Banned Book Week

My story begins with the summer reading of Fahrenheit 451 in 1979.  In the summer we, my brother and I, spent our days with my grandmother - Nana.  Nana was a widow - a story of mystery to us kids...a mother of six - 3 boys and 3 girls and she had been a school teacher. 

I'd like to say that my interest to read was a result of Nana's school teacher training and an altruistic move on her part to ensure that her grandchildren obtain some worth to their day by 1) learning to read; and 2) reading instead of other mundane activities children partake in over the summer - like swimming or watching TV (remember this was the late 70's and early 80's - we didn't have video games or the internet). 

In realty, I think the situation had more to it than that.  You see Nana was old.  She had to be.  She didn't work...she did pottery...she read all day and her daughters always came to visit.  She also - wait for it - went to the beauty parlor once a week.  Only "old" grandmothers did that.  Young grandmothers worked.  Young grandmothers did not go to the beauty parlor once a week. 

In realty, I think that my inspiration to read was my Nana's desperate attempt to have quiet time to read herself - for her to not have to entertain an 11 year old child who was obviously too old to take naps but too young to be allowed to roam free.  An 11 year old who had a duty to talk non-stop about nothing and everything. 

That summer we would take weekly trips to the library or to a junk shop to buy used books.  There was never, that I remember, an overt attempt to restrict what I read just how many I could buy or check out.  By age 12, I was certain that if I didn't get them all they would disappear and Nana would routinely have to reel me in and send me back to the shelves with more than half my chosen stash. 

I could be wrong about my remeberings...I was 11 and 12.  There could have been a bigger and deeper reason but at that age you see things a certain way and until recently I never thought much about it. 

Ultimately, the result was positive.  I had unlimited access to books.  Books of all shapes and sizes.  Books of all genres.  I don't remember having discussions on the books or an inquiry to see if I was comprehending or how it affected me.  I was just allowed to read.  What I was left with was a feeling that reading was personal.  Reading was for you and that it didn't really matter what anyone else thought of the book - ultimately - the bottom line question was "Did you like it?". 

I clearly remember picking up Fahrenheit 451.  I'm not into fantasy books or science fiction.  I had tried reading Ray Bradbury and it was ok but it didn't make me want to do anything else in the world but read so in my mind his books were just ok!  Again I was 11.  I remember asking Nana what the book was about and her responding "Banning books and making everyone the same!"...."Huh?" was my reply!  (Which I must say irritated her to no end and now just makes my skin crawl when my kids say it).  She said "it is about making everyone think the same and act the same.  No one can make a decision for themselves.  Everyone has to be equal but in a bad way.  No one was allowed to be different and in order to accomplish this they burned or censored anything that gave way to a different idea."  How do I remember that?  I don't know but I do know that it was so profound for me that I've repeated it to my own children.  I remember panic seizing me.  "no one was allowed to be different..."  How could I not be scared?  I was different!  I was the only one in my family with brown hair and brown eyes.  My Nana was my step-grandmother (in explanation only - she never treated me any different than any of the other grand kids).  I was the oldest GIRL in the mix of boy cousins.  I was loud and vocal.  I was opinionated and passionate and my facial expressions showed every thought and feeling.  My mind was spinning!  What IF someone tried to tell me I couldn't be different?  My 11 year old brain pondered all of this and thought "This books sounds worth a few hours of my summer!  I'd like to see them try and make me different!"  Nana just smiled and opened her book back up! 

So I began reading.  My Nana was WRONG.  This book was about something else. 

This book was about burning books.  If you're a reader - a true reader - this statement makes your heart flutter and your stomach tighten.  This book is not about suppressing ideas or making everyone the same - this book was about a society that actually has a profession whose task is to burn books! 

I know, I know...but bare with me.  To an 11 year old, none of that mattered.  What mattered was that they were burning books.  It didn't matter that Montag saw the error of his ways!  It didn't matter that there was an underlying message from the author.  After prying my fingers from the hard bound cover and flexing them back straight, I quickly got up and hide the book in the closet under the stairs - no one went there but she and I!  Nana just looked up and me and smiled and said "It is sci-fi - your books are safe!"  SHE KNEW!  She knew the only way another reader could know!!!!! She knew it wasn't about the message but about the fact that there were actually people out there -  real and fictional -  who thought it was ok to burn or take away a book.  To take something so precious away because they didn't like it!  I couldn't comprehend that.  You know to this day I still "stash" my books next to my bed and under it!  My Chronicles of Narnia series are under my bed in a box - let out to pour over in private and then hidden away again so that Montag doesn't find them. 

When I was a Junior in High School, I had to re-read the book.  I hated reading books in school.  Not because of a loss of passion but quite the opposite.  Reading books in class was too restrictive and it was a disruption to the flow of the book and it certainly stifled passion. 

So I took the book home and read it in one night...to my mother's perturbed stares because in doing this I had neglected to do the dishes and had run into the couch, the coffee table and the wall trying to read while walking around the house.  The assignment was to read Chapters 1 and 2 by next Monday.  Our class discussion included topics like 1) being an individual; 2) censorship; 3) governmental control; 4) knowledge as power and 5) apathy.  All of these, while true discussion topics, were just wrong and they certainly were not the central theme of the book.  Everyone was missing the point!  I remembered - everyone but me and my Nana! 

I remember at the end of the book we had to write the standard English Class paper (you know who did what and why and how did it affect you).  I, the ever opinionated child and now the ever opinionated teenager took the opportunity to write about how none of the themes provided were accurate.  How all of the discussion topics missed the point.  The book was about burning books; it was about taking away fact and fiction and fantasy; it was about depriving someone of that wonderful solitude of learning; of remembering; of imagining.  the book was about a society that either didn't care or didn't want to know those things and that the book was about burning books - burning books.  How could it be that my Nana and I were the only ones who saw this?  How is it that Ms. Maxwell was not hiding her books too in case someone tried to burn her books and our class could never read them again.  I waited in anticipatory dread a week later - I knew I was going to have to explain to my mother why a book she knew I loved had resulted in an F on my paper. 

I got an A!  Little did I know (remember we didn't have Internet) that Ray Bradbury himself had said that the book was not about anything other than how TV Was destroying interest in reading literature which leads to ignorance.  So that while my interpretation was passionate, it was not quite accurate either.  My teacher explained that my grade was the result of my style and writing skills; my arguments and my passion.  She stated that Bradbury was one of her favorites and that while he meant one thing what made him so great was that the story could mean so many other things for others. 

I re-read the book.  I needed to see if I could figure out Bradbury.  I discovered that I could see apathy; I could see governmental control; I could see tyranny and unrealistic paranoia and I could also see a disturbing sense of a willingness to follow a belief and carry out the "punishment" not because of reason but because of fear. 

I have never picked up this book again.  I have never picked it up for several reasons.  I was forced to analyze and over analyze a beloved book that had changed my 11 year life.  I was forced to consider that the writer had other motives and that his intent was not to write a book for me to read and either like or dislike but that his book was written to prove a point. 

While I have never picked up this book again, it left me with a profound idealism about reading.  When my own children began to read, I approached that period in their liveswith the same style as my Nana and as a  result of F451. 

I have used books with my own kids to entertain; to quiet them; to give me time for quiet and to educate.  As an adult I now know that this was my Nana's intent. 

I still get a tight stomach when I hear or read of banning or challenging books because of their content.  I hear in my head "you Nazi Cow" **Field of Dreams best line by Amy Madegan when this topic came up at her kids school.  My kids all watched Field of Dreams and turned to stare at me after that scene and I know were offering up silent prayers that any school they went to didn't broach the subject of banning books so they wouldn't have to hear their mother call someone a Nazi Cow! 

Reading has had a profound effect on my life.  I walk into a book store and lose myself.  I open a book and lose myself.  I still read books to find out if they are good or not.  I don't read books to solve the worlds problems.  I don't read books for any other reason than pure enjoyment and a fear that someone just might burn them all before I get a chance to read them or worse make me analyze them to prove their worth.  That someone might try and change my opinion that books are worthy just because they are.  That I can either like the story or not.  I can either read it or not. 

Every book I pick up is a result of my Nana.  Every book I pick up is enjoyed - whether it is a good book or not - because my Nana just wanted to read her books and handing me one was a way for her to get to read hers.  I don't have to question that there was more to it than that - my Nana was sly but direct...if she wanted to teach me something she would have just done it - she wouldn't have handed me something and said "See how you like this!" and then sat back and smile at me she would have educated me right then in there and that would have been the end of it. 

That summer we didn't have Oprah telling us what to read and why -  but we did have our own book club.  We sat in her living room, curled up in our spots, reading to the exclusion of anything else and the only question asked was "Did you like it?"   A tradition I have passed on to my kids and one I hope they pass on to theirs! 

Read to enjoy...enjoy to read...and hide your books because someone will always try to take them away from you!  Thank you Nana! 

Who am I?

For the last few weeks, I have been trying to figure out who I am...what I do...what I contribute.  See I turned 42 this past weekend!  I know old, right?  I have one child in college...two high school seniors, who will soon be in college...a high school freshman...and a 12 year old in 8th grade.  Not too bad right?  So why do I feel this way? 

For years I've blasted those articles on empty nest syndrome.  Won't ever apply to me!  I've spent 19 years with kids in this house and therefore I will be glad when they go.  Oh don't get me wrong, sad but happy that I have produced productive children who can survive in the world without me and now I can have all the free time in the world to travel...to paint the bathroom...to watch what I want on TV instead of having it constantly tuned to Disney Channel...happy...free...I can regain what I put aside for the last 19 years. 

Problem is....I don't remember what I put aside.  I don't remember what it is that I need to "regain".  What I do know is that my kids are leaving...the day is empty instead of chaotic and I have absolutely no clue what I need to do...what I should be doing or what I want to do. 

So for the next few weeks...I'm going to go back...I'm going to catelog what I have done...what I have accomplished...what I've helped accomplish and somewhere along the line figure out what this next stage in my life is supposed to be!