My Poor Husband

Those who read this blog regularly know that my husband and I live above the used bookstore we own and operate in Big Stone Gap, VA. This living arrangement leads to some fun handyman projects around the house-cum-bookshop: like painting the titles of novels on our porch steps, so they look like books lying sideways. Or putting up one of those lighted reindeer at Christmas, the one with his head down like he’s grazing, and adding a pair of glasses and a copy of Night Before Christmas.

Jack is a naturally gifted handyman who built all the shelves in our bookstore–including a set of floating shelves upstairs that the customers don’t see. Floating shelves look cool, but they are not space efficient for a shop that is climbing rapidly past 38,000 used books. So we go with the simpler model downstairs.

The project we are most looking forward to currently is the arc de books, copied from a bookshop in Lyon, France. Jack’s been studying on how to build the thing, and I’ve been squirreling away the books we can no longer sell-1990 computer manuals, damaged classics, and those Reader’s Digest Condensed Books. (These are the pigeons of the bookselling world; they leave their crap everywhere.)

Unfortunately for Jack, the interest of friends and fellow bookshop operators in this plan has been piqued. People are sending photos and websites of cool book projects–and I am dreaming big. (Thanks Carolyn Jourdan and Jim Mentink for the photos that appear today.) Jack is keeping his head down and drinking the good whiskey.

Don’t you think these would look nice in our shop, downstairs or up?

I could see myself luxuriating in this tub…

and we could totally use the piano shelf upstairs.

Since Jack is in Scotland right now, leading his annual tour of folkies through Scotland and Ireland, I think I could get a few new projects into his “honey do” jar without too much of a fuss, don’t you? After all, he’s a very handy guy around the house.

What If…..

What if a book leaves us unchanged?

People read books for all sorts of reasons: entertainment, information, because someone (or everyone) else is… but what if we read a book, and it makes an impact, reaches out and punches us right in the heart? And what if we cry, and swear that we will change the world that could hold such horrid truths as, oh, say, Grapes of Wrath. Or Tess of the D’urbervilles. Or even Hunger Games–which may not have the staying power of those first two, but still packs quite a wallop in the interesting metaphor and parable of social justice departments.

What if we say all that, and then we pick up the next book in the stack–or advertised on the side of the bus–and keep reading?

Does it still count, that we cried, that we felt what the characters felt, saw the injustice, the fear, the hurt? Or did it never happen? Because it really didn’t happen, did it, that thing that left us shaking until we looked up and realized we were just riding the subway, holding a paperback.

Unless it did happen. Inside us. I can count hundreds of books I’ve read in the last few years, but ask which ones changed me, and I can count them on my fingers. The Smallmart Revolution. The House of Sand and Fog. And the Band Played On. A book of short stories called Hunger by Lan Chang. Rory Stewart’s Prince of the Marshes.  Kite Runner. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Children’s Story by James Clavell. Rumer Godden’s translation of Prayers from the Ark.  I can also tell you exactly what they did, in order: changed where I shopped; sent me to volunteer at a refugee center; taught me to be embarrassed at some of the church rhetoric surrounding AIDS; made me a better Cultural Studies professor, x3; gave me my first naive understandings of white privilege; scared the shit out of me; and renewed my faith in innocence.

I can’t list such specifics for most of the books I’ve read. Every book we absorb lays a foundation, yes, puts another brick in the walls of our beliefs, anchors our approach to life. Every word is valuable–or at least being able to access it is valuable. But not every work changes us, does it? The ones that suddenly, before we can defend against it, turn us sideways, tilt our world’s axis–well, when I sit back and think about, I’m surprised at how small a list that is. I remember passages and themes from many books, but when I think about the ones that visibly affected the way I think, act, speak—–the list shrinks.

So, which book(s) shaped you, turned you into who you are now, or filed away the rough edges of what you used to think? Which books made you say “what if” and then stick with “if?”