Here are the books that were memorable:
I quickly read the rather repetitive Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo, the latest self-help craze. I linked to it earlier. I got through it quickly because I didn't bother to do anything she recommended, although I did add a few more clothes to the give away bag that I started when we moved in. The catch for me is that she recommends you touch everything you own to decide whether or not to keep it. I JUST DID THAT when we moved. I'm not about to pull my books off the shelf or clothes out of the closet or mementos out of the garage again. And I made a valiant effort to give away two boxes of books before we left. I also tossed out a lot of papers, a lot of clothes, a few furniture items, etc.
But still I have mementos in boxes that I didn't deal with. I have little doodads like bobby pins and paper clips roaming the house instead of being stylishly and simply contained in one place. I don't store things vertically but might try. I'll apply Kondo's mantra of "Does this give me joy" in a few years when it is time to move again. I made some notes, and I am determined to get rid of things that hide in the backs of closets, the darkness of boxes, or that never get admired or used. The nice thing is that she doesn't advocate keeping just a certain number of pants, dresses, and tops (although that might actually be helpful), but determining which things are really appreciated, even if they aren't used all that often, like one of my favorite dance dresses.
So next time we move, I am ready to tell my unappreciated items, "Goodbye. Thank you for teaching me what doesn't look good on me" or "Thank you for helping me understand what books I really like and don't like" or "Thank you for reminding me of a happy time that is over now." Since I don't have a hard time getting rid of things that are used up, broken or ruined, but I have a terrible time getting rid of potentially useful items, I think that acknowledging that a thing's usefulness to me has come to an end will be helpful.
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The other book I appreciated but more as a sort of historical artifact was Selma Lanes' Down the Rabbit Hole: Adventures and Misadventures in Children's Literature. It is a collection of previously published essays about children's lit or authors, and as a book about books, quite good. But as a book written in 1973, it was very much dated, particularly the chapter on books about black children or by black authors. On the other hand, I found it interesting to read both her evaluations of authors/illustrators who have stood the test of time - Maurice Sendak, Julius Lester, Leo Lionni - versus those whose books now look very dated, like Uri Shulevitz, Edward Ardizzone, and Lore Segal, whom I never even heard of. She praised Sendak and Seuss, who is one of my least favorite authors. I find him preachy and boring to read and I don't like his illustrations either. Sorry to offend any Seuss lovers (Lanes claims he understands children's psyche) - but I don't identify. She also is not a fan of Richard Scarry, whom I love. But we share an appreciation for Kate Greenaway over Joan Walsh Anglund, for books that challenge children and aren't just repackaged reprints or concept books (ABC or counting books - which can have charm but often don't) or serials that are written to reap financial rewards. She does however appreciate the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew for their escapist fictions and example of energetic, curious, enterprising teens. The chapter on America's lack of fairy tales was also interesting - her thesis was that because America's belief in the individual spirit, in hard work over magic, we have more tall tales and "wonder tales" like the Wizard of Oz rather than fairy tales. She praises the ability of children's lit to provide catharsis in confirming the "benign nature of the universe" - for adults and children.
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Which is exactly what The Penderwicks in Spring, Jeane Birdsall's fourth Penderwick family tale, does. Although disaster and heartache are hinted at (the beloved next door neighbor is in the Army off fighting in a war, romances are broken off, the death of the original Mrs. Penderwick is described), in general the story remains a heartwarming tale of a lovable bunch of sisters and one brother, who all have special gifts and are a family closely united. Birdsall has a gift for making the Penderwicks seem like real people, but also too good to be true, without making them seem like goody-goodies. Enough romance is hinted at innocently to satisfy a pre-teen girl's curiosity and romanticism, but not even close to enough to make a mother snatch the book away. My 13 year old and I argued about whose turn it was to read it. I can see how a reader who loves realism and despises the sentimental might scoff at this book, but I think there is enough adversity and change for the sisters to face that the book doesn't seem saccharine to me. I give it and the other Penderwick books unqualified two thumbs up.
*****
On the other hand, the last book that I want to mention has no danger of being described as sweet. I can't decide if it was dark comedy or light tragedy. I know it is supposed to be comedic, but all the foibles of the married couples in David Lodge's Souls and Bodies are heart rending - perhaps because they altogether too familiar. I had trouble falling asleep for thinking about it. The book has an ensemble cast of young couples who come of age in the early 50's, marry, and then are shaken about by the changes of the 60's and Vatican II. It ends in 1979 with the election of Pope John Paul II, with a (sardonic?) note of hope.Lodge, according to Wikipedia, has described himself as a "Catholic agnostic," and he incorporates many of his own experiences and emotions into the story by divvying them about among the couples - an English professor, a father of a child with Down's, a television show producer - and allowing authorial intrusion. The couples' attitudes and faith change as they age and the world around them changes rapidly, very much as it has continued to do in the following 30 years. Lodge tells their story wryly, as if he has sympathy for his characters' early convictions, but is compelled to acknowledge the insufficiency of their faith. His description of all the ramifications of Humanae Vitae are spot on, and his characters experience both the good and the bad effects of relying on their consciences to make a decision about contraception.
It's a compelling read, and I'd love to discuss it with someone. But it is a book I would hesitate to recommend to just anyone. On the one hand, it is way too Catholic for a secular reader, unless it was someone interested in that time in history. I think my generation is unaware of how earth shattering the changes that seem mundane to us now were, (receiving communion on the hand, speaking English) so a casual reader might be confused and bored by the conflicts felt by the main characters. For a Catholic reader fed up with the Church's stance on domestic issues or already questioning his faith, this book might be a confirmation of everything he suspected. For a Catholic who has tried to remain faithful, the book is both a challenge and a confirmation. Some of the characters appear downright silly in the way they embrace change. Or heartbreaking in the way their marriages suffer. Or prescient in they way they foresee more changes to come. But it is telling that Lodge calls himself an agnostic because the book seems to express to me a deep longing for faith, for something True and Good to believe in. Despite the politics and the theological mind benders - or faith crushers as the case may be - I can't help but set the book down shaken, but reassured by a sense that the desire for God, for the reality of Love and Forgiveness, permeates the story. Lodge seems to struggle to answer if it all boils down to physical relationships or is there something more?
I almost need another dose of the Penderwicks to recover.
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