Sep
15
On the Magic of Reading the Right Book at the Right Time
2011 at 5am Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky
I stayed mostly offline this weekend. As much I’m a person who processes emotions verbally—sometimes I don’t really know how I feel about something until after I start talking about it—there are some things I just can’t write about, some things I need to take stock of privately. I was thinking about this on Saturday when someone I follow on Twitter recalled her diary entry from 9/11, sending me running to the storage closet in my office to dig out my journal from 2001.
Most of that day is a blur to me. I know where I was when I heard the news. I remember calling my parents to tell them I was okay (I was two weeks into my freshman year of college then). I remember the emotions. But I couldn’t remember if I wrote anything about it. So I checked, and there’s a 10-day blank through the middle of September. I couldn’t write about it then, and I can’t write about it now. It’s not something I want to talk about here. That’s not what this blog is about. So I didn’t write a post to mark the day on Sunday.
Instead, I did what I usually do in the face of overwhelming feelings: I spent the weekend with a book.
More specifically, I spent the weekend with Kevin Brockmeier’s A Brief History of the Dead, in which people who have died live in a city (ostensibly it is either THE afterlife or a step along the way) where they continue to reside as long as someone alive on Earth remembers them. When there ceases to be someone on Earth to remember them, they depart from The City. Like the other Brockmeier novel I’ve read, The Illumination, it’s a slightly magical story about connectedness and how we are tied to each other in a million more ways than we realize. Of course, I didn’t know this when I picked up the book Saturday morning. All I knew was that I liked the author’s other work, and I wanted to read something from my personal TBR, and this one had been sitting on the pile for far too long.
The Brief History of the Dead is a gorgeous, mesmerizing, occasionally frightening book, and I would have loved it no matter when I read it. But I happened to read it the weekend of 9/11, when I was already thinking about loss and memory and connectedness, and the more time I spent with it, the more perfect it seemed.
When you don’t have a religious practice, you miss out on all the ritualized framework it provides for dealing with difficult moments. I didn’t go to church or to a public ceremony this weekend to think about 9/11 or to ponder the meaning of life and death and what might happen after. I didn’t even tune into the TV coverage. I didn’t need to. I had a book, a book that presented itself to me at just the right moment, as books always seem to do, and if that—the power of literature—is the big thing I believe in, that’s more than enough for me.
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I find this post useful for two reasons- first, I had never heard of the book or its author, and it sounds fascinating! Second, I am another one of those people who doesn’t practice a religion and misses out a bit on the ritual in times like these. Had I not been visiting my best friend in Charlotte, I would have found myself buried in a good book or two, and I just hope it would have been something so perfect. I’ve gotten lucky like that on a few occasions.
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I am another “without religion” and it’s times like 9/11 (and remembering it annually) that I really understand the value of having a religion. I still find it difficult, and I can’t write about it because my words cannot do my emotions justice.
I also had never heard of this book, but it sounds like a wonderful read, I’ll have add it to my TBR list!
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Beautiful post — I never thought of reading as way to mourn and honor a tragedy but as you articulated it — it’s so very true. Thank you for sharing this.
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You’ve illuminated for me what I have always felt but never verbalized and that is how much my reading life has brought me sanity, calmed my nerves, helped me to process things, and just given me pure pleasure over the years.
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This was a really well done piece. Like many I have mixed feelings about 9/11 and what it means. It is a terrible day for many but it is also my daughter’s birthday. She was born the year after the tragedy.
What I really took from this is that the best way to honor those who preceded us in death and sacrifice is as much as we can make the best of life and do that which we love and top of that list for me is to read.
For the last few weeks I have been enjoying your blog. And I especially liked today’s posting. My oldest daughter lived and worked in NYC on that fateful day. She, too, writes a blog and for the first time wrote about 9/11 Monday. You might want to check out her blog: amyccollins.com
Great piece. I started reading this book last Friday and love every word of it. The idea is magical and the layout is the right way to tell the story. I have every intention of reading The Illumination.
Books are my religion. They are the best part of my Sundays.
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I have had this book on my shelf for years but just was never sure about it. I saw you tweet about it this weekend and pulled it up from the depths.
I agree about the need to process grief/emotions in your own way. For me, that’s on my own, quietly, with a book. Rightly or not, books are the scope through which I view much of my life, so the complexities often fall away or at least become a bit easier to look at.
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This is a beautiful post that really speaks to the process of grief – and respecting that process no matter how it may reveal itself.
I was particularly struck by the realization that you did not write for 10 days after the attacks in New York City and Washington, DC, and the heroic downing of the plane in Shanksville, PA. You are a very verbal girl and to know that you were silenced for 10 days was an indication of the effect that day had on your life.
That you found solace now, ten years later, in a book is an equally powerful statement. I think, too often, we look outward for someone or something to fix our pain. To be quiet and let words guide you to a healing place can be a difficult if not scary journey when our mind and heart is so distracted.
Thank you for reminding us all of the power of the book.
Same here. When i talk i can understand better how i feel. its more easy then the confusing of writing. sometimes writing takes me to things that dont feel real.
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excellent! looks good, I’ll try to read this book.