I grinned as an elderly woman spread an array of food across the round table: a platter of gochujang-spiced tteokbokki, a plate of crispy egg rolls, and little plates with kimchi, sweetened potatoes, crispy Korean coleslaw, and little pieces of fish cake. Steaming silver bowls of rice stood tall and proud in the sea of little white plates, and large platters of thinly sliced beef, pork, and chicken soon joined them. I passed my plastic mug around the table, sharing sips of a simple soup, crafted from wakame seaweed, fresh mushrooms, and hot water.
This meal, this spontaneous Saturday evening feast at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, offered a visual representation of how I approach literature.
People often comment about the number of books I read, and I struggle to express my reading habits in a succinct manner. I often mention that well, I read lots of genres, or I really just love to read, and let the conversation rest with those points. However, as I mull over my approach to reading, I realize that the answer goes beyond these statements.
Over the years, my literary diet has become similar to the Korean dinner I recently enjoyed with my husband and children: a feast of flavors and textures, both nourishing and adventurous.
Gone are the days when I would rarely step away from books like the American Girl series, The Boxcar Children, Little House on the Prairie, and any book that featured horses. Gone are the days when I argued the superiority of Nancy Drew over the Hardy Boys. I remained in my literary comfort zone, happily tucked underneath Heidi and Little Women.
Although my literary diet was nourishing and enjoyable, the fate of voracious readers throughout the ages finally hit me: I needed more books--but where could I look?
As a young teenager, I realized that I truly didn't care about most of the books that were marketed towards my demographic. I scrounged around the library's teen section and finally found Redwall, by Brian Jacques. My reading hunger was satisfied--for a short time, that is. All too soon, I decided to move on from Jacques' badgers, rats, and mice that fit into predictable plot formulas. I stepped from those adventurous tales into the world of Inspirational Christian Romance novels--of the Western variety--and I happily lingered there.
Eventually, though, I grew dissatisfied with my reading choices. Filled with the inner complexities of growing as a teenager, I began to yearn for complexity that pushed beyond the formulas of the stories I read (which often revolved around a woman who was enamored with a city boy but ultimately chose to be with a hardworking rancher). I read novel after novel, but these stories could no longer satisfy my hunger for books. And so it was that one summer, I found myself walking toward the nonfiction section of the public library. I had long avoided this area because I assumed that it must be "boring." However, I needed to move on from the few genres I read, and as much as I loved rereading classics like Pride and Prejudice and Misty of Chincoteague, I was realizing that I wanted books that were new to me.
I began looking through the nonfiction section and was astonished to see the array of books that lined the shelves, covering a vast array of topics: from arts and crafts to food to biographies. Perhaps this area was worth checking out, after all.
Around this time, another incident influenced my thoughts on the matter. I was in the halls of my high school one day when I learned--from another classmate? From a nearby conversation? I cannot recall--that the non-Honors English class was reading one of Shakespeare's comedies. I felt indignant and confused. Why, I wondered, did my peers and I in the Honors English class only get to read and discuss Shakespeare's tragedies? Couldn't we also benefit from diving into a comedy or two of his? Alas, every time the Honors English classes encountered a Shakespearean play, it was always a tragic one--and the other literature we read often revolved around darker themes, too. This lack of variety struck me as odd. Wasn't lighthearted literature worth studying?
[Years later, I felt very vindicated when I read this excellent article by Dr. Barnes at Journey with a Destination: "A proper literature curriculum should explore the full range of human emotions, and not merely indulge in whatever neuroses happen to be prevalent within contemporary English departments."]
As I continued to grow and mature, I wanted to dive into literature that encompassed the human experience with its sorrows and moments of darkness, but also with its light, joy, and hope. I did not want one or two types of literary food to sustain me; I wanted a feast.
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| After a family outing for Mother's Day a few years ago, I curled up with Homer's Iliad and my husband sneakily snapped this photo :) |
In the ensuing years, I have explored a feast of literature. I have allowed my incessant curiosity to guide me towards a variety of works: from nonfiction about preppers to graphic novels about desert monks to fictional adventures about the Brontes fighting werewolves. Like the array of little white plates, bowls of rice, and platters of meat I enjoyed at the Korean restaurant, the books I pick up each year differ in a variety of ways. Some are rich and meaty, others are lighter fare.
My reading diet is a feast for the senses and the intellect; the books I read open my mind to beauty through different paths: graphic novels and comic books, thick classics, and children's novels both simple and complex. The diversity of books enhances my overall reading experience and leaves me nourished and satisfied. Over and over, I observe that Goodness, Truth, and Beauty are not restricted to classic works of literature or thick academic works.
Perhaps this reality is what prompts me to finally sit down and write the story of my reading life.
Although I've started to see other people publicly argue the merits of reading beyond "the classics" (I highly recommend Dr. Holly Orway's article: "Read Great Books But Ditch the Guilt Trip"), I still encounter the idea that in order to be a well-read person and/or "good Catholic," your reading must revolve around Tolkien and Dostoevsky. We may even feel embarrassed to admit that we like to read novels marketed to children or adult novels that aren't deemed "classics."
However, as much as I appreciate and enjoy Tolkien and Dostoevsky's works, I cannot only consume the literary equivalent of steak; I need an assortment of other literary foods and ingredients to provide me with the perspective and edification that I crave. Even many people who observe the carnivore diet eat different types of protein--and for some, even a little bit of dairy on occasion! Variety is often good for everyone.
When I partake of a literary feast, I'm often surprised, and delighted, to discover just how interesting the world is--and how fascinating its inhabitants are. There are many imaginative stories that have already been written, as well as those which are currently being published. There are eye-opening memoirs that nudge me with the reminder that every single person, made in God's image and likeness, has a story.
My literary feast also prompts me to recall the importance of humility, that beautiful virtue with which I continually struggle. I can easily see myself perching on the stacks of classics and dismissing all other volumes as a "waste of time" or "not good literature." However, because I read widely, I am forced to recognize that Goodness, Truth, and Beauty arrive through many formats and genres.
***To be clear, I do not read filthy books; some volumes have quickly gotten tossed away when it becomes apparent that the author is working hard to promote immoral agendas or slip in explicit sexual content at any chance. However, if a book has a small amount of questionable content but is good and worthwhile at its core, I often still read and enjoy it while skipping over a problematic section, like carving a small rotten spot out of a strawberry and enjoying the rest of the fruit. I am discerning in what I read, since my reading material informs my perspective and impacts my entire life.
I am obviously biased, but I also must confess that curating and consuming my literary feast is not only edifying; it is very fun, as well.
I genuinely enjoy exploring different genres and learning about different people and events throughout history. While there are certain books I don't read much of (I consumed so many Inspirational Christian Romances in my youth, I rarely pick up that genre anymore), I try to ensure that I check out a variety of books each year. Sometimes, I'll focus on one particular topic for a month or two. Other times, I'll enjoy a diverse sampling in a month, like the variety of appetizers at a meal. I've stopped feeling guilty for returning books to the library unread if I don't have time or find that I'm just not in the mood for a particular novel. My reading time is precious and not always plentiful in a small house with several young children, so I've become much more intentional with what I pick up.
When I hear of interesting books, I save the titles and every-so-often, I'll go through these titles and request some from the library. Sometimes, a title may linger on my list for years before I finally get to it; other times, I'll find a book as soon as I learn about it. I don't currently have a strict system, and I don't set specific reading goals.
I love to read, learn, and grow, and I'm grateful I live in a country where books are plentiful and my literary feast is abundant. I do not take this gift lightly, and I thank God for the gift of books and the ability to read them.
On that note, I'm off to watch ducklings, make dinner, and perhaps read a sentence or two of my current book!
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| Home from the post office! |
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