Latest Reads

All fiction is true.  I read that somewhere.  I wanted to attribute that to Chinua Achebe but when I did a quick internet search I couldn’t find it.  I really held my quick search to about 15 minutes.  I’ve tried “quick” searches before in an effort to find material to support my writing only to emerge a couple of hours later with absolutely nothing. Along the way I would find myself about to purchase shoes online, listening to music and then to facebook and somehow I find myself on a website about people that look like their pets.   

So forget Chinua Achebe and what he might have said.  Instead, I found this quote by Emerson which was on brainyquote.com: Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.

I thought about this as I finished my latest read The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah.  I had mentioned in a previous post that I discovered that I could get in a lot of reading while riding the metro to and from work.  I was able to get through this book in three weeks.  Sister Souljah really took me on a wild ride with this fictional tale although I believe that all of these characters are recreated from her experiences. These characters live in some form in everyone.  To see it, most would have to get past the obvious - a black, drug dealing family in Brooklyn.   You can go to work every day and encounter people who are schemers and do not hesitate to stomp out other people for their own advancement.  Let’s not forget all of the functional alcoholics and those with drug problems in the workplace.  Our experiences may just be more sanitized and politically correct.

I was very impressed with the book because of the development of the characters.  Souljah provided a lot of different angles to consider regarding these characters.  The characters were multidimensional and had depth which isn’t how black characters are often portrayed.  She handled them sympathetically. 

Prior to this, I had read Amy Tan’s book The Opposite of Faith which is about her writing life.   It was interesting reading a work of fiction following a book about a writer of fiction.  In Tan’s book I read about her writing process.  In Souljah’s book, I often thought about her writing process and the choices that she made in her storytelling.  I think this was also her first work of fiction so I gotta give the sistah a break and hey, it was a national best seller.  But I wonder about choices made in writing in almost everything that I read.  I think that most people are this way.

For my next read, instead of purchasing something new, I think that I will go to my bookshelf and pull out something that has been waiting to be read.  I’m contemplating picking up ‘Tis again by Frank McCourt. ‘Tis is a memoir about his life in the U.S.   I read some of it many years ago.  It did not grab me like Angela’s Ashes which was about McCourt’s life in Ireland.  That’s kinda unfair to expect the same thing again when it is a different book.   I’m sure that he was a different person when he was writing it.    I find McCourt fascinating because he didn’t write Angela’s Ashes until after he had retired from 30 years of teaching.  Anyone worried about their dreams deferred can look to McCourt for inspiration.

Time to Read

Of course I believe that everyone should read.  I enjoy television but books stretch your mind more. Unlike TV, books don’t tell you every doggone thing to think or feel by way of sound and visual effects. There is also the liberal use and reliance on stereotypes.   With a book, your mind has more work to do in terms of experiencing the characters, the scenes and filling in the blanks.  Long after I have finished a book, I continue to wonder about the characters and what happened to them.

I am always challenged with finding the time to read.  I’m a busy lady.  I guess I could find a way to un-busy myself.  When I was much younger, I would read a lot at night while in bed.  As a child, I read throughout the summer.  But now, reading at night just puts me to sleep and as an adult there really isn’t any difference from one season to the next since I don’t get summers off.   

I am amused that I can write at night but I can’t seem to read at night.  I’m pretty sure you have to be able to read in order to write. 

Not too long ago I had a not-so-deep revelation.  I discovered that I could get in some solid reading time during my bus ride to work.  I’ve been riding the metro to work for about a year now.   I would sit on the bus watching other people read.  A few times, I brought parts of the Sunday Washington Post to read.  You can imagine that could be annoying to me and to others.   Even with my long arms, constantly opening and folding and not trying to elbow anyone was a challenge.  And who really wants to listen to a noisy paper being opened and folded repeatedly at 7 am in a crowded, enclosed space?   Although a presumed natural progression, this did not lead me to try to read a book.

Nope.  Instead, I would allow my idle mind to wander here and there.  And just like Ma said, an idle mind is the workshop of the devil.  I wondered why the lady in front of me would choose a wig that appeared to be a bird’s nest on her head.   Other times I would replay a recent experience that left me angry, sad or feeling diminished in some way.  I needed to give my mind something constructive to do.   

Then one day, on my way out the door, I grabbed Amy Tan’s The Opposite of Fate.  I had picked up and put down this book so many times over the last few years.  Just last week I finally finished it.  The book is about her life and her creative process.  She seems to be coming from an honest place.  I learned a lot from it and it will help you to see that you can get your creative work done in spite of life happening to you and in spite of yourself. 

I like to follow non-fiction with fiction.  So I picked up The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah.  I had been hearing about this book for years.  She is taking me on a wild ride that I love.  She is quite clever and I can’t contain my amusement.  That’s one great thing about riding the metro; nothing really seems to be that odd.  It’s perfectly acceptable for me to periodically laugh out loud.