"Make Flesh from Pen and Paper."
When I was in college, I had a professor who urged me to "make flesh from pen and paper."
18 years later, I recall that suggestion and remember how important words are to me. When I was a kid, I had dreams of writing the great American novel and this blog has become an outlet for sharing the stories and statements that reside in my head.
I guess that for a time I forgot my fondness words, but we had a conversation around the dinner table a few weeks ago that made me revisit this love. One of the members of my community cited a statement from the French Minister of Finance about the importance of reading. The statement in part said, "Literature is an immense pleasure...a solitary activity that opens you up to the rest of the world...Screens devour you, reading feeds you...Literature is a weapon of freedom." The French Minister of Finance went on to say that reading is important because it helps you to know emotions that you may not have known otherwise, and knowing those emotions can help you in the real world. In a sense, pen and paper are made into flesh.
I recently met someone who was down in his luck, and towards the end of our conversation, I asked him if he had any advice for me. He said, "sometimes all anyone needs is just one word of encouragement. And that's enough because it reminds them that there's always light at the end of the tunnel." It amazed me that he could still stay so positive even in the middle of the struggle. And it seems to me like a lot of people need encouragement these days. There are so many reasons to be down and many more to encourage and inspire.
The books I've been reading lately have been filled with characters that are both encouraging and inspiring, and although they aren't real people, I find the words from the authors flowing into my everyday life. Here are a few that I've especially enjoyed:
The Fountains of Silence by Ruta Sepetys: I had not known anything about the Spanish Civil War, and I had never associated the name of Franco with the same malice of Hitler and Mussolini. But this book opened my eyes to the horrors tucked into the history of Spain. I grew fond of the characters and have been considering one of their sayings, "Memories are hungry. You have to be careful which ones you feed." Sometimes I have the temptation to dwell on the past and revisit all the things that remind me of my worst self. While those times have taught me valuable lessons, I have also learned that it's best to let some of them starve.
As Bright as Heaven by Susan Meissner: If you are looking for a story that will help you think of a different pandemic from a different time, you'll love this book! Or it will make you feel we're living in 1920s Philadelphia. From a contagious disease to restrictions on social gatherings, there's plenty in this tale that will sound familiar. Many of the conversations, both internal and external, made me think of the inevitable arrival of death, which is considered to be a "companion" of the undertaker's wife. As macabre as it may seem this meditation left me wanting to live life by loving as well as I can.
The Dutch House and Long Bright River - I'm pairing these two books together because they span the lives of families over several decades. While not explicit, they also both deal with the themes of poverty, and the distribution of wealth leaves you to wonder who is really rich and who is really poor. For instance, are you automatically wealthy because you "break the cycle of poverty" and have a career, or are you poor because you choose to leave it all behind and serve people on the streets?
As I have started to pick up books and be more intentional about spending my free time devouring these stories, I have found truth in the French Finance Minister's statement that "Literature is a solitary activity that opens you up to the rest of the world." But I take it a step further and say that digesting the written word is a communal activity that urges you out of yourself so that you can encounter what you've read on the page in the real world.