But I’m a romantic, and The Age of Innocence is a grand, tragic love story above everything else, and it hit my heart in a way that I can’t forget. Wharton gets the push and pulls of falling in love right, of how two people can come to deeply love one another, even if they never really quite touch. And she renders it with a command of classical craft, within a near-perfect structure and polished, elegant language. On its own, the story of the doomed romance between society man Newland Archer and the divorced “foreigner” Countess Olenska would be kind of a potboiler (of a very classy, restrained sort, of course), but it gets its power from the grasp that Wharton has of the milieu they live in — upper-class New York society in the early-to-mid 1800s — and her ability to situate her lovers within this rarefied, but ultimately stifling, sphere.

There’s such rich, loving detail of this slice of the world — you can practically feel the silks and velvets of the evening gowns, the smell of lilies in a conservatory — but Wharton never loses sight of the subtext of this deeply tribal world, and how it shapes the emotional lives and impulses of its inhabitants. Americans like to presume they are independent and free, that they command deeply individual destinies. Wharton powerfully portrays that this isn’t the case, that no matter what our emotional realities are, we are still social creatures and shaped in many ways by the mores of the world around us. It is just that relative privilege allows us the illusion that we are freer than we actually are.

Besides the absorbing, emotionally subtle love story, The Age of Innocence, to me, is a story about patriarchy and its mechanisms, and how even those who benefit most from it can suffer under it. Newland is part of a certain stripe of “gentleman,” and he sits near the apex of the top of the pyramid of the powerful and wealthy. Sure, he’s likely a bit more sensitive than most, and fancies himself more enlightened (and part of the book’s genius is how the veil falls from his eyes in his respect, and how he realizes his own social training has contributed to his emotional tragedy). But he’s still Mr. Fancy Pants, if you know what I mean. That I came to care for him, and felt the pangs of his sorrow as if they were my own, is really a testament of Wharton’s ability to trace the emotional development of Newland so well. And it’s a pretty indicting comment on a society that the villains of the story are the women the system aims to “protects.”

These days, of course, divorce isn’t social suicide, and Newland and Ellen could (maybe) find some modicum of happiness under more relaxed social mores. Wharton’s work, being so attuned to the social settings of her time, are of a time and place that no longer exist, perhaps adding to their grandeur and romanticism. But it still makes me think — especially when I think about all those fiery right-wing female political pundits — of how a society can convince its biggest victims to act against their own best interests. The ending of The Age of Innocence will always slay me as a romantic, but as I read it again as I’m older, I see how the romantic tragedy is also a tragedy of social and political dimensions, existing within a system that has never really quite gone away, which makes me even sadder.

And the ending of The Age of Innocence? Never fails to kill me as well.

The truth is that, deep down, I am a moon-worshiping pagan hippie Goddess type at my core who likes nature and enjoys the idea that sex and death are part of a wondrous, immense fabric of the cosmos. Or something like that. Plus, I’m a feminist, and I like to think that Great Big Universe supports that in some way that is absolutely incontrovertible. (You can’t argue with Great Big Universe, right?) What’s the most feminist religion you can think of? That would be part of it, for sure.

The Mists of Avalon plays into this side of me. And, it is a rip-roaringly awesome retelling of the Arthurian stories through the perspective of the women in the story: Morgane Le Fay, Guinevere, the Lady of the Lake, like some crazy great early British girl gang. It also details the historical moment when Christianity was just starting to take hold in England, with plenty of political intrigue and war and pagan rites. And there is enough sex and death to make this quasi-Goth happy.

I first read The Mists of Avalon in high school; a friend told me about it, and lent me her copy to read. I read it in like two days, completely sucked in, and my English teacher wondered what happened in my life that would make my weekly essay assignment so bizarre and ferociously feminist. This book happened, that’s what, although I’d be confused, too, if one of my good students suddenly turned in this huge, semi-coherent argument against the Christian patriarchy and the subjugation of female sexuality.

Of course, I’ve gotten fancier and well-read about feminism, women, sexuality, spirituality and many other things, but reading book was a moment in my life where all these different strands of feelings, experience, thoughts and theories coalesced into one epic story. That is the gift of great fiction — to make whole and coherent a great mass of consciousness, using the threads of emotion and narrative to pull it together. That’s what I love about a good story — when it’s well-woven, it’s a beautiful fabric of the cosmos, one that can pull together and give shape to inchaote spiritual urges and emotional longings. If this book only had a unicorn, it’d be perfect.

I have a very clear memory of seeing D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths on the display shelf at the local library when I was about four, and I have very clear memories of picking it up, opening the pages and being instantly riveted by an oddly gentle yet ferocious drawing of some crazy man swallow a bundled-up baby whole, like a giant calzone.

I also remember thinking, What is this? and read on, learning about Kronos and the other Titans, and reading more and more about some of the oldest stories ever told. I became instantly enchanted by these strange, outsized stories of gods and goddesses. This was the first book that I just fell in love with; I checked it out again and again from the library, until my parents finally got the hint and bought a copy of it for me for my birthday. I read it all the time until it finally fell apart. My parents are kind of pack rats, but I’ve never been able to find it among the boxes of nostalgic rubbage in the basement. My guess is that it was sold in a garale sale some time along the way, and the thought makes me a little sad, though I hope it’s found a fine home somewhere else if that’s the case.

Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Hermes: they were like my first soap opera, with all their sexploits, jealousies, rivalries and inexplicable passions and rages. They weren’t like the Buddhist folk tales or Bible parables that surrounded me, which I found really bizarre and inexplicable. But the Greek pantheon strangely made sense, likely because they broke down archetypes into deeply familiar patterns and dynamics that even I could see as a small kid: I knew an Aphrodite kind of chick even in kindergarten, and there was something of Athena and Zeus in how I related to my dad as a girl, which is why I adored her at the time. (I kind of feel way more Artemis/Aphrodite as an adult: running in a forest under the moon and free love are way more up my alley now.)

You could say D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths (and the one on Norse myths, which I read a bit later) sparked a lifelong interest. I went onto other mythology books, like Edith Hamilton’s Mythology and James Frazer’s The Golden Bough, and read a lot of the classics that came out of myths, from Ovid, Hesiod, all those dudes. But the knowledge that’s stuck to me longest and deepest comes from this book.

A few months ago, I noticed my oldest nephew reading a book about Greek myths, kind of a snazzy-looking modern encyclopedia that was all “Zeus! Dude of lightning!” He’s into all those Rick Riordan books and wanted to learn more about Greek gods and goddesses and myths. Of course I had to buy D’Aulaire’s for him, being a dorky adult. (Note: there is no way any adult is cool to a 12-year-old boy.) I was a little worried that it would seem fusty and boring to him; you know, kids these days. But he dug it and read it in one swoop, he said. He even let his teacher borrow it! I was psyched, of course; I love that the magic of some books never dies. Because gods and goddesses are eternal. And a picture of Kronos eating a baby is still kind of like, Whoa, no matter how old you are.

It was a weekend full of dearest friends, marathon conversations, yummy dinners (chickpea tagine, still transitioning out of raw foods), fun with public art, perfume buying as a treat to myself for finishing the latest draft of my book (Tocca Cleopatra!), brunch at my favorite place to eat in Chicago (yummy omelet with chanterelles, blew the raw right open in this meal), many rounds of drinks at various bars around Logan Square (if anyone cares, the Owl was packed with very attractive people on a Saturday night) and a kind of mini-reunion with film school friends, where we Godarded out at the Whistler and talked movies, buisness, and writing just like old times, albeit with a bit of seasoned perspective.

But one of my favorite moments was when my sister texted me late Saturday night after finishing reading my book and told me she loved it, it made her cry and that I should be proud of myself for creating a beautiful story. I totally teared up. The only other real bookworm in the family, I was a little scared to show her my book because it’s so intimate, you know? It meant a lot to me; I’m such a softie.

It was “a best, best time”, as my niece would say. And it’s nice to be back after a vagabond weekend, back in my own bed, surrounded by books and lavender tea and fashion magazines.

*****

Photo was taken up underneath the Cloud Gate sculpture by Anish Kapoor in Millenium Park. Do you see me? xo k.

I recently found a box of these mix tape diaries, and it was one of those really great moments, where a whole rush of memories whoosh at you. Like a Proustian madeleine moment, only with way more Too Pure bands than I remembered. Looking at those tapes, re-reading the inserts, even glancing at the name of the songs took me right back. It was way better than my paper journals, actually. It kind of warms my heart that a whole record of my wayward adolescence into my late 20s exists in this form.

So I got to thinking that I should do this again, but 21st century stylee. Which means: 8tracks.com! My life doesn’t feel nearly as dramatic as it did back then (I keep my drama for the blank page, so to speak), but it may just be nice to look back at all these mixes later on and remember exactly where I was at in terms of life, and what it sounded like when I got there. Of course, this may mean public exposure of evidence that I have put a Sting song on a mix, but I’m willing to endure the mockery for future memory’s sake.

LISTING:

Pixies, “Hey”
One of those times when the music matches the occasion.

Rihanna, “We Found Love”
Can you believe that this was the first song I heard in 2012?

Katy Perry, “E.T.”
Any song about quasi-alien sex is down with me. This was playing during a particularly goofy moment during my rare carousing occasions lately. It earned its place on the soundtrack.

Metric, “Satellite Mind”
I got really into running to this song on the treadmill. It was also kind of a turning point when I realized my book’s heroine would grow up to become a chick like Emily Haines when she was older.

Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus”
REACH OUT, TOUCH FAITH.

Nine Inch Nails, “Ruiner”
A song for writing a certain part of my book. Like, the moshpit/slamdancing part. God, I love a good moshpit scene in a book! There just aren’t enough of them!

Fugazi, “Cassavetes”
January marked the month where I finally got Fugazi’s major discography on my iPod.

R.E.M., “Fall on Me”
Another writing soundtrack.

Sting, “Fields of Gold”
This was the soundtrack to a memorable moment in January, but I can’t tell you what it is in public. It is what we call “counterprogramming” in the film industry, though!

Natasha Bedingfield, “Still Here”
This is one of those songs that I found impossible to track down because I was like, who the hell is Natasha Bedingfield? Oh, the “Pocketful of Sunshine” chick. Anyway, I went to yoga a lot and they LOVED playing this song during the hip openers. There was a part where the chorus came on, our arms floated up and it was like we were doing water ballet or something.

Marilyn Manson, “Heart-Shaped Glasses”
Part of me thinks this is impartially a bad song (the chorus is so lame! Where’s the melody?!), but I enjoyed hearing it one night at a bar so I don’t care. Then I got this weird urge to write a scene in my book to it, and it worked, so there you go. MAGIC!

How to Destroy Angels, “Is Your Love Strong Enough?”
Obvs this is very Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

*****

I got in the habit near the end of last year of giving myself an informal “theme” for a month. I don’t necessarily sit there and bestow upon myself a theme in any formal way. I sort of just check in, pay attention to what I’m craving and dreaming about, what images and sounds and feelings inspire me, what synchronicities are floating around. And then slowly a month-long intention emerges, an area I want to explore in different ways. This month, what emerged for me was the idea of energy, vitality, spark, physical radiance. Of course, it was January, and there are a million people (or more!) kind of working on the same thing. Who am I to fight the tide? Of course, I have to give myself a fun, goofy word for “theme of the month,” and so I decided about a week into January that my theme was KAPOW!! Like, KAPOW! I’m like a superhero full of KAPOW! I AM KAPOW-Y KAT!

I tried out a few different practices, habits, meals, classes, routines, and activities in pursuit of KAPOW! Some things I deliberately chose, others came about as I was doing one and it led to the other. I wasn’t crazy-strict with myself (what a drag that would be!) but it was easier to keep a lot of these because I knew it was only a month — 30 days, no big deal, right? A few things I did, and my reflections on them:

Tried out raw food. I wasn’t super-strict about it, but I did start incorporating more raw recipes in my diet. I started out by adding one raw meal or snack a day, then shifted into “raw before dinner” and then in this last week I did “all raw, all the time.” I have to say, I know people LOVE raw food and I can see why — it’s incredibly clean to eat so much plant-based food, and there is a strange hum of energy as you get into it. I”m generally good about getting my 5-7 fruits and veggies a week (thanks to all my smoothies!!) but eating raw is like getting 10-15 servings a day of them, and IT IS PRETTY WHOA-INDUCING. I am not going to sustain raw as a lifestyle, though — I did feel like I missed the social aspect of eating, I missed cheese, and I was hungry in a way that I as a Cancerian did not enjoy, i.e. I would get a spike of RAVENOUS at the end of the day that only some raw nut truffles could allay. However, I will do it again in the spring; I feel like it’s a fun, beautiful thing to do as the seasons turn.

Drank a lot more water. This was actually a lot more transformative than I thought. It came about because I was breaking out from the raw food (detoxing, they say) and I read a lot about upping your water consumption to flush out toxins. I thought I was getting enough water, but it ended up, I was about 10-20 oz. short of what they recommend. (Two liters, I believe.) I made myself drink a lot more water, mostly by carrying a giant water bottle all the time, and the difference it made was pretty remarkable in terms of feeling good in my body.

Took some new classes. I’m pretty active, but generally I’m a runner — I like that runner’s high, I like that it’s so efficient, and after the first ten minutes, I really love what I call the “gazelle effect,” when you run and it’s like, “I AM A CREATURE OF NATURE, ALIGNED WITH THE WIND FLOWING OVER THE SAVANNA!! ARTEMIS, HEAR ME WHOOSH!!!” However, I decided to mix it up and take some classes: some kickboxing, some dance classes, some yoga/flow classes, the climbing wall at the gym. I liked the variety and it kept my mind engaged, and the social aspect was nice, too. I’ll keep taking more; I’m in a hip hop class now and it is awesome — I get to fulfill my latent fly-girl fantasies!

Smoothies! I wrote about this earlier, but I really was gung-ho about them in January. I love them; I can’t recommend them enough, honestly. If anything, you’re getting a great hit of vitamins from all the fruits and veg! How can you argue with that?

Slept earlier and better, woke up earlier. Anyone who knows me knows that I was an insomniac/night owl, and good sleep’s always been a struggle with me. I tackled this a few years ago and it made such a huge difference in my life, but it’s easy to fall off the wagon. So I made sure to reinforce habits of shutting off electronics early, lowering the lights, trying to be all mellow and relaxed, all that good stuff. It was a good check, because for me, sleep is my foundation for feeling good about life, and I have to be vigilant about keeping it going

Another thing about getting up earlier: I used the time totally for myself. Sometimes I worked on my book (a bit on that later) but sometimes I also listened to music or a meditation, or just read a book, or wrote in my journal, or did my nails or whatever. ME TIME! Usually I do me-time stuff at the end of the day, but putting it up top was actually a beautiful thing, because it felt like I was taking care of and being generous with myself and making it the most important thing, and it made dealing with time and energy suckers later in the day a lot better — because I didn’t resent them for stealing my me-time, I already had it. It was an unexpected attitude hack, but I’m glad I stumbled on it.

Stretching before sleep. I work so much on a computer that I really have to take care of myself physically, especially in terms of aches and pains. Honestly, one thing I fear for is getting carpal tunnel, because how would I write so quickly if I had it? So I did a little more yoga, a quick, little routine of yoga stretches before sleeping, focusing on neck, shoulder, arm and hip openers. I didn’t get to it all the time, but the nights I did, I slept sooooo well — and I woke up feeling a lot more energized, interestingly. Also: CRAZY-ASS DREAMS HAPPENING on nights that I did this! Definitely related!

Fresh air everyday. If Katland had a personal law, this would be it because even 10-15 minutes of outdoor air a day, or even just a spot of sunshine, makes a huge difference in my energy. Ironically, I was really terrible about it in January — it got soooooo cold. Still, now and then I’d stick my head out the window, take a few deep breaths and then go about my day. It was like a nice hit of energy. I don’t know how I did all those wintery treks last year; now I’m such a wimp about it. What is going on with me?!!

I realize none of these are particularly ground-breaking, but the real challenge of these practices and habits are less about the actions themselves and more the habit-making of them — of doing them often enough to make a lasting impact in your life. I’m glad I used January to tackle spark, radiance and KAPOW! It feels like a good base to build a beautiful year.

*****

Beyond KAPOW! (ha ha), here’s what else I tackled and accomplished and will give myself BIG UPS for this year: mega-savings, consolidated my student loans (ugh, I hate this kind of task but I made myself do it), FINISHED THE LATEST AND LIKELY PENULTIMATE DRAFT OF ZE NOVEL (more on that later! Promise!), cleared out a bunch of clutter, went to the symphony, started researching real estate (eek, I need like a real estate buddy or something, I find the process really confusing, no wonder only married people seem to buy houses), redid this site slightly (look for more changes soon), signed up for some local classes and started on some secret but sparkly long-term projects for the future. (I can’t share EVERYTHING on the Internet, right?!!)

I hope you all had lovely Januaries, and that your 2012 has been beautiful so far!

xo kat

Be sure to check out their whole website for more, and subscribe to get the rest of their lessons!

+ Francesca Lia Block! She wrote a story for Wildfox Couture, it is here and it is beautiful!

+ I have always loved, loved, loved Terry Gilliam’s films — Brazil, 12 Monkeys, Time Bandits, they’re all so imaginative and audacious in how far they go to detail their peculiar, even baroque vision. This is a great interview with the filmmaker on his process, his beliefs, his reflections on film and the vocation of the artist, and being in it for the long haul.

+ Keeping on the filmmaker tip, here is another interview at The 99 Percent by the Dardenne brothers, Belgian filmmakers known for their observant, nonsentimental naturalistic filmmaking. If you’ve ever see L’Enfant, you know how amazingly moving and devastating their films can be, and they’ve carved out a rich place for themselves in world filmmaking. I have been more and more interested in artists and how they cultivate tenacity, patience and the ability to do their work for work’s sake, for learning, for growth, outside of acclaim, achievement, honors, fame. They have earned some of the highest respect and integrity in the field, not just for their films but how they work, so I’m truly interested in what they have to say.

+ I have been reading more poems lately. Poetry and I go way back: my first creative writing forays were in poetry, starting from high school onward, and in college I even won some fancy awards for my poems. I love the compression and intuition that writing and reading poems demands, and the sheer pleasure of images, movement, and words you can indulge in. I like reading poems off the Poetry Foundation’s iPhone app: I love how you just “spin” it and lo and behold, poem! The app is free, and is a true literary pleasure.

+ Ok, this isn’t genius but I still like my “best of 2011″ mix on 8tracks.com! It has: Zoo Kid/King Krule, Azealia Banks, TV on the Radio, Class Actress, Lykke Li, PJ Harvey, Crystal Stilts, Iceage, Fever Ray, Charlotte Gainsbourg, The Konki Duet, and Nicki Minaj.

Give it a go: observe how often the question of “enough” comes up in daily life. You’d be surprised.

enough, adj.: occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs, or expectations

Enough is rather a strange concept, especially in a world where there are such extremes of lack and excess, on all levels from personal to geopolitical. It seems abstract, until you’re forced to make it concrete — and then you realize how very difficult it is to know what is enough.

Like in negotiating contracts, something I did a lot as when I did web design: what is the right amount where I feel properly compensated for the work I’m doing, and the client feels as if they are getting value? It is a balancing act, a very tricky one, involving figuring out your worth (generally very difficult for women to do, I must add), figuring out what is enough to satisfy two possibly opposing positions, putting a specific dollar amount on it.

The stakes are clear and concrete: if it is not enough, you’ll likely suffer for it on a very material, very real way. If it is too much, you may lose the contract, the gig, the job, or the client will secretly hate you and make your life miserable by squeezing all he or she can out of you.

But I also see the debate of what is enough play out in other, less expected ways. Like the scarf example above, or my penchant for plaid button-down shirts. Right now, I have four plaid shirts. I had two just two weeks ago, two which I loved and wore all the time. I was satisfied with two, but a little restless — you know that way you get with clothing sometimes, especially if you love it.

I was happy with two; maybe another, and another, would make me happier? But now I’m looking at the fourth one, wondering if four is a bit excessive. Maybe I should return it. Maybe three is enough? The irony is, now that I have more, I don’t wear them as much.

If you have too little of something, you could ache with longing. But sometimes, when you have too much of something, it loses its magic and power of enchantment. You take it for granted, grow bored with it, or are maybe paralyzed by too much of a good thing.

(Reading Barry Schwartz enlightened me to the idea that having too many choices saps the satisfaction gained from whatever you are deciding upon. I think of Barry whenever I walk into a Sephora and just stick with Nars lipsticks.)

“Enough” doesn’t really have a lot of glamour, and most people connote it with “average or sufficient.” Yuck, who wants that? That is so boring! So dull, so grey.

But now, when I think of “enough,” I think of equilibrium, a kind of harmony, neither lacking or overwhelmed by too much. One of my favorite ideas I picked up in my excursions into Spiritually Scandinavian was the concept of “lagom.” It is a word that is like “enough,” but is fairly untranslatable and has more cultural significance. My Swedish friend says it means more “just right,” or “optimal,” or “balanced.” Like Goldilocks wants, just right.

What is just right for you in life, in terms of love, work, friendship, activity, socializing, writing, buying, seeing, making? A question to always consider, an answer likely always evolving.

I used to be one for really complex and ambitious New Year’s resolutions and intentions, complete with color-coded spreadsheets mapping out my year month-by-month. (Yes, it is as insane as it sounds, but it was actually really pretty to look at! My sweetheart suggested I actually should have framed it and passed it off as abstract art. I’m sure someone already has, I said.) That worked, for a year, and then it worked less and less after that, because my life got complicated with variables out of my control and it got kind of boring to fill out. I’m fairly type A and do love a good, specific plan with solid To-Do items, a timetable, a map of execution; it’s my Virgo rising sign, I suppose. And I’ve read too much on creativity and productivity to be able to completely eschew what I learned.

But, I temper it now. And I try different things, because what are New Year’s resolutions if not a beautiful life experiment?

There are tons of great tools available to help chart out a year: Chris Guillebeau does a good review and plan for analytical types. I’ve never done it, but the people I know who have are all hella successful, so there you go! For those who adore soulful questions with bright, joyous colors and drawings, Leonie Allen’s Goddess Guidebook is a pleasure to fill out and mull over. I got one as a gift in 2010 and it was a real treat and fun to do, even if I was a few months late! I read Tara Mohr’s suggestions on New Year’s resolutions (or, not having them, actually) with great interest. Her questions about what you want in a year are really lovely and reverie-provoking.

But this year, I did something different. Oh, of course, I have list of things I want to accomplish (more books, Paris, horses, a lovely new home, more prosperity), but I didn’t want so much to contemplate and think a plan, especially after the big Reverb thing. I mean, I’m good at plans, and To-Do lists, and that kind of thing. It’s like second nature; if I need to call on those superpowers, I can and will. Those muscles are sort of overdeveloped in my life. Instead, I sort of wanted to feel my way to my intentions for my year, to have a little fun and just make a mess. So I cut up all the magazines I accumulated over the year and did a few big massive collages.

I didn’t have a big plan for them, I only wanted images that resonated me. I pulled and pulled images from all these magazines until paper fluttered all over my floor like snow. And then I sorted them out, making groupings. Some images clearly were things, feelings, experiences I wanted; others were related to style; others were related to an emotional state I liked, others were just fancies that appealed to me in an unexplained yet deeply compelling way. I arranged them all on a few pieces of posterboard and put them together. And then I stepped back and, wow: if I could have the year I just laid out for myself, what a beautiful year it would be.

And then I realized: Voila! My dream/mood boards for 2012! (There are bits and pieces of them above — the whole big mess is a bit personal — this is the Internets, after all!) Like a real-life Pinterest!

The other thing I did in terms of New Year’s resolutions-type stuff is: I chose a word for the year, a theme. At least, I think it is the word for the year; I will give it some time to breathe a bit. Doing the whole Reverb challenge made me realize that what fascinates me as I pass through the years is how they begin to braid and lead into one another, how strands of one year persist into the next, and how you pick up new thoughts, ideas, experiences and weave them into larger experience of life as well. I like a sense of time passing to have cohesion, to feel like there’s a deeper story at work. I like pieces of the puzzle to fit. I do like the idea of a simple, clarifying compass. In the midst of all these goals, intentions, resolutions, it is nice to be able to look at something, ask yourself if it aligns with your compass, and then if it does, use it to head towards true north. True north, that’s where I’d like to be headed.

++++++++++

I’m going to keep track of more prosaic things here in the small ending space, I decided. Finished re-reading A Visit to the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan; loved it as much as the first time. I took time to really appreciate the interlocking structure, and found the helplessness of humanity in the face of the inexorability of time to be deeply true. Took my niece and nephews to see the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie (don’t judge; kids seem to love it!) and also watched Downton Abbey. I see why people are into that show! I loved all those Edwardian dresses. Right now I picked up the Ashley Judd memoir from the library; I’m not sure why, I don’t have any strong feelings for or against her, but I opened her book up and read a page and was intrigued. I’ll let you know how it goes; so far it is intelligent, deeply earnest and unexpectedly moving, and I actually texted a friend who suffered from serious emotional neglect as a child to read it.

I spent December re-reading all my favorite books, some of them for likely the twentieth-plus time in my life. (That would be Little Women.) Of course the first time I just love the story, or the characters, or the voice, and I want to know what happens and why. But the second, third, fourth or even twentieth time? What does one possibly extract from a book that many times?

There are, of course, many levels to read a book: for pleasure, analysis, cultural import, emotional attachment, wisdom, duty, research, moral instruction, creative inspiration, just to name a few. But as I closed the cover of Little Women after finishing it in December, I knew there was more to it, more to the reason why I pick up some stories again and again.

++++++++

At the same time, I was also thinking about gifts. Not just presents and who would get them, but things that people, objects, experiences bring into the world that help shape it and make it a more beautiful, fuller, more interesting place.

An infectious humor. Incisive yet kind discernment. The ability to make life lovely to others, no matter what the circumstances. A true grace. Wild, poetic imagination. A power to look into dark places and not be afraid. You see it as the throughlines in bodies of work, or the feelings great leaders or cultural figures inspire, but it’s also present in everyday people: how my best friend’s beautiful tenor makes everyone stop and smile, because he takes such joy in singing. No matter what route they choose — relationships, words, images, voice, food, songs, clothing — something of their gift comes through.

And then the different strands of thinking converged: I love to re-read stories not just for stories, characters, rich language, gorgeous imagery. I love to revisit them because something about that book’s true gift resonates deep in me, in those corners of life we call spirit and soul. A book offers not just a story, characters, plot points, language: it offers a point of view, an emotion, a spirit or a set of possibilities, a world to step into. Great books, you can argue, offer something much larger than themselves, which is why stories can transcend their execution and resonate across cultures and centuries. But even “lesser” works have a gift. Everyone has a gift. You can argue that life is for developing your gifts and sharing them with the world.

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I’ve been re-thinking books lately through this lens, and it’s clarified why some books are so beloved for me, as well as helped me appreciate books that aren’t so personally resonant. The true gift of Little Women for me is of its innocence, its presentation of the richness of women’s lives in all its possibilities: that fulfillment can come in ways one leasts expects. And while I’ll never love reading On the Road, I can see how people connected to its sense of liberation and freedom and free-wheeling energy.

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Interestingly enough, I’ve been in the middle of another revision to my novel, and now I find myself looking at my beat-up, been-through-hell-and-high-water story through this unfamiliar light: what are my story’s true gifts, its fuller offering to the world? And what can I do as the writer to serve that? Now that I’ve lived with it for almost two years, I hope I know it enough to hear the deeper layers it wants to reach. Submerged usually in questions of craft, publication, and the annoying nitty-gritty that comes up in rewriting, the question of a story’s true gift is a new, unfamiliar question to guide editing. I wonder how it will bear fruit.