Thirty Books for Thirty Years: Part One
thirty years of living with books
“I will never learn to read.”
I was about five years old when I broke the news to my Dad. We were likely 3-4 picture books into the night and it was time to come clean. It just wasn’t in the cards for me. By this point in my life he and my mom had spent thousands of hours reading out loud to me. I often left the local library with stacks of books as tall as my small body. I knew what reading could do and I did not take it lightly. Too beautiful, too scary. Dad, you’re just gonna have to read to me forever. Okay, thanks, love you, goodnight.
I don’t remember exactly what my Dad said in response, but I know he hugged me and kept reading to me as long as I needed.
I did learn to read. With the help of an empowering kindergarten teacher, gentle parents, and two very cool big sisters, I learned to do what I once could not imagine - read all on my own. Now, reading is the greatest survival mechanism I know. I read, and I don’t say this lightly, to live.
In many ways, I am still that little girl - afraid of what I cannot imagine, grasping for the safest, easiest way forward. Lowering expectations like a champion since 1993. And yet, somehow, I am here. I just turned thirty. I have a little life that I love. I am braver than I ever thought I could be. Whatever courage I have, whatever care or curiosity, I attribute first to the way my family loved me and second to the books I have read and will read. The books that are piled up inside me end to end. Most days I feel like a bunch of toddlers standing on each other’s shoulders in a trench coat.1 In fact, I am thirty years worth of books piled precariously inside a trench coat.
Here are ten that are stacked around my heart, holding her in place.2
MISS RUMPHIUS by Barbara Cooney // Nothing less than a roadmap for a good life. “You must do something to make the world more beautiful.”
STELLA LUNA by Janell Cannon // Okay, I don’t remember the specifics to be honest with you, but the choke hold that this little bat family had on my family cannot be overstated.
A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS by Lemony Snicket // Lemony Snicket, you sick bastard. These books are genuinely messed up, but also is there something profound here about the resilience of young people and the power and depth of love between siblings? I think maybe. In fourth grade my friend and I had a secret club where we would meet up before school and discuss our SOUE fan theories. I miss that particular devotion.
WALK TWO MOONS by Sharon Creech // A core memory: My mom reading the end of this book out loud to me while I held on for dear life. “You can’t keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.”
LITTLE WOMEN by Louisa May Alcott // The great American novel. Fight me. Also when I was in 9th grade I entered my first speech competition with a dramatic reading of the opening of this novel. Again, fight me.
ANNIE ON MY MIND by Nancy Garden // Little 13 year-old me checked out this bad boy from the library and read it furtively on a camping trip because I was that deep and loyal an ally. Jokes. I am gay and this is the first book I ever read about lesbians. Not sure how it holds up today, but man it rocked my world.
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger // Say what you want about Holden Caulfield, but he showed me what it’s like to lose a sibling and keep on living. What it’s like to walk around in the world and look, desperately, angrily, for reasons to stay. For this, I love him forever.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by Jane Austen // My High School English teacher told me in no uncertain terms that I absolutely could not write my essay about how much I loved Mr. Darcy. She was like “you get it’s all a joke, right?” Reader, I did not. Each time I return to this genius novel (I am always returning), I get the joke in new ways, and I am reminded that something can be humorous and profound. My care for these bitchy characters and their cheeky author is deeply, forever earnest.
OLIVE KITTERIDGE by Elizabeth Strout // I have a vivid memory of carrying this book around with me from class to class in high school because I just felt safer with it in my arms. I don’t know that I can fully explain why a book about a grumpy old lady in Maine felt so spiritually resonant to my young self, but I can say for sure that the writing made me feel like every small life is important, worthy and possible.
THE COLOR PURPLE by Alice Walker // The first true queer novel I read in my life and another rich roadmap for living. People don’t talk enough about how gay this novel is - what a deep & joyful invitation to queer life. I read this novel in my first year of college and I felt the edges of my world pushing further afield in every direction.
If you’ve read this far, I love you. I love books and I can’t believe that we get to live in and around and with them. I am still very afraid of what I do not know. I am still reading for dear life.
Thank you for reading and I hope this inspires you to do something that brings you joy this week. Mary Oliver tells us joy is not meant to be a crumb3 and ya’ll, she’s right.
If I am not too scared, I may make another of these with ten more books. We’ll see if I am brave enough.
Tell me, please, if you unzipped the trench coat of your being, what books are piled up inside? What, in other words, are the books of your life?4
I’m glad you’re here.
Take Good Care,
Rosamond
I first encountered this image in the brilliant novel All This Could Be Different by Sarah Thankam Mathews and Lord does it resonate.
This list is almost all White, straight, neurotypical, non-disabled authors. I am grateful for these books and their impact, and even more grateful for the ever widening scope of my reading life today.
I stole this term from my friend and hero Traci Thomas of The Stacks Pod - the best bookish corner of the internet and a source of endless joy and inspiration.
Your writing is a real delight. Thank you for sharing this part of you with all of us. One of my dearest and most favourite childhood books is one called But No Elephants. A traveling salesman is desperately trying to sell all his animals as pets to people, and one crotchety old woman ends up taking many of them in ...
But No Elephants ... at first ... Just this memory brings a smile to my face. Thanks Rosamond.
I remember reading A Series of Unfortunate Events to my son. There is nothing quite as joyful as reading a book out loud to someone.