Tell Me a Story

Every year, many libraries hold storytelling festivals. It seems an intuitive thing to do. We are all about stories.

Our storytelling festival is, in our modest opinion, a rare and remarkable treat. We have prominent and gifted storytellers from across the country come to spin yarns and sit a spell. The turnout is good, and the attendees leave satisfied. Why this should be so in this age of instant communication and global sophistication is an interesting question. Wouldn't you think we would be too "all that" to sit around hearing tall tales and home-spun lore?

Storytelling is a cultural narrative. It is legend and myth, often without much fact, but a thread of truth. California has its Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Quebec has its Paul Bunyan. Virtually every culture has its stories, and those, for the vast majority of recorded history, were verbally handed down. Its not oral history, except in the most tangential way. It is entertainment, regional flavor and a way of sharing a common bond. It's not all hill-country folkism. New York urbanites have their stories, too.

So how is storytelling different from reading aloud? We have events which include storytimes which are pretty darn impressive. For example, last memorial day we had soldiers come to read to the kids. These guys picked their very favorite book, and read with style and gusto. They took the task very seriously. The kids were smitten, and soldiers had adoring children holding onto hands and pant's legs.

At our recent multicultural festival, we had native speakers from 14 different cultures who read the same book to the crowd in their own language. It was a smashing success. Why would libraries go to the trouble and expense of hiring children's programmers whose programs revolve around storytimes, if a vocal rendition of a book was not considered a high priority? It introduces children to reading and it brings personality to the written word. It makes the sharing of a book an Important Event. The subtle difference between storytime and storytelling has more to do with the telling.

Like books, storytellers bring us ideas, cultures, hopes, humor and the common experience. But theirs is an art of performance and transience. Their method does not depend on a written volume. They convey fine points of a culture in a way that books cannot: they include mannerism, accent, expression, eye contact and gesture in a more pointed delivery. Storytellers are wind-borne carriers of culture - words that remain after the page is gone. The storyteller doesn't just communicate the story, they become the story.

I have, on a couple of occasions, admired a work of chalk pavement art. It is a beautiful work of planning, design, effort and skill. Part of what makes it impressive is knowing that the pleasure is in the now: rain will come, feet will tread, and the ephemeral offering is swept away. You may be tempted to ask "What is the point?" The sidewalk art was meant for you, now - today: a message to you, personally. Books are meant for the impersonal many. Storytelling is for the personal few.

Book Love

I have recently had a reading "dry spell." It isn't that I haven't read anything. In fact, like most humans who read, I read almost constantly. I look at labels in the grocery store, I note street signs and public advertising, I scan my incoming bills and bank statements, and I glance through the newspaper. To paraphrase Descartes: "I read, therefore I read." What I mean to say is that I haven't read anything good.

"Ah, 'good,'" you say. "How subjective." And, of course, you're right. I could tell you what I have attempted to read but that isn't totally fair. For the record, my analysis is that one was well written, just not on a topic that caught my interest. I thought the other rather badly written for such a fine scholar. It wandered almost as much as did my attention. But it isn't that either book was good or bad, but simply that they left me so unsatisfied.

I work in a library and consider myself a professional, so it is with some chagrin that I managed to come up with two losers in a row.

There seems to be a number of methods for choosing a book to read. If you are a sheep, you can read the NYT (or in all fairness, almost any other) book review. I find these uber snarky. Sort of in the "You are obviously too cretinous to possibly know a good book when you see it, so let me choose for you" category. "Wait!" say you. "How about you, Ms. self-important blogger?" And I would concede, except for one fine point: I have the sneaking suspicion that these reviewers have a vested interest in how a book review slants. Do I sell books? Do I receive galley copies? I think not. By the way, as previously mentioned, "bestselling" does not necessarily mean worthwhile.

If you really trust your friends' opinions, you can take their advice. That strikes me as dangerous: will I look at my friends differently when I read their books and find that they (the books, of course) reek? How will we look each other in the eye? What will we say to one another? Bashing a person's book choices can be as personal as criticizing their date.

You could read synopses from reputable publications. These (theoretically) don't have the taint of the reviewer's ego. It would be a respectable method as long as you factor in the particular biases of the publisher. There is also a matter of the skill and accuracy of those writing such briefs. Think TV programming guides. I rest my case.

I tend toward a tried and true method: the "strolling down the isles of the bookstore or library" method. I will admit that attractive cover art can sway me. When you think about it, this is the same method as falling in love. You scan the candidates; one makes your heart beat a little faster! You take some time, learn more, hold and touch, evaluate and weigh the relative merits. Then you commit. Sure, once in a while, it doesn't work out, and you are disappointed. But I am a believer that a great book, like enduring love, is just around the corner.

So back to the stacks we go, looking for the One.

Why So "Touchy"?

Before I proceed, let me make one thing clear. I am no technology hater. I have an iPod; I have a laptop. I use an internet phone service. I use bluetooth; I save things to a jump drive. I know how to use Excel and Photoshop. I blog, for crying out loud. I have five e-mail addresses, and use them all extensively. I have an online picture account and am LinkedIn. I can do a powerpoint, a screen capture, a screencast. I have even uploaded to YouTube. I love all of it.

Even so, nothing beats an old-fashioned, wood pulp, paper-based, physical, touchable book. Oh, sure, I have a Sony Reader. And it's a gem for taking on vacation. Those whole suitcases full of books are not only hard on the arms, but they're charging excess baggage charges for them now. I listen to books on audio in my car because, let's face it, society frowns on people who read while driving. But sometimes I a need an actual book.

Not to be a stickler, but a book, by definition, is paper. To be precise, most of the accepted definitions and common usages of the word "book" involve bound paper. Even going back to the Olde English root, a book was a written charter. Written on paper. Yes, I know nowadays it can mean to place a bet (on paper?) and to run fast (OED doesn't have that one, but I'll concede).

I want to curl up with a book - one you can hold in your hand, feel the texture of paper as you turn a page, and smell the faint, musty foxing or the sharp inky newness. I want to use the bookmark my children made out of construction paper. If you fall asleep while reading a book, you don't run down the battery or waste electricity (or electrocute yourself). I want to be able to lend a book with my name in the cover. I want to know that the lendee will care for it and return it with the cover unsullied, the spine unbroken and the pages un-dog-eared. I want to read someone else's book and feel their presence on it. This exchange is a metaphysical exercise in trust and sharing. I want to feel ownership of a volume in a way that cyberspace will never satisfy.

A backpack full of books is a badge of honor and perseverance. It's noble somehow.

Read a book - recycle a tree.

Weaving a Tale

There are so many books to be read, it doesn't seem productive to read one more than once. There are the select few, however, that become dear enough that you re-read them for comfort more than for the search for new information or the desire for a new thrill.

My copy of Silas Marner is a little more worn than the others.

Silas is, by the time we meet him, somewhat past his shining prime. I think it's Eliot's masterful painting of Silas which appeals to me the most. Guileless, bent and nearsighted from his close work, superbly wretched - what a great heroic figure! Ah! say you. Only a librarian could love this non-hero!

Silas is, of course, a metaphor. (Look up metaphor, kids, because the fine points of this definition are as important as the very delicate development of Silas himself). He carries the weight (by representation) of all the injustice of the world. And he represents the triumph of the true man over all that injustice.

If you have ever trusted my opinion, you must trust it now. Read (or re-read) this book and watch for the real story. If you were required to read it the first time, you almost surely missed the point. Yes, it's a little old-fashioned (published in 1861). Yes, the moral lesson is painted neon yellow and a mile wide. (It's the Victorian era, don't forget.) For Austen lovers, it has sentiment, if not romantic vapors. For the unsentimental, it has a commanding grasp of small-town character-types. The message of redemption never fails to move me.

Come on. It's like gold under the floor boards.

Tea Time

I am reading Stones into Schools, by Greg Mortenson. I am doing this, in large part, because I read Three Cups of Tea by the same author. Those of you who have read Three Cups of Tea will, I think, identify. Reading more about Mortenson's project is practically mandatory.

Let me start by saying that I do not suffer overblown, preachy, self-serving, pompous diatribes against humanity with the best of will. I become twitchy when I think that writers are offering all problems and no solutions, puffing themselves up as the ONE good man/woman with the ONE good idea. I hate books that lecture - nay scold - me. We readers, I think, are decently aware of some of the big issues and certainly concerned.

Anyway.

Mortenson, bless him, commits none of these offenses. He asks little (and I hope receives much) of us. He does an enormously important small thing and has the great good grace to see miracles in doing the well-placed, well-defined, and limited "something." He builds schools from stones. Schools to educate all children (boys AND girls), children in far remote places. Places, by the way, that we assume hate Americans. Places that don't hate Greg Mortenson and his multinational staff. His basic goodness and the goodness of his mission have prevailed, as love must.

Here's the fun part - these books are truly exciting stories. There are fascinating and admirable characters, harrowing escapes, mortal danger, intrigue, humor, negotiation, politics, in short, all the elements of a good cliff-hanger. You can feel the piety of reading a book about giving and still get the thrill of an action-packed adventure! (Sort of the literary equivalent of chocolate multivitamins.)

So read! Enjoy! It's good for you. (And it's good!)

Eye Test

Ever looked at a "Magic Eye" book? I find them almost irresistible.

Here's the deal, for those who've never done it: the book is filled with pages of tightly packed images, repeating graphic designs. These can be anything from discernible shapes such as dogs or kites, repeated across the page to more amorphous shapes, less recognizable and densely packed. The pages themselves have nothing specific to focus on and can seem unsatisfying.

The technique is the thing. You select a page, and hold the book up to your face, with good light behind you but no shadow. Your nose needs to touch the page at first. Focus your eyes at a place on the page and once you feel "fastened on" start moving the book away. Don't let your focus wander. You will feel a bit of a pull on your eyes and soon see extra shapes develop. As you get the book about an arms length away or a little less, you will see three dimensional objects emerge. The page is called an autostereogram, and you don't need fancy equipment to see in stereo. In the gentler versions they are a wonderful treat. In some of the more intense ones, the pictures may be odder and more thought provoking.

This is complex science AND great fun. For more information about the science see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autostereogram

For people who are newly acquiring the skill of 'Magic Eye," that first 3D emergence can be quite fun - triumph of imagination over logic.

Some people find it difficult to do. We could ask all sorts of questions about that - do they lack imagination? Are they not patient enough? Do they have an eye problem that prevents them? Are the maybe too logical or analytical?

I do think you have to let yourself believe. I think you have to let go of what you assume and have the eager anticipation that something wonderful (or weird) is coming.

Do try it! Even you cautious serious types. Let your brain do something unusual, stretch its legs, and exercise its magnificent and marvelous capacity.

So many books, so little time...

I find that as I grow older, the books I read become more important to me. What follows may offend the sensitive reader, so beware.

There was a time when I would finish a book, page by page consecutively, no matter what. I felt duty-bound to read a book through no matter how I hated it. Then, almost suddenly, I changed. I can almost pinpoint the moment. I was reading a book hailed by that most exalted judge the New York Times Bestseller list. A wiser (read older) me realizes that a book that sells the most isn't necessarily the best book. It is very seldom the best book for me. The book that changed me was a biography about a person who, very early in the book, seemed to me the most selfish, self absorbed and flamboyantly vulgar person I had ever been introduced to. Somewhere before the first chapter closed, I clapped the book shut and threw it away! Heresy! I won't mention the book or the subject of the biography. It matters little anyway, and is quite beside the point. At that moment, I was liberated from a life of unsatisfactory reading.

Of course, once that cat was out of the bag, I gave way to some pretty radical behaviors: if at some juncture I itched to know how a story ended, I would read the end (scanning backwards sometimes, to satisfy myself about the outcome). If the book ended well, in my estimation, I continued. (I hate being cheated at the end.) I skipped or skimmed chapters if I felt they didn't add to the story. And I very often stopped reading entirely. I developed the philosophy that if a writer couldn't bother to engage me within a reasonable amount of time, I would not plug through vast swamplands waiting for them to deliver. There are so many books to be read. So many interesting, informative, contributory, inspiring, worthy books. I won't be able to read even those in my lifetime. Why waste time on the drivel? And confess - we've all read drivel.

So writers, take heed. I am your new discerning public. Impress me (and be sure to do it in the first few pages!)

What Must be Read

This has been a week of reading what must be read. Not that there isn't some pleasure to be had in technical reading. But the very fact that it carries a sense of obligation does take away some of the shine. To balance things out, I watched old Bugs Bunny cartoons this afternoon(still funny after all these years, at least for those of us of a certain age).

The reading in question is a quest to choose a new thesis topic. I may go down in history as one of the very few who have had to write two theses. Judge me, dear reader, but I trust it is because I am a good writer but a bad salesman. The area of study is Art History, preferably something regarding the Northern Renaissance. Art fans out there - I am open to suggestions!

We are experiencing heaps of snow here in the Ohio Valley. If you are from Washington, D.C. and other places, I'm sure you probably will not spare any grief over our 12 inches or so. Indeed, I am seeing this as a blessing - it's just inconvenient enough to go out that I am making myself productive inside instead. I had to laugh about the sign I saw on the local news that someone had posted in their front yard, "Thank God for global warming. This could be worse!" And for many of you it is. I hope that you can all, wherever you are reading this, be warm inside with a good book.

What I am reading today

I'm listening to "The World Without Us" in my car. This strikes me as somewhat ironic. Here is a literary work transferred to a petroleum/plastic product (cd-rom), for use in a carbon emitting, gasoline engine vehicle - a work which excoriates society for its selfish, greedy and heedless misuse of the environment. hmmm.....

In any case, it does make me want to step up my recycling efforts. Nothing like a little healthy guilt to start one's day.