Digging God and Marcelo

I know I don’t look like the destructive type, but I once totaled my husband’s nativity set.

Well, I didn’t destroy it personally, but I did call in some hired muscle in the form of a disturbed dog. When the job was done and the wise men’s dismembered bodies were strewn around the kitchen floor, I secretly did a jig.

I celebrate Christmas, but you won’t find a nativity scene at my house. It’s not because I’m so private about my religion, or because Banana Republic and Zales have killed my spirituality with their ubiquitous marketing campaigns. In all honesty, I believe in God, and I love the story of Jesus’ birth.

But I keep it quiet. Because, let’s face it, it’s just not cool to dig God.

I recently read the wonderful book Marcelo in the Real World by Francisco X. Stork, about a boy named Marcelo with a diagnosis that lies somewhere on the mild end of the autism spectrum. Marcelo has managed to create a world for himself that is comfortable and familiar. He goes to a special school, lives in his tree house, works with horses, delves into religious pursuits, and retreats to his “internal music” whenever life gets to be too much for him. Then, one summer, his father demands that Marcelo enter the “real world,” which translates into taking a job in the mailroom at his father’s law firm. Marcelo’s eyes are opened in some alarming ways, and seeing the real world – our world – through Marcelo’s frank and naive gaze is a little uncomfortable for the reader, because it’s so true.

In one particularly interesting scene, Marcelo and his dad are traveling on the commuter rail together for Marcelo’s first day at the law firm. To calm his nerves, Marcelo takes out his rosary and begins to pray quietly. His father calmly explains that praying is not appropriate public behavior. It’s just not done. I was thinking that the dad was a real jerk, and then I realized: if he’s a jerk, so am I. The dad is right. We live in a secular world, and there are rules we must follow to succeed. In general, people who are considered successful don’t make a fuss about their faith.

I don’t have any need to evanglize, but I don’t want to hide an aspect of myself that is becoming increasingly important to me. It’s hard to imagine feeling comfortable even mentioning prayer, church, or God in a group of my peers, the vast majority of whom do not practice religion. It’s not comfortable to admit it, but even though I’m all “grown up,” I still want to fit in. Shouldn’t I have outgrown this feeling by now?

Acknowledging faith in God makes me feel vulnerable, so I resist. I’ve been too embarrassed to be enthusiastic about religion or, really, about anything that makes me seem less than strong, less than self-sufficient. It’s the same way I used to feel about therapy Getting over that was a necessary step in helping my marriage thrive, and I’m so grateful that I did.

It’s scary to admit to believing in something that’s invisible, or to get help when you need it, or to build a life around loving someone else. It’s scary to need anything, period. People might laugh or, worse, judge me.

Seems a bit late, but I’m finally realizing what people mean when they say, “live your life for you.” My self-consciousness has gotten me nothing, except a bubble of protection from the mockery that I fear. Yet, how many things has that self-consciousness cost me?

Well, church, for one.

Book Notes: A Northern Light

One reason I  love reading historical fiction books is that, every once in a while, you get the magical feeling of a character stepping out of her time, reaching out across the pages to whisper her truths in your ear, and the amazing thing is that the two of you could be sisters.  It’s like meeting someone at a party who has a completely different background than you but with whom you instantly connect and see eye-to-eye.  Only in this case, it feels even more magical because the person with whom you have so much in common is actually a figment of some author’s imagination and you wonder, "How on Earth did she know??  How did she get what is going on in my head right at this moment?"

In Jennifer Donnelly’s YA novel A Northern Light, Mattie Gokey lives on a farm with her father and three sisters in the Adirondack mountains just after the turn of the century. As eldest daughter, she has been responsible for caring for the family and their home since their mother died. Life is hard for Mattie – there is always work to do on the farm, whether it’s milking or plowing or cooking or cleaning.  In many ways, though, she is blessed. Her father provides for the family’s physical needs, selling their crops and dairy to new, upscale camps where tourists come to enjoy the rustic environment. The local school teacher has provided nourishment of a different kind, opening Mattie’s eyes to the wonder of books, particularly books that some consider to be dangerous and corruptive. She is blessed, too, because she has gifts enough to write her own poems and stories. Mattie’s talent creates many opportunities for her, opportunities like leaving the hard life of a farmer, getting a college education, and making a living with her pen.  Opportunities that frighten her because of what they will cost if she chooses to take them.

Mattie is a thoroughly sympathetic character.  She fiercely loves and protects her family and friends, to the point that she feels ready to sacrifice any amount of her own happiness for theirs.  And you could see how she might, not just out of selfless love, but also out of a kind of cultural habit.  There was, and is even now, an undeniable safety in building one’s life around the familiarity of family and duty.  There are several moments in the story – heart-wrenching, dreadful moments – in which Mattie almost gives in to that longing for safety.  And even as I wanted to grab her and push her in the opposite direction – "No, Mattie, they’ll keep you from your poetry!  You’ll spend your paper money on flour!" – how could I blame her for wanting the safe predictability that she could have in a life spent living on her husband’s farm and raising children?

I grieved for what Mattie was discovering, for what we women all discover. The reality of having options is a cruel one, because the truth is that we must choose one path by turning our back on another.  Mattie is so recognizable to me.  She could be my friend here in Brooklyn, just another over-educated woman slapped in the face with the realization of all she might have to give up if she is to make good on those dreams she stoked in college.

When I finished the book, I felt grateful and sad. Grateful to be a woman in a time and place in which the choices are just a little better than they were for Mattie. Grateful to be able to carve out time – even if it’s a very little – for my own work and dreams while being able to experience motherhood.

Sad because, as fortunate as I am, I knew just what Mattie meant.

I love this scene in which Mattie visits her friend Minnie, who is struggling with newborn twins and the responsibilities of a household, and realizes why the female writers she admires – Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott – eschew husbands and children.

“Emily Dickinson was a damn sneaky genius.

Holing up in her father’s house, never marrying, becoming a recluse – that had sounded like giving up to me, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed she fought by not fighting. And knowing her poems as I do, I would not put such underhanded behavior past her. Oh, maybe she was lonely at times, and cowed by her pa, but I bet at midnight, when the lights were out and her father was asleep, she went sliding down the banister and swinging from the chandelier. I bet she was just dizzy with freedom.

I have read almost a hundred of Emily’s poems and memorized ten. Miss Wilcox says she wrote nearly eighteen hundred. I looked at my friend Minnie, sleeping still. A year ago she was a girl, like me, and we were in my mamma’s kitchen giggling and fooling and throwing apple peels over our shoulders to see if they’d make the initials of our true loves. I couldn’t even see that girl anymore. She was gone. And I knew in my bones that Emily Dickinson wouldn’t have written even one poem if she’d had two howling babies, a husband bent on jamming another into her, a house to run, a garden to tend, three cows to milk, twenty chickens to feed, and four hired hands to cook for.

I knew then why they didn’t marry. Emily and Jane and Louisa. I knew and it scared me. I also knew what being lonely was and I didn’t want to be lonely my whole life. I didn’t want to give up my words. I didn’t to choose one over the other. Mark Twain didn’t have to. Charles Dickens didn’t. And John Milton didn’t, either, though he might have made life easier for untold generations of schoolkids if he had.”

A Northern Light, by Jennifer Donnelly

Mattie is a girl like any of us, going on hope and faith to make the best decisions she can, trying to be true to herself while honoring her responsibilities. This is just the type of book I’d love to read with my daughter WInnie, or my sister, or my friends. I know lots of women figure out how to balance their passion for life with their desire for family, but I also know that lots of women still feel blind-sided when they realize that doing it all means having very little left over. And, if we want not to be spread quite so thinly, most of us have to make choices. This book is a great story while being a lovely portrait of womanhood. Which, it seems, hasn’t changed since Mattie’s time. At least not quite as much as we’d like to think it has.

This post also appears on Girls Leadership Institute’s blog Woosh!

An Early Birthday Present for Moi!

This fall is going to be an exciting time for bookish little me. When I think about it, I get so worked up that I have a hard time typing (or perhaps it’s the sugary chai latte I just drank).

Check it out. Four *highly anticipated* books are being released in September/October. It’s like an early birthday present to me from four talented authors! How did they know what I wanted?!

Two of the books are follow-ups to YA books that I adored, one is the SEVENTH book in a series that I find positively consuming, and the fourth is a graphic novel by a guy I’d never heard of before I read about the book. In order of release date…

First of all, Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins came out on September 1st. Catching Fire is the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy. If you haven’t already read the first book, called The Hunger Games, read it now. But only if you have about twenty-four hours to kill. That’s about how long it will take you, and YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING ELSE.

The Hunger Games almost surpasses description – it’s that exciting to read – except that invariably when I describe it to people they tell me it reminds them of various other plots. It’s a science fiction story set in a future in which America is divided into twelve districts, all controlled by a greedy, oppressive government known as the Capital. Every year, the Capital stages an event called the Hunger Games – two teenagers from each district enter an arena filled with video cameras, and stay there until only one person remains. The main character Katniss is a survivor if there ever was one, and she knows she can win. But, as the game goes on, she wonders if there might be a way to survive without playing by the Capital’s rules. I was breathless at the conclusion of this book, and Catching Fire picks up right where the first left off. The only reason I haven’t read it yet is because I know it’s going to be over so fast and then I’ll have to bide my time before the third and final installment!

Another early September release, Stitches came out on the 5th. Stitches is a memoir by David Small, told in a black and white graphic novel. I first read about the book on the wonderful book blog Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast. The review reminded me of Craig Thompson’s Blankets. I don’t know if they truly are similar, but both books are memoirs about growing up, written for adults rather than children, despite the illustrated format. And both books chronicle the birth, development, and perseverance of the artist. I’m fascinated by the fact that, for some people, making art has nothing to do with their parents signing them up for a local sketching class. Making art can be as necessary to survival as breathing. Both Small and Thompson use their art to survive – and transcend – difficult circumstances.

A few years ago, my friend Tara said, “There’s this book called Outlander that you’ve just got to read.” “What’s it about?” I reasonably asked her. When she told me that the main character is a woman who mysteriously travels in time through a ring of ancient stones and lands in 18th Century Scotland, I politely declined. When she repeatedly failed to convince me, Tara simply put a copy of the book in my hands and commanded me to read. Well, after the first fifty pages, I couldn’t have put it down if I wanted to. I would try to put it down at the end of the night, but then lay in bed thinking, “What are Jamie and Claire doing now??” As if they were somehow continuing with their lives while I wasted time sleeping. This book was the first in a long while that I stayed up all night to read (but it’s not the last). I took me two days to devour all 600+ pages. Each subsequent book is even longer, and just as addictive. It’s been about a year and a half since I finished the sixth book, and I was simultaneously thrilled and dismayed when I saw that Diana Gabaldon planned to publish a seventh, called An Echo in the Bone. I couldn’t believe what a long time I had to wait! But, September 22nd is almost here! If you haven’t read Outlander yet, I’m jealous that you have it all ahead of you.

Kristin Cashore’s first book Graceling received about as much praise and recognition as a first novel can. My wonderful sister and reading partner Parry gave it me last Christmas, and promised that I would not be disappointed. I wasn’t. It’s a fantasy adventure book set in a world in which rare people are born with special abilities called “graces.” Those with graces, especially very useful ones, are forced into service for their kings. The main character Katsa is such a person; her fighting and killing grace makes her an invaluable weapon in her king’s arsenal. Katsa manages to be a warrior while also being a smart and sympathetic character. Cashore manages to write an adventure story while also dealing with issues of friendship and love, asking whether one gives up our self-reliance in order to have them, and whether it is worth it. Fire is not a sequel to Graceling. It takes place in the same fantasy world, but before Katsa’s story. It is not a true prequel either, though – from what I understand, Katsa and Po appear in the book but are not the main characters. I can’t wait to lose myself in Cashore’s exciting and fantastical world again. (But have to wait until October 5th!)

Kristin Cashore also has a wonderful blog – a mix of life, musings, and the writing business. If you’re interested in Young Adult Fiction, it’s a must-read. And, to promote the release of Fire, Cashore is going on a “blog tour!” Every day she’ll be visiting a different literary blog and blogging about the characters from Fire. Each blog she visits will also get a signed copy of the book to give away! Click here for the tour schedule.

Lastly, I found this link to the first chapter of Fire. Happy reading!

P.S. Just when it seems that life can’t get any better, and that I’ll be entertained at least until Thanksgiving by all this wordy picture-y goodness, I remember that two movies for which I have been oh-so-patiently-yet-eagerly waiting will soon open: Whip it! and Where the Wild Things Are. Oh my! An embarrassment of riches! Thank you, universe!