books – Letters to Will

Dear Will:

My mother, God bless her, tried mightily throughout my childhood to turn me into a reader. Our home was filled with books which I mostly ignored. When she took me to the library, I would skip past the Newbery Medal winners and come home with Great Running Backs of the NFL instead. When I had to fulfill a specific page count to satisfy my elementary school teachers, I would re-read my tattered copy of Sports Shorts or (not making this up) paperback collections of comics from “Tumbleweeds.” Given the option, I always preferred to shoot hoops in the driveway instead. How I ever became an English major remains one of the great literary mysteries of our time.

It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that Mrs. Zastrow, my English teacher, succeeded where my mother had not. When she compelled me to read Walden by Henry David Thoreau, I fell hard. There was something about the off-the-grid experiment at the Pond combined with Thoreau’s excellent prose that just grabbed me. To this day, I consider Walden one of the all-time greats, a favorite that has survived multiple re-readings and still remains on top (ahead, even, of Sports Shorts, if you can believe it). One thing I have discovered, however, is that no one remains neutral when it comes to Walden. You either hate it (most people) or you love it (cool people).

In college I also discovered John Steinbeck, and he remains one of my literary heroes. Of his many books, two stand out for me: The Grapes of Wrath (of course) and East of Eden. No one is better than Steinbeck at helping you see the world through very different eyes and getting you to feel for people who are nothing like you. One of the things I admire most about his writing is how he sometimes takes you right up to the dramatic moment and then begins the next chapter after the moment has passed. He leaves it to the reader to connect the two. It’s great.

I think the most beautiful prose I have ever read can be found in Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. I can’t even begin to describe it. I read that book as an adult while sitting through the tedium of jury duty. I remember being so blown away by the language that I kept wondering why everybody wasn’t talking about this book even though it had been written 30 years earlier. The story in the book is not my favorite, but the language is so stunningly rich and evocative that it remains among my favorite books without question.

Along the way there have been many other books that have impressed me for one reason or another. In no particular order, here’s my Honorable Mention list of books I continue to recommend with enthusiasm:

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathon Safran Foer (which you MUST read in print—no audio books or electronic readers, please)

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (so good)

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (which I recommended to Dana while we were dating, and although she didn’t like it, she married me anyway)

Just about anything by Barbara Kingsolver

One True Thing by Anna Quindlen (she makes good writing seem so easy)

Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain (which is just brilliant)

I also not-so-secretly enjoy the works of Elmore Leonard, who I discovered when I needed something to read on a weekend getaway to Lake Arrowhead (it was Get Shorty, I’m pretty sure). There’s nothing “classic” about his books, but he does know how to tell a story and people it with clearly drawn characters, which makes him perfect for reading at the poolside on a weekend getaway.

One final note, which I share with you as a public service: I’m not sure I ever hated any book as much as I did The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang Goethe. I am not a violent man, but I think if I ever met young Werther I would want to punch him in the nose—he is just that annoying. Perhaps if I had not read it as an 18-year-old college freshman I might have reacted differently, but (I cannot state this strongly enough) I am not willing to go back and find out.

But Sports Shorts? I’d read that again in a heartbeat.

_{Photo by Matias North on Unsplash}

Dear Will:

I look up, and justlikethat, June has disappeared. That’s what happens when you cram two separate family vacations into a single month. In case you’re wondering, I don’t recommend it.

We spent a week in Virginia, visiting the old historical sites of Williamsburg, Jamestown, and Yorktown. Then for good measure, we spent three days in Washington D.C. I felt like those pioneer children we sang about as kids: We walked and walked and walked and walked. For much of our visit the temperature was in the 90s with humidity to match. You won’t be surprised to hear that after 10 days of historical ruminations, Seth (my nine-year-old) declared that his favorite part of the trip was the day we spent at the water park. Since it was over 100 that day, I can’t say that I’m surprised.

As for me, I especially enjoyed Yorktown and visiting the monuments and Arlington National Cemetery. I found myself feeling very quiet on that hallowed ground. It’s nice to be reminded of what is possible when good people live up to high ideals. It made me want to be a better person. This was also my first chance to see the new World War II Memorial. All I can say is it was awesome.

After just one week at home, we loaded up the minivan and drove to Antimony, Utah. In case you’re wondering how to get there, you can reach Antimony by driving to the middle of nowhere and turning right. We gathered at a horse ranch there with 35 members of my wife’s family, including all six of her siblings and a pretty good sampling of nephews, nieces, and sundry in-laws. Much to my surprise I really liked the place. The staff was charming, the accommodations appropriately cozy, and (best of all) there was no cell phone reception. I rewarded myself by leaving my laptop at home as well. Imagine my delight, then, when I discovered a porch swing, hidden out back in the shade, removed from the bustle of humanity. Each afternoon I would sneak off to my secret swing and (get this) read a book. No, really. I actually did. It was the highlight of my month.

It’s sad, but not at all surprising, that I had to drive to Antimony in order to slow down. It says a lot about my crazy existence. Several years ago (maybe 25?) there was a movie out called Koyaanisqatsi. (If you never saw it in a theater I feel sorry for you. It was amazing cinema. Rent it if you can, but in the home theater you cannot approximate the full effect of the film. I can say without equivocation that it is unlike anything you have ever seen before. If you do watch it, let me know what you think.) Koyaanisqatsi is a Hopi Indian word which apparently means “crazy life, life in turmoil, life out of balance, life disintegrating, a state of life that calls for another way of living.” Let me put it this way: It doesn’t take very long in the porch swing to start thinking that the Hopi know all about your way of life.

Unfortunately, some other way of life is not really an option at this point. I lack the nerve to ditch it all and move out to the country. And I’m pretty certain that I would be miserable there anyway. But it’s nice, from time to time, to get off of the thoroughfare and wander down an unpaved path. Usually when I’m feeling like this it does my soul good to pull out my tattered copy of Walden and read again about Thoreau’s attempt “to live deliberately.” Thus I do vicariously what I would never otherwise do, and along the way I am reminded that there is more to life than the daily have-to’s of modern life.

Enough of my musing. I’ll end here and put this rambling missive in the mail to you (long overdue, I must confess—sorry). Then I’m going to go read my book (Ghost Soldiers by Hampton Sides). If anyone’s looking for me, tell them I’m out back, swinging in the shade.

Letters to Will

Tag: books

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The Hopi Are Onto Me