The Voices In Which They Were Told

Hey Raven,

Sorry you're feeling so sick today. Everyone reading this send Raven happy, non-sick thoughts. Today I wanted to get back to talking about the things in life that are awesome and make life worth living. One of the chief sources of awesome in my life is books. As you may have noticed I like stories. And as you may have noticed in my posts about dance and poetry I can and do search out the story in everything and latch onto every method of storytelling available.

While I love every possible medium for storytelling there is I am particularly partial to books. They were the first means of storytelling available to me - my mother read me stories every night and I am undyingly grateful for that. I remember a long list of children's books we read together, often with my mother discovering the words, stories and worlds for the first time right along with me. There was something magical in that pre-bedtime haze of fantasy and my mother's voice that has carried into my adulthood strong and untarnished. To this day when I read books to my charges as they drift off, or when I revisit books that were read to me I read them as I imagine (or as I remember) my mother reading them. I hear her in Charlotte's Web, one of my all time favorites and I try to give the stories of Frog and Toad her unique cadence.

As I got older, my sister invited me to share in her love of the fantastic and otherworldly and I did. I fell madly in love with the fantastical worlds of Tamora Pierce, Philip Pullman, T.A. Barron, Brian Jacques, J.K. Rowling, and Madeleine L'Engle. Then later came Mercedes Lackey, J.R.R. Tolkien, Garth Nix, Ursula K. Le Guin, and many others. The fantastical has always been my favorite corner of the book world and I visit it often.

As I get older and start to think about teaching literature I think about how important these stories were to forming the person I am. But when I think about my mother's voice, my sister's battered copy of Sabriel, and my own well loved (and marked) copies of Pierce's Immortals quartet I realize books are more than just a means of shaping your future. They are a permanent anchor holding scraps of your past.

In that spirit I will share 5 books that I think shaped me and what pieces of my past they hold.

Starbright, Meditations for Children by Maureen Garth - I am not an easy sleeper. It takes me hours to drift off. As a child I was even worse. My mother discovered this book and it saved us both a lot of restless nights. To this day when I have trouble falling asleep I can hear her voice reciting the introduction and feel myself relaxing, if not falling asleep. This is the definitive bedtime story for me and I can still recite most of the stories from memory.

Frindle by Andrew Clements - I think everyone from my generation remembers this book. I remember hiding out in my elementary school library during lunch and recess trying to finish the book and find out what happens to everyone. This book, while it's story has faded over time, still sticks in my memory as one of the first books I picked out for myself and fell in love with. Frindle was the moment I fell in love with reading books and when I think of it I can't help thinking of stained green carpeting, solid light wooden chairs, row upon row of children's books, and a growling stomach.

Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling - One of my early introductions to the fantasy genre and the series that got me hooked on many things - chapter books, young adult books, stories told in series, and writing my own works. The Goblet of Fire particularly sticks out to me and holds some of the strongest memories. I can feel the couch I sat on to read it and remember how my legs cramped and my neck ached after staying up late to finish the book. It was also the first of many signs that I just might be a bit of a nerd someday. (Spoilers I am now I huge nerd.)

Night by Elie Wiesel - Here's a change in tone. During 8th grade in middle school our English teacher handed out this slim novel and I remember a lot of kids excitedly whispering that it would be a quick, easy read. It was certainly one. It took me less than a day to rip through the story of Wiesel's stolen childhood and living nightmare. The book has stuck with me forever and I date my awareness of a broader, imperfect world outside my own to the moment I set the book down after reading it for the first time.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston - Junior year of high school, American literature. I adored every book I read that year and I remember a lot of my friends did, too. Not this book. I was maybe the only kid in my class to enjoy Janie Crawford's story of coming into her own, but I think in some ways she helped me start that journey for myself. I still remember a class discussion about symbolism in the book. There's a peach tree (I think it's a peach tree) that is mentioned in one chapter and the teacher was trying to pull the symbolism of that tree out of a class of 16 year olds. Finally she just says it - it's sex. The peach tree symbolizes sex and Janie's sexual maturity. As we read through the book and discussed more hidden symbols I saw the steps my own life would take (though not in any exact measure). I see this book as less of a coming of age story and more of coming into one's own or controlling one's own destiny story. It also forced me, in much the same way Night had, to start thinking about the lives of people I had never met and might never fully understand. I would never know Janie's struggle - not really. I am white and so much of Janie's journey is bound up in the dark color of her skin. But that didn't mean I couldn't learn from her and listen to her voice (and the voice of my English teacher that year) as I moved on with my life.

So there are 5 formative books that stick out clearly in my memory as anchors of my past. I'll do another list of just formative books in another post.

I will leave you with the quote that gives this post its title:
"Once upon a time we grew up on stories and the voices in which they were told. We need words to hold us and the world to behold us to truly know our own souls." - from "Reading Allowed" by Taylor Mali