My Summer as a Bluestocking

What I wear when reading.

One of the advantages of being a woman of leisure is the time spent with one’s nose in a book. I’ll never buy a Kindle or any other “book” device. There’s nothing like turning pages and not having to worry about batteries. This will be of interest to no one but here’s what I read over the summer:

• Anne of Green Gables, LM Mongomery (Wonderful)
• The Gift of Wings, Mary Rubio (Interesting)
• Hadrian’s Wall & The Dakota Cipher, William Dietrich (Swashbuckling)
• Glenn Beck’s Common Sense, Glenn Beck (Political)
• Moon Tide, Dawn Clifton Tripp (Pretentious)
• Death Comes for the Archbishop, Willa Cather (Luminous)
• Exiles, Robert Hansen (Thoughtful)
• Those Who Hunt the Night & Travelling with the Dead, Barbara Hambly (Gothic)
• America’s Kitchen, Nancy Carlisle, Melinda Talbot Naserdinov, Jennifer Pustz (Educational)
• A Green Journey & Dear James, Jon Hassler (Heartfelt)
• Virtue of War, Steven Pressfield (Masculine)
• The Singular Mark Twain, Fred Kaplan (Tedious)
• Thornyhold, Mary Steward (Magical)

Currently I’m reading Dreamers of the Day by Mary Doria Russell and The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer, translated by Nevill Coghill.

That’s Writing

As I’m reading Moon Tide by Dawn Clifton Tripp (see my teasing about the book here), I’m reading Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop also. Cather can describe a scene without trying:

The two friends were roused from their reflections by a frantic beating of wings. A bright flock of pigeons swept over their heads to the far end of the garden, where a woman was just emerging from the gate that led into the school grounds; Magdalena [...] advanced in a whirlwind of gleaming wings, and Tranquilino dropped his spade and stood watching her. At one moment the whole flock of doves caught the light in such a way that they all became invisible at once, dissolved in light and disappeared as salt dissolves in water. The next moment they flashed around, black and silver against the sun.

Yet Another Graham Greene Quote of the Day

This man just hits it out of the park. (O.K. all you English Lit people, don’t roll your eyes. I’ve never read Greene before in my life. I went to a school system that had us read classics like One Fat Summer. ‘Nuf said.)

Yesterday I bought a crucifix, a cheap, ugly one because I had to do it quickly. I blushed when I asked for it. Somebody might have seen me in the shop. They ought to have opaque glass in their doors like rubber-goods shops. When I lock the door of my room, I can take it out from the bottom of my jewel-case. I wish I knew a prayer that wasn’t me, me, me. Help me. Let me be happier. Let me die soon. Me, me, me.

[...] Dear God, I’ve tried to love and I’ve made such a hash of it. If I could love you, I’d know how to love them. I believe the legend. I believe you were born. I believe you died for us. I believe you are God. Teach me to love. I don’t mind my pain. It’s their pain I can’t stand. Let my pain go on and on, but stop theirs. Dear God, if only you could come down from your Cross for a while and let me get up there instead. If I could suffer like you, I could heal like you.

The End of the Affair

Day Out

Yesterday, I got my butt out of Leominster and headed down to Needham, MA. to visit a former work colleague. It was lovely chit-chatting over tea but the real adventure happened about 8 miles away when we visited the New England Mobile Book Fair in neighboring Newton.

The name is a head scratcher. Yes, it’s in New England. No, it’s firmly planted in the ground (just like “mobile” homes never go anywhere) and there isn’t much of a Fair-like atmosphere (no balloons or cotton candy). I’m sure there’s a legit reason for the name but I’m too lazy to find out.

Tardis, a.k.s NE Mobile Book Fair

On the outside the one-story place is very non-descript: gray (or is it light blue?) wood siding with large windows that are covered up from the inside. The entrance is not very well marked but at least it faces the parking lot. The building reminds me of the Tardis. It doesn’t look very big from the outside, but once you step through the non-descript entrance, you realize this place is GINORMOUS.

The space is divided into three areas: remainders, hardcovers, and paperbacks. The remainders are organized by subject. I hit the biography, history and religion sections but didn’t find anything that suited my fancy. The hardcover and paperback sections are arranged by publisher. So forget about finding The Story of Edgar Sawtelle in the Oprah Book Club section. Who’s the publisher? (Ecco, BTW) Taped at the end of each aisle is the list of publishers (alas, no Ignatius Press) the Book Fair carries and which aisle they can be found.

I headed over to the paperback section. In my nifty EMS satchel/purse/whatever I always carry a small, leatherbound journal in case Calliope wishes to grace me with inspiration at the off-beat time. That hasn’t happened but in my daily perusings I do scribble book titles that sound interesting. With this list I did my best to find them on the bewildering shelves. And failed miserably.

Kerouac Kicks A! Because I said so.

I always hate asking for help because I’m usually met with distain. The overeducated, underemployed help at record and book stores have this preset “cool & hip” and “uncool & unhip” lists in their head. (These lists are usually formed from reading The New Yorker and any publication with the word “alternative” in it.) Usually, I’m lumped in the latter category. But this time, this nice, librarian-type woman helped me find the following books:

Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop

G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (Yup, Joel, I finally got it.)

Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

In any other bookstore, one could go to the “classics” or “literature” section. Without blinking, this nice librarian woman just knew the publishers of each book (Vintage, Image, and Penguin respectively). Phew!

So I left with my loot (at 20% off), thinking better of bookstore clerks (though the dude at the register seemed better suited to a poetry slam than calculating change) and scheduling my next trip to the regional, non-mobile, publication bazaar.