The Library Girl

Memoirs

In the last few weeks I’ve been a terrible blogger but a fairly decent reader. When there’s so little time to do anything, books come before writing. That’s not to say that I’m up to speed in that department either. I’ve actually been feeling disconnected from my regular literary life. It’s been weeks since a novel has been in my hands, and while reading for work is necessary, it’s not what I’d normally choose per se. I’m also farther away from the actual volumes at the library as well, even if I’ve never spent more time there. Sometimes I feel one step removed, but most directors could probably claim the same. I’ve taken a couple of days off to catch up, and the R & R should do some good. Just give me some books.

In a past post, I had said that I’m not too big on memoir and biography. Of course my reading habits of late would indicate the exact opposite. These books just land on my lap, I swear it. A couple of them have been really good, although a current one (My Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion) has been an absolute struggle. Normally it would have been tossed at the 50-page mark, but it has been dubbed the best non-fiction book of last year, so it must be endured (more on this in the next post, if I get through it by then).

Last night I finished up a terrific debut memoir [in audio format] by J.R. Moehringer entitled The Tender Bar. It’s about the author’s search for his father, but also male role models generally. He essentially grew up in a Long Island bar, where he learned about masculinity, friendship, loyalty, betting, drinking, and most importantly, storytelling. The narration by Adam Grupper exactly matches the character. I enjoyed this one immensely and shall certainly pass it along.

Another recently finished memoir that I liked was Diana Abu-Jaber’s The Language of Baklava, a story about an American girl who moves to Jordan with her family, then back to the United States, then once again to her ancestral homeland as a grad student. She struggles with her two seemingly irreconcilable identities but remains loyal to her family and to her memories, especially of food. If you like Ruth Reichl’s memoirs, you’ll appreciate this one as well.

Book Couples

I could be as busy as can be at work all week, but nothing is allowed to get in the way of the morning reading ritual I share with my husband on the weekends. We look forward to it immensely as a guaranteed time we spend with one another; a slow and relaxing pause in our hectic lives. The books change along with our habits, but not the fact of the books themselves.

Nowadays, I’m ripping through volumes related to innovation, creativity, marketing, leadership, etc. to help with my new job. For my darling, it is language. Yesterday I finished James Surowiecki’s The Wisdom of Crowds, which is about the combined intelligence of individuals acting in a group, in the way that, say, wikis demonstrate. I lump this title along with the Tipping Point and Freakonomics in terms of interest and likeability.

This morning it was Seth Godin’s Purple Cow: Transform Your Business by Being Remarkable, which is a marketing text of sorts about creating remarkable products. The bus book of the week was a wholly unrelated French volume of short stories by a local writer named Marie Hélene Poitras called La Mort de Mignonne et autres histoires.

I can’t tell you how important it is to me that my husband reads. If you are a Reader, books can make or break your couple. When I was doing my undergrad degree and amassing books at a frantic pace, this boy in my class expressed interest in me. When he told me how proud he was that he had kept not one single book in his apartment, I lifted my jaw back into place and then got out of there as fast as possible. A skunk may as well have sprayed me.

To bibliophiles, other people’s reading can be aphrodisiacal. Nothing is more attractive than finding out about a prospective mate’s passion for books, particularly if you share similar taste. I know of a couple who just started dating who are positively excited about each other’s bookish habits. They talk about that quality more than anything else in reference to the other. It’s actually much more meaningful than it at first appears. What it translates to is: he’s intelligent; she’s interesting; he’s like me; we have a lot to talk about; we can spend time reading together; we have similar values; we like to learn; we appreciate the same things, and on and on. It’s a solid foundation upon which to build. They will never run out of things to say.

Book couples are kindred souls. There’s nothing more to it.

Used

Every kind of book venue has its crowd, and every bibliophile has his or her purveyor of choice, although few would sniff their noses at even the tiniest of operations. I have to say that I’m not too fussy; I love all libraries and I’ll give any new book store at least one chance. Used bookshops, however, are another matter entirely.

There is a definite art to putting together a second-hand establishment, and the great ones have a mixture of dependability in terms of quality, high turnover, and a degree of chaos. The true joy behind paying one a visit is browsing and serendipitously stumbling upon a gem. It’s also thrilling to have a title in mind and then find exactly what you’re looking for on the shelf. Such a pleasure is taken for granted in chains. There is also the specific sound of creaking floors in quiet rooms which I love, and a certain ubiquitous used-but-not-unpleasant smell that most seem to possess.

Poorer operations, conversely, have had the same lingering titles sitting on the shelf since 1975. They smell all right, but musty or fungal, and nothing irritates me more than overpriced books. I don’t care much for those specializing in popular schlock fiction either.

These days I long to go used book shopping. I get the itch every couple of months, and then go and drop a ton of cash in one day. (That’s another fun thing about used books: they’re cheaper and you can cart more home with less money.) In Montreal, we don’t have one big shop, but rather, English and French clusters of smaller ones. The former is on Ste. Catherine between Atwater and Guy, and the latter, in an ‘L’ shape up St-Denis and then along Mount Royal East.

By far, I think the Strand in New York City is the best used book store. Although some order has been imposed onto it, I shall never forget the first time I stepped inside and spent several hours at least glancing at every shelf. You had to look just in case you missed something. Talk about ‘rough sort’. I must have bough thirty volumes that day. Sometimes I wish I could fly to NY just to go to there and then come home again. Sigh...

I shall ruminate no further on the subject, as I am getting wistful.

Leaders and Minds

There are great leaders and there are great minds, and often enough the two are found within the same person (although, alas, not always). I love studying greatness in any domain, from the past or the present. It doesn’t change over time or space, which is what makes it interesting. If you could distill certain qualities possessed by the Great and perhaps develop them in yourself, then in theory it should be possible to become that very thing - hence the abundance of books on leadership.

My first book of the week is a rather practical choice, recommended at a PLA session on becoming a leader. In my new job, I have a lot to do and a lot to prove, and I thought Michael Watkins’s book, The First 90 Days: Critical Success Strategies for New Leaders at All Levels , would help. It will. Basically the book talks about how to create momentum in your organization during the first (and very pivotal) three months after you get the position. Watkins talks about accelerating your learning, securing early wins, building your team and creating coalitions, among other things. I must admit that I voraciously took notes, and will have my managers read it as well, as it is sure to assist them.

In keeping with this theme and the Benjamin Franklin one I mentioned in an earlier post, I also read Atlantic Cousins: Benjamin Franklin and His Visionary Friends by Jack Fruchtman Jr. This is a collective biography of some of the people with whom Franklin corresponded in three countries: America, Britain, and of course, France. The choice of people to write about was wide open, as Franklin spent inordinate amounts of time sending letters back and forth across the pond. Because of that, I found some of the selections rather weird (like Franz-Anton Mesmer), but that didn’t at all detract from the book. The author succeeded if he wanted to demonstrate the Enlightenment penchant to dip into many pots (politics, science, abolition, health, business, letters, etc.) and more importantly, to share findings with others.

I have become completely enamored with this era and the people who made it happen. So much has come from groups of intelligent people who decided to get together and discuss ideas, feeding off one another’s energy. These creative and brilliant clusters could be found throughout history, and all are deeply fascinating. Take ancient Athens, 1950s France, 1820s New England, and the Bloomsbury group in the early 20th century, just to give four random examples. I could read about them all day. Come to think of it, I have. This is the kind of thing I live for, and the kind of environment I am trying to foster in the library. The team I work with is just extraordinary and our brainstorming sessions inspire and invigorate us all. It doesn’t even feel like work, although we get a lot done.

I’ll leave you with this thought on a Saturday night: imagine what more could have been if all the aforementioned groups would have only had the Internet. Wow.

Active Citizenry

Several thought threads wove together nicely today, leading to more questions than answers in my brain. They are of such a complex nature so as to keep me occupied philosophically for a while. You’ll probably be hearing more about this in the weeks to come.

Going along the theme of public service, I read a French book entitled La Communication publique, by Pierre Zémor. It’s basically a break down of the varieties and purposes of all forms of public communication; that is, from governmental sources. It made me think of the difference between being a resident and being an active citizen. For residents, it’s “What can my city do for me? What benefits does it offer?” The citizens’ question, à la JFK, is “What can I do to improve my community? How can I get involved?” That’s a fundamental difference.

In all groups, there are the passive and active people, with some who dabble with joining should it suit them. To live in a city minimally means that’s where you go home at the end of the day. Using a municipal based service like the library is not being ‘active’, but it at least counts you in as a beneficiary of the city’s offerings. It’s hard enough getting every resident to do even that. First they have to see the point - how it helps them in their daily lives. You’d be surprised how difficult getting that across is. Beyond that level of involvement is a whole other story. Is it only a certain type of person who takes part? I’d like not to believe that to be the case, but I suspect it is. 

When I was gardening this entire afternoon, my mind flashed to an article I had recently read about Victory Gardens during the Second World War, and how they supplied 53% of American produce during that period. That’s incredible, but goes along the lines of doing what you can as a citizen (never mind the health and taste benefits of fresh veggies). Does it have to take a war or cataclysmic event to remind people that they belong somewhere? That of course begs a further question about multiple layers of identity and sense of community, but I won’t go there tonight. In fact, I’d better stop, because this post is straying very far from books altogether.

Documents of the Past

I have two degrees in history because I find the discipline riveting. I’d get a third if my life allowed it, but in the mean time, I’ll take my history where I can get it. This weekend’s first two books, though very different, scratch that historical itch.

The first, Strange Red Cow and Other Curious Classified Ads from the Past¸ is rather unknown but absolutely fascinating. Written by Sara Bader, this book is outright cool in every way. Not only are the design and layout of the book incredibly fitting and well-done, the inside offers keyhole views into the past. The author points out that while useful tools in our lives, classifieds have such a short-term life span as to be ephemeral and subsequently ignored or forgotten. By revisiting them, we can catch a glimpse of what was deemed important, how people regarded their property, what they sought in love. By far the most interesting chapters are those on runaway slaves and ‘information wanted’, especially about recently immigrated people. What delicious primary sources these ads are. Please ma’am, I want some more.

The second book is not a history at all, but takes place in one of the most historically steeped cities in the world, Venice. John Berendt’s latest, The City of Fallen Angels, is a memoir/documentary of sorts about the time he spent there following a fire that destroyed a famous opera house, the Fenice. As with other books set in the same place, the author presents the spectacle that is Venice, its many facets and personalities, not to mention scandals and intrigues. History is everywhere in the text – architectural, literary, political. Where else would Marco Polo’s 13th century house be found underneath a theatre?

I will be reading more about Venice and Italy this summer since I hope to visit the Boot in the fall. Ci vediamo.