A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

My Pandemic Reading List: Stage Two — Stasis

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When I last wrote about what I was reading for the pandemic, it was all about preparation — what was essential to know as battened down the hatches. Now it’s been almost two months since my last dine-in meal and we’re as suspended in time as most. Finding a copy of The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima (which I have not yet read) at our Little Free Library made me realize that my reading had, necessarily, shifted of late, too. So today I’ll share with you the books that bring me comfort and a thought or two about why reading can feel so hard right now.

Garden by the Sea by Mercè Rodoreda

garden by the sea - rodoredaI confess that my reading of Garden by the Sea by Mercè Rodoreda was broken. I picked it up night after night and would read a few pages before falling asleep with it open and the lamp on. But it wasn’t the book’s fault and in some ways this was the perfect book to read in this way. (In my reading anyway) not a lot happens in the first half of the book.

The narrator is the gardener of a marvelous villa by the sea in 1920s Spain. He shares stories of what’s going on in the big house during the summers, but the story I connected with right now was his life of sitting in a cottage watching that life happen. His residence and employment continued as the property changed hands, as the seasons changed, and as lives were made and ruined nearby. This observer narrator feels less involved in the main drama than Nick Carraway was in The Great Gatsby and I very much connected with the feeling of daily maintenance that was reinforced by Rodoreda’s choice to describe the plants and the care thereof. As though this world will continue on, with minor changes, no matter what happens through the window. It doesn’t hurt that Rodoreda’s writing is gorgeous enough that I felt wrapped in a dream (even when I was still awake).

It helps that we’re investing a lot in our garden right now. Or maybe investing in our garden helps a lot right now. I’ve ripped all the grass out of our front yard and populated it with the few plants that I could order and my first careful reconfiguring of plants we already had. We also planted our veggies early and added a new bed for more. Not only is this all a place to put my angst, it’s also something for the future that I actually have control over.

Now by Antoinette Portis

now - antoinette portisNow is one of the books my son pulls from his shelves when he knows I’m upset and could use a calm down. Beautifully illustrated, this book walks through moments of a young girl’s life. I bought it so he could learn (gently) about mindfulness. Clearly I need it as much for myself. Still, this book is an excellent reminder (for readers of all ages) about appreciating the moments we’re in. At the end of the book, the narrator says “and this is my favorite now, because it’s the one I’m sharing with you” and shows the girl being read to by her mother (at which point my son always gets an extra big hug).

This week I started writing moments in our wall calendar. I needed some reminder that there was purpose to each day and that time is, indeed, passing. Some days are little (we planted seeds yesterday) and some are big (we finished building those new garden beds on Sunday), but these few daily words feel meaningful enough that I plan to go back through my Twitter and phone reel and fill in all the days since March 13.

Also, I’m trying to appreciate things more as they happen and to make magic in simple ways. It’s been a trying week for the whole family, emotionally, but slowing down and looking has helped. One day I lay face down on our grass and watched ants take food back to their hills (did you know they eat dandelion seeds?). Later that night I watched the dust settle in the beam of my son’s lamp as he picked out books. All of these gentle moments helped me reset a little and find the pleasures of now. Best of all, last night I finally traipsed out to get lilacs for my bedside (they’re great for wilding up your dreams). It was late, I was barefoot, and our back porch light was off. My husband came with me and there was definitely magic in realizing how much we could see in the dark and in spotting the big dipper overhead on a balmy night.

Why Reading Feels Impossible

I wish I could recommend to you old favorites like An Atlas of Impossible Longing about feeling angsty or out of place, but even pulling those books from my shelf feels exhausting right now. This came up on a family Zoom call recently—one of those discussions with people you love who are backgrounded by walls full of books you know they’ve actually read—except the conversation was about why we aren’t reading, or why reading feels so hard. For me it’s about empathy.

While reading can be a wonderful escape into another world, reading well and fully also requires us to empathize with the characters, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t have empathy to spare right now. I’m spending all the love and care I can muster on those in my household (trying to reserve some for myself). I’m reaching out to friends I might not otherwise be on schedule to connect with. I’m weeping for strangers in newspapers or on Twitter. And at work I’m trying to think about what our audience needs so I can help them. None of this leaves much room for the fictional characters with whom I usually keep company. So much for the stacks of books that I keep ordering. I guess there will be time for those later.

Are you reading now? If so, what brings you comfort? I could use a few good recommendations before I move on to the “returning to outside life” stage of this pandemic.

Normally at this point I ask you to buy books from indies (yes, please, when you can), but right now the investment I’m making in the literary future involves donating (my money and time) to Seattle City of Literature to help keep our culture vibrant. Please join me in donating, if you can.

Mercè Rodoreda’s Breathless Narrator in The Time of the Doves

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Merce Rodoreda The Time of the DovesThe narrative voice in Mercè Rodoreda’s novel, The Time of the Doves, wraps the reader in the dizzying world of a young woman. Through first person narration and the use of stream of consciousness, Rodoreda places the reader inside the head of Natalia as life happens to her.

Rodoreda starts sentence after sentence with “And,” even she using it as a conjunction between sentences: “[a]nd I stuck up for Quimet’s mother and said yes, she had put salt in the food. And the neighbor said if she ate food that was too salty it took her appetite away and Quimet said…”  This and the lack of commas gives Natalia’s narration a breathless feeling like she is so wrapped up in the story that she couldn’t stop talking if she tried. This hurriedness also gave me the impression that she wasn’t stopping to think about what she was saying, there was no after the fact analysis. It was an interesting effect for something narrated in the past tense. Most often writers add layers of reflection and reinterpretation to stories narrated in the past tense. The character has had years to mull over events and interject meaning. By combining the breathlessness with the past tense, Rodoreda gave me the impression that Natalia was reliving these events and there was a lot of unprocessed anxiety wrapped up in them.

Natalia is aware of the actions going on around her: “Quimet started complaining furiously about his leg;” and to a certain extent she feels how those actions impact her: “I felt like they’d emptied me out of myself and filled me with something very strange. Someone I couldn’t see kept blowing into my mouth and played at inflating me;” but she doesn’t even contemplate escaping it. Natalia needs a sympathetic audience and the reader is closer than a girlfriend to whom Natalia complains about her life, but she has no concept that she has any control over her own fate. This intimate quality means the reader is involved in Natalia’s confusion.

Natalia was so caught up in the whirlwind of her life that the war crept up on her. Her life existed outside of history or political context for most of the first half of the novel. Rodoreda drops in a reference to the king on page 71 and Natalia mentions “the rich were mad at the Republic.” It isn’t until “Cintet and Quimet never stopped talking about the street patrols and how they’d have to be soldiers again” that the war comes home for Natalia. This was a very interesting effect. Usually when I read books about wars, they are about wars, the war is heavily foreshadowed through the rest of the book and often there are battle scenes. What Rodoreda accomplished was showing how ignorant people can be about impending political strife when they are wrapped up in their lives. Natalia couldn’t meditate on ridding her house of doves, let alone how the political situation was shaping up around her.

Although I interjected my own thoughts and feelings into the novel, e.g. wondering why she didn’t know what a jerk Quimet was, so strong was the narrative voice that Rodoreda changed the way I read the book. Natalia is living without much premeditation, evidenced by sentences like: “[u]p to the moment he got undressed, you could say I’d never really taken a good look at him.” I am used to reading for clues to a character’s ultimate fate, to having some idea where the character is going. This sentence was like a smack in the face. It forced me to experience Natalia’s life as she was experiencing it because she was so unpredictable. I could worry for her, but I couldn’t anticipate her. We are so controlled by Natalia’s worldview that when “a militiaman knocked on the door and told me Quimet and Cintet had died” and she goes up to the roof “to breathe,” we don’t know if she is relieved or in shock or devastated.

I find myself slipping into the “and, and, and” mode sometimes when I am writing, but I usually go back and edit it out. This novel conveyed that sense of rawness, where the character is experiencing everything simultaneously, that I would like to experiment with, but I sometimes found it exhausting to read. I felt like I was being whipped around like Natalia was allowing herself to be and the only control I had was to put the book down. I think it is something I could use as an effect, but I wonder if I would be able to give up the control of having my characters act on their own behalves. Rodoreda’s treatment of Natalia and the war was spot on. To worry and anticipate political strife would have implied some sort of forethought and would have been completely out of character. I was truly placed inside Natalia’s world and at the mercy of her interpretation of it.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of The Time of the Doves from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.