how she felt about it." 
• Digging into the complex relationships and social conditioning resulting from the absurd idea of segregation.
• Gaining Stockett's insights to human nature, relationships and life that are surfaced periodically in the thoughts and words of one of the three women. She manages to include them without making the narrative feel contrived -- something few authors who wax philosophical do well, in my view.

My critical opinion of the book is shaped by the following three factors:

• Experience: Given that Stockett drew on aspects of her own life as the foundation of this book, she is able to create a much more compelling situation and cast of characters than someone like myself who never lived in the Deep South during that period or who never even had a maid at home. That being said, the novel was still written by a white author putting herself creatively in two black women's shoes. I have to wonder how someone who had been in that situation would assess the characters and the reality conjured by the book. 
• Doubt: Stockett does an excellent job of incorporating real-life figures such as Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. and real-life events such as the Birmingham church bombing, Kennedy's assassination, and the march on D.C. as a means of situating the reader within a familiar context. She also uses some of the characteristic violence of organizations like the KKK to reinforce the high-stakes gamble the characters brave in embarking on their communal project. That being said, I was (relieved but) skeptical when I finished the book that we the readers hadn't seen more of that behavior shatter our characters' worlds.
• Oomph: Finally, I felt the book had progressed at such a steady clip, unfolding with such gripping conflict and suspense, that the ending, while logical, underwhelmed me. I had glimpsed Stockett's genius laid bare on the pages leading up to it, I wondered if she couldn't have left the reader with a more dynamic finish.

Overall, though, I found myself fading from my own world's parameters and inhabiting Miss Skeeter's, Aibileen's and Minny's realities with an increasing eagerness as I worked through the book's 464 pages. Having walked with the women through their struggles and triumphs, I closed the book's cover with a renewed faith in humanity's capacity for nobility and absurdity, and a profound love for three women I had had the honor of getting to know in the previous pages.

Humanity between two covers

I've always believed that books choose people, and reading Kaye Gibbons' A Virtuous Woman only convinced me of that further.

I picked the book up back in May at a used book sale benefiting a D.C. library. It was one of two dozen that I carried out in a 11" by 15" cardboard box provided by the volunteers when they saw me struggling with my newly purchased loot.

There was a rawness that resonated with me from the back cover's description: 

 "When Blinking Jack Stokes met Ruby Pitt Woodrow, she was twenty and he was forty. She was the carefully raised daughter of Carolina gentry and he was a skinny tenant farmer who had never owned anything in his life. She was newly widowed after a disastrous marriage to a brutal drifter. He had never asked a woman to do more than help him hitch a mule. They didn't fall in love so much as they simply found each other and held on for dear life."

I didn't reach for the book until last night and finished it this morning. Gibbons allocates alternating chapters to Jack and Ruby's reminiscences of their lives before and with each other, told at various points of time -- and in the case of Ruby, from the grave (something the reader discovers on the first page of the first chapter).

Gibbons' book feels less like a novel and more like time spent chatting on the porch with someone you've known most of your life. Her writing in a consistent Carolina dialect, her attention to detail in constructing a believable world, and the complexity of her characters' emotions in the face of life's heartaches allow them to step off the page fully formed.

The conclusion of the book, though moving and somewhat satisfying, felt rushed and tacked on to the otherwise thoughtful narrative, however. The entrance of an omniscient narrator who had never appeared before the last chapter was jarring and the last few pages felt as if Gibbons ran out of steam in trying to tie up the loose ends. A reliance on an increased amount of internal dialogue also was introduced in the final chapter, adding to the reader's disorientation. Lastly, the book seems to be set in the peak of 1950s life in the South, which includes allusions to racial inequality and prejudice that offends modern sensibilities. (I understand it was written to reflect realistically that time period).

Those weaknesses aside, A Virtuous Woman is worth reading. The themes of struggling with man's quest for immortality and wrestling with society -- both in trying to conform to its demands and in aiming to beat its expectations -- were portrayed with vulnerability that comes from a compassionate author's alertness to human nature and the world around her.

I'm richer for having been picked by this gem of a book.

Just finished ...

A childhood classic that was a favorite of mine in both the book and movie format. I hadn't read Charlotte's Web in at least 15 years but I thought I'd revisit it when I serendipitously happened upon it in a used bookstore the other day. The timeless tale of friendship and self-sacrifice moved me as it had so many years before. Themes I didn't remember: respecting animals and growing up. The tender illustrations paired with the lively descriptions were a riveting combination. Tip of the hat to author E.B. White and illustrator Garth Williams.

Unexpectedly, I read the book more as a writer this time and less as a reader. I still was completely absorbed by the descriptions and the characters, but I viewed it from the lens of an aspiring children's book author. What I learned was that when a book comes from an authentic place, the author can draw in any type of reader. Reading about the rhythms and tasks of farm life is a topic that I am unlikely to feel connected to, having grown up in urban landscape my whole life. And yet, I felt fully present with Fern and her "best friends," the animals, and was drawn in by the narrator's knowledge. Ultimately, the book reminded me that no matter what our life experiences are or how simple an idea we have, the right combination of skill and heart can produce a poignant classic.

Tragic truths

I just finished the previously-mentioned Black Like Me, an eye-opening account of the absurdity of racial hatred in our nation's recent history. In the late 1950s, John Howard Griffin, a white journalist from Texas, is haunted persistently by these questions:

"If a white man became a Negro in the Deep South, what adjustments would he have to make? What is it like to experience discrimination based on skin color, something over which one has no control?" 

He decides one night to embark on a seven-week journey that would answer those questions by medically altering his skin color and experiencing the discrimination firsthand. The book is a series of journal entries, beginning the night he decides to pursue this project and ending with the world's reaction to his published work. Griffin's strength as a journalist in documenting his experience lies in his observation skills and his commitment to include details that powerfully evoke these situations for the reader.

In an afterword, Griffin's biographer Robert Bonazzi explains:

The book's evocation of naked experience, of what is being done to the narrator rather than what he does, draws us toward the center, engages our emotions and all of our senses. We view scenes in vivid detail, hear precise tones in the dialogue and interior monologue, smell fear, and taste dread ...

The power of the book is rooted in the uncomfortable truth that many people who were impacted by it would not have listened to its revelations if they were not written by a white man. If he had not been a part of a privileged class and documented the respect and dignity he was freely given before changing only his appearance, his experience would have been written off.

The flaw of the book springs from the same place of its power. While Griffin as a black man relearns social conditioning to act according to societal expectations, and while he approaches each situation with the methodology of a sociologist, he never fully relinquishes his white perspective. There are passages that, though well-intended, come across sounding racially paternalistic. He also has the luxury of being able to escape the despair of the ghetto when it begins to close in on him by asking to stay with a friend in the white area of town.

That being said, the book is still one motivated by a rare sense of humanity and courage, given the time period. Despite its weaknesses, I will echo the back cover's recommendation that this "chillingly relevant eyewitness history is a work about race and humanity every American must read."

Snapshots of humanity

"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been -- it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books." -Thomas Carlyle 

As far back as I can remember, I've had a book in my hand. Growing up it was my joy and the way that I felt set free. Not much can coax me to put reading and writing on hold, but a certain project that took top-priority these last few months did. That being said, as soon as I'd finished I took a running leap into my pile of books and savored the wisdom and humanity I found in their pages.

First came Eat Pray Love. Elizabeth Gilbert's storytelling of her yearlong search for pleasure, devotion and love (in that order) sparkles with intelligence, wit, and personality. Her sense of adventure, courageous vulnerability and the insights she draws from philosophy and major world religions allows the reader to participate in her travels and growth, to empathize and celebrate in her struggles and triumphs, and carry away at the end of the book a sense of friendship with her. I rarely say I feel that personal connection, but few authors have the audacity to share so generously of themselves, to include both virtues and flaws in democratic detail and to react to both with such love.

Favorite excerpts/lessons from this book (ironically both come during her time in India where she studies at a temple and meets fellow student Richard, a larger-than-life character from Texas):

• [On being aware of our thoughts] He said, 'You need to learn how to select your thoughts just the same way you select what clothes you're gonna wear every day. This is a power you can cultivate.' ...  On first glance, this seems a nearly impossible task. Control your thoughts? Instead of the other way around? But imagine if you could? ... So I've started being vigilant about watching my thoughts all day, and monitoring them. I repeat this vow about 700 times a day: "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore." Every time a diminishing thought arises, I repeat the vow.
• [On the subject of soul mates] "I seriously believed David was my soul mate." Richard: "He probably was. Your problem is you don't understand what that word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave."

Next, I followed a friend's advice and went for another adventure, this time to Spain and the Sahara Desert, and then to the Soul of the World. Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist is a fable about a young boy pursuing his 'Personal Legend' (what each of us was designed to do -- something that usually you know as a child). Coelho offers piercing insights into the ways we often compromise as adults on our authenticity and dreams. His fable surprises with its depth because it is packaged in simple prose, but it resonates on a personal level with the reader because the universal themes and lack of pretense allow it to be a guide for whomever is wise or lucky enough to peek under its cover. 

From The Alchemist:

"There is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It's your mission on earth. ... To realize one's Personal Legend is a person's only real obligation."

Whether it be a woman's heartache and subsequent search to discover herself and the world, or a shepherd boy's quest to realize his potential and remain open to life's lessons along the way, both have changed me. Both accounts I found magically preserved in the pages of books, and both have inspired me to dream of the adventures I have yet to live and the contribution I hope to make one day in guiding fellow travelers in search of their own Personal Legend.