A BOOK LOVER’S DILEMMA

            Looking through the fall OSHER catalogue, Bantering Bibliophiles’ Club caught my attention.  How could I not sign up for a club for book lovers taught by Deb Mukherjee?  I had at least one rational reason why not.  I’m in the midst of a spiritual quest and reading several books that are slow, thoughtful, prayerful reads, including The Upanishads, Sufism:  The Transformation of the Heart, and Prayer of the Heart in Christian and Sufi Mysticism.  For my early morning meditative reading, I’m reading from The Cloud of Unknowing.  Before bed in the evening, I read a poem or two from I Heard God Laughing, by Hafiz, a Sufi poet.  On the other hand—my mind works in paradox—perhaps that is just the reason I should take the course.  It would most surely give me some balance.              

In the past, I read a lot of fiction and looked with disdain on those who minimized fiction with a superior “I only read non-fiction”.  As I’ve switched to more non-fiction, the other has become merely an escape from the intensity of the spiritual reading I’m doing.  I’m almost embarrassed to admit that the fiction I choose is sometimes a light, quick read—often a mystery—though I have to admit that I can sometimes turn the most superficial book into an important lesson. 

I signed up, wondering about a book lover’s club where a different book was assigned each session.  We weren’t expected to have read or required to read the books, yet would be discussing the author, theme, plot, context, writing styles, etc. 

            I’ve often described myself as a person who can’t see the trees for the forest.  I see the whole more easily than the individual parts and context more easily than the individual pieces that make up the story.   The first class showed me how different my reading style was and I wondered if I could fit my style into the whole, or would I have to, for the six sessions, forsake my style of reading—learn to read all over again.    It came to me the day after class that I read with my heart/mind, not my thinking mind.  Whether fiction or non-fiction, I have to have a heart connection with the story.  Since I also believe that I am/we are each part of the whole—that each person I meet is a part of who I am, and everything I see, hear, touch, smell, taste is a part of the whole, it is not difficult to find some portion or person in a story to wrap my heart around.  How can I experience the story if I am looking for plot, history, travel, characterizations, motifs, etc.?  If I am focused on what’s plausible or not plausible, how do I feel into the story with my heart?  How do I hear the truths that may not be fact, but may, in fact, be deeper truths—or at least my truths?  How do I focus on punctuation and grammar without missing the heart of what the story has to tell me?

The week before our Bibliophiles’ class, I began rereading Peace Like a River.  I’d read it years ago.  It has currently replaced I Heard God Laughing as my bedtime reading, and I can hear God laughing at the irony.  Due to eye problems and difficulty staying awake past 10 p.m., I have not yet finished the book, but again it is touching my heart in ways that are difficult for me to talk about in the context of the agenda.  But the fear that I will lose my ability to read from my heart/mind is fading—I doubt that this class will remove that ingrained way of reading.  My hope is that in learning to read more objectively, the “trees” will come more into focus and I will emerge with a sharper experience of the rich life of the books and the individual people that surround me with their knowledge and insight.