Bridge to Terabithia

I have a very distinct memory from the first time I read Bridge to Terabithia. The day was February 9, 1995 and I was 10. My mom was out running some kind of errand when I finished the book. I remember being wracked with uncontrollable, body-heaving sobs. And for some reason, I really wanted my mom to see me crying. Maybe I needed comfort, maybe I wanted her to be impressed by how emotionally affected I was by the novel, maybe I thought it would connect us in some way? But I searched the house for her only to discover the van wasn't in the garage. So then I sat on the steps in the garage and waited for her, sobbing. After a while, the urge to cry and mourn for Leslie and Jess started to wane, which worried me because I really wanted my mom to see me crying. When my mom finally did come home, I still had tears on my face, but I wasn't crying nearly as much as before. I had to explain to my mom how much I had been crying earlier which didn't have the effect I wanted and disappointed me more than I could understand why. But I think Bridge to Terabithia was instrumental in helping me discover that I loved it when books made me cry and since then I have realized that having good long cries over books (and movies) served some purpose for me emotionally that I really needed throughout my adolescence.

Anyway, I think I cried two tears this time around, which was sufficient. I'm not sure Leslie's death has to happen, either, does it? Does it serve some purpose in Jess's development? Or is it just a tragedy to evoke strong emotion in the reader? I just couldn't help but feel like it was a gratuitous death. Wouldn't it have been better for Jess if he could have continued being friends with Leslie throughout their lives? She's so cool! And he's so cool! Gah. In my version of this story, Leslie and Jess grow old together. They thrill everyone they meet and fill the world with creativity and depth and kindness and they fight injustice together and Jess continues to be in awe of Leslie and everything she says and does for as long as he knows her, which is forever. THAT is how the story really ends.

The Summer of the Swans

I re-read The Summer of the Swans this week for the same reason I read The Midwife's Apprentice: to decide whether to keep it. There wasn't anything in the book that I found very interesting, but I think the story I'm about to tell is. I looked through my old book lists to find out when I read The Summer of the Swans the first (and only other) time. The date was August 24, 1996, exactly 5 days before I read The Midwife's Apprentice for the first and only time until this week. And this would not be a coincidence if they had won the John Newbery medal the same year or even in consecutive years, but Swans was the 1971 medal winner and Apprentice was the 1996 medalist. So they won the award 25 years apart and I read them both the same week in 1996 and haven't opened either of them again until I re-read them both this week in 2017, 21 years later.

If you did not find that coincidence story to be interesting I totally understand, but I would also definitely advise you not to read The Summer of the Swans which I can assure is a lot less interesting.

The Midwife's Apprentice

 I recently read a book that has taken over my life. I think about it all the time, I made my husband read it and it comes up in our conversations at least five times a day. In fact, the only reason I read this book - The Midwife's Apprentice - was because of that book. The book is called The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Japanese organizing-guru Marie Kondo. She calls her tidying process the KonMari method and it has quickly become a verb in my house. "Are we KonMari-ing tonight?" "I thought if we KonMari-ed our clothes, all our problems would be solved!" "Look at this amazing KonMari-ed drawer!" I'll spare the details, but the jist of her method is that you have to hold every thing you own in your hands (in a specific order: clothes, books, papers, etc.) and ask yourself if it sparks joy. If it doesn't, it's gone. We completed clothes last week and this week we're going to tackle books. One of Marie's rules about books is that you can't open the book while you're holding it in your hands because reading clouds your judgment. You have to make your decision based solely on how you feel when you hold it. I anticipated this being a problem because I have gathered Newberys at garage sales, thrift stores and flea markets for a few years now, but many of them I don't remember at all since I read them 20 years ago. This had me worried because they certainly wouldn't spark joy when I held them if I had no idea what was inside, but I collect them for my children to enjoy someday. So I thought I'd just read them all really quick and see what I thought. This may actually be cheating the KonMari method, but I don't care.

The last time I read The Midwife's Apprentice, I was 11 (August 29, 1996 to be exact). I have no memories of reading it and the only thing I could remember about the book is that it was not one of my childhood favorites. I imagine I will not have many memories of reading it this time around either. It just isn't very memorable, though I did find it slightly more interesting this time (I think) because I am now familiar with midwives and I know what a difference a good midwife can make! My son was delivered by an exceptional one, in my opinion, who provided patient, positive (and, importantly, only intermittent) support during the most painful 33 hours of my life. The midwife in this book is NOT that kind of midwife. So I was a little bummed when Alyce went back to work for her at the end, though it did seem like her best option for her future.

This book's fate: donation pile.