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Reading for Happiness

In troubled times we all need excellent coping mechanisms. Mine is reading.

I often feel that I just cannot stomach the news: the actual news and then the politics surrounding it (which I don’t consider to be news). Within five minutes of reading, listening to, or watching the news, my heart feels heavy. We get big doses of sadness, anger, frustration and helplessness from the news of the world. Why would I then want to read books or watch movies that offer more of that? I don’t. Isn’t there already enough cruelty and horror in the world? Yes, there is.

I am looking for a respite from it.

At the moment, I’m reading this one, set in the English countryside in WWII.

A few years ago, I read a couple of Alexander McCall Smith’s books in his No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. I thought they were enjoyable but I wasn’t exactly wow’d by them. Nevertheless, I recently picked up Blue Shoes and Happiness (Now there’s an irresistible title!) at my favorite thrift store, feeling like I needed an easy book to read. I had said to my sister that nothing much happens and that the book was amusing but not Barbara Pym funny. But halfway through I fell in love with it. It really is lovely.

His many books (more than 100!) are charming and lovely, full of humanity, wisdom, kindness, and quiet humor. They are also filled with lovely descriptive and philosophical passages on love between people and love of place. Who would not want to live in Alexander McCall Smith’s beloved Botswana, a peaceful, communal, tolerant, and soulful country? I haven’t felt compelled to look and see if Botswana’s residents really do enjoy such a tranquil existence, nor do I care to. He could call the country Cuckooland and write it as utter fantasy and that would be okay with me.

It’s not as if nothing happens, though. The characters in these books have problems, of course, and they seek Mma Ramotswe’s detective prowess for help. In the end, all is gently resolved, and usually a cup of bush tea with a slice of cake is involved. Who would not want to have a No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency to turn to when troubles arise? Who would not want to share a cup of tea with the “traditionally built” Mma Ramotswe from time to time?

So if blue shoes can provide happiness (and I believe they can), so can the right books. One must be careful what one reads, I feel, especially these days and especially at night. Reading these books at bedtime is like getting a nightly massage for the soul. And I think we all need that these days.

“It is sometimes easier to be happy if you don’t know everything.”― Alexander McCall Smith, Morality for Beautiful Girls

“So the small things came into their own: small acts of helping others, if one could; small ways of making one’s own life better: acts of love, acts of tea, acts of laughter. Clever people might laugh at such simplicity, but, she asked herself, what was their own solution?” ― Alexander McCall Smith, The Good Husband of Zebra Drive

“I am just a tiny person in Africa, but there is a place for me, and for everybody, to sit down on this earth and touch it and call it their own.”― Alexander McCall Smith, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Reading Doldrums

I am right now in the reading doldrums. I read a beautiful book some weeks ago and now nothing pleases me enough to keep going. The book was This Is Happiness, by Niall Williams, an Irish author. The writing is luscious, the characters unforgettable, and the story poignant. It’s not a thriller, not a big epic story or a dystopian novel, not a romance; it’s just a lovely story set in a very small town in Ireland at the time “the electric” came to Ireland. And the writing! Oh my! His prose puts others’ to shame. Here’s a taste:

“Now, every window was open. Curtains, by pyjama cord, trouser belt, braces, frayed lengths of sugan, were tied up, not only to let the fresh air in and the dust out, but also to let go of the wintering, because God, whose mercy was never in doubt, had finally forgiven what sins the parish had amassed, and turned off the rain.

Not that it was a magnificent day now. I don’t mean that. Just that there was light and a lightening, a lifting, and when I stepped outside the air had the slender, quickened and hopeful spirit that is in the word April.”

See? It even put another of his books to shame. I slogged through a second book of his simply because it was his and it was long-listed for the Booker Prize. I felt certain it would eventually turn a corner and become a gorgeous book. But no. Then I tried something by an author I admire. No. Back to the library. Then another and another. Non-fiction? The book sounded fascinating. No. Back to the library. Virginia Woolf! To The Lighthouse is one of my favorite books. But this one, not so much. I’ve been spoiled.

I hashed it out with my book group. We are a group of women who get together once a month to talk about what we’ve each been reading. It’s the perfect kind of reading group for me, as I have no desire to keep going with a book I don’t like. I had to do that in school. Now I can read whatever I want. And we do get lots of recommendations from each other. One would think I’d never be without a great read. But here I am.

I wrote the poem below in 2011. I think it sums all of this up.

Another book falls to the reject pile
fifty pages in. It is not worth my time
for time is, as everyone knows, precious.
Time is my sack of flour in the rough wagon
of my trek through this incarnation.
I’ll not let the rats gnaw at it nor will I
spill it carelessly on the rock-strewn ground.
Oh I might spend some in blissful idleness,
trade some for truth, love, beauty,
give it away willy nilly,
even sell a good bit.
But I’ll not waste my own sweet time.

I often find books I like at this Little Library.
Sigh. Two more excerpts from This Is Happiness and I will leave you to rush out and get the book.

“Sophie opened the door. All of me knelt down. All of me bowed. Inside the chapel of myself, all my candles lit.”

“It was a condensed explanation, but I came to understand him to mean you could stop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life, stop for one heartbeat and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say This is happiness, because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it.”
If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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No Sun

No sun today no tiny speck of sun

that is to say no ball or ray that I can see

just piles and piles miles and miles

of cloud looking so heavy one

would think it might all fall

to the earth at any moment in

giant blobs and blankets

impenetrable

lying heavily over All

stopping All in our tracks

offering a perfectly good excuse

for eating sleeping and reading

this whole day right away.