Books That Rocked My World

I can't believe its been 10 days since I last posted (sounds vaguely like a confession). My life has been pretty full this past week with both professional and personal issues. There are posts a-brewin' on both ends but in the meantime it feels like a good time for a book meme.

Previously I participated in a meme on influential writers. This vastly different meme is on influential books. As seen over at Academia and Me, this meme asks for you to list the first 15 books you can think of in 15 minutes that have had a profound influence on you. I sat down at a Starbucks yesterday and came up with the following*:

I'm not 100% sure why this book has always felt important to me but at the time I enjoyed stories with multiple siblings (coming from a family of 4 myself) and who doesn't love a sand fairy?

I love being read to and my mother has a great reading voice. I remember her reading the first 2 chapters to me and my sister Amy. Once she had us hooked she said we'd have to read the rest of the book ourselves. I did and then went straight on to The Lord of the Rings. It was the beginning of my love affair with sci fi/fantasy.

Another book I can attribute to my mother. My mother kept a wall of shelves in her bedroom for all of her books. Whenever I was bored or without something to read I would peruse them and ask for suggestions. This was the first in the Dragonriders of Pern series that I read. I loved it and luckily Mom had several more to keep me busy. I still dream of having a dragon of my own one day.

So far all of these books are from my elementary school years. I read Jane Goodall's classic when I was around 8 or 9. It is, I believe, what made me want to be a scientist (ok I wanted to be a palentologist when I was five--also because of a book but I can't remember the name). Jane Goodall's work combined everything I loved: nature, animals, and observation. I also remember her describing how she and her photographer husband were raising their little boy while she was doing her research in Africa. At the time (the mid-70s) such combinations of professional and personal life seemed very possible. I don't study chimpanzees but I do observe family interactions, which is really what Goodall describes in this book.

With this book we move up into my mid-20s, shortly after becoming a mother. This is one of those books that I can remember exactly where I was sitting when I read it because it caused such a strong emotional reaction in me. I remember quoting passages to my then-husband, who apparently humored me.

Around the same time I read this and my lifelong fascination with the study of motherhood was born.

This actually belongs in the days of elementary school. I first read it when I was around 10 or 11--what is now considered a "tween." I remember identifying so strongly with the protagonist--feeling his angst along with him. I've always been a rule follower and the thought of committing such a heinous crime and then living with the paranoia stayed with me for a long time. I decided to re-read it a few years ago and found him so very adolescent.


I am a little surprised by this choice, since To The Lighthouse has been such an important book for me throughout my life. However, this is the book that (a) got me started on Virginia Woolf; (b) I have a strange identification with the character, and (c) it explores gender in a way that has continues to fascinate me.

I mentioned in one of the Fairy Tale posts how I am a big fan of the King Arthur legend and this is the version that really does it for me. Here they are not young lovers but seasoned warriors and friends forced to into battle simply to "save face."

While not my first introduction to Taoism it is one of my favorite texts. It describes an approach to life I have been trying to achieve for 27 years.

Who hasn't been affected by the Chronicles of Narnia? If only Jesus really was a cuddly lion.

As I've mentioned previously, I've kept this book for 39 years because it means so much to me.

My mother gave me this book when I was "of the age" and I've kept it ever since. She didn't give it to me in lieu of "conversation"--we had a lot of those--but I appreciated being able to look things up in between talks (this was way before the internet afterall). I tried to show it to Angel, when he was "of the age" but he was having none of that. For him, talking it out was enough.

A much more recent acquisition, I asked for this book as a Christmas present several years ago. It is my favorite cookbook (Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything Vegetarian is a close second) and is pretty much responsible for all I know about baking. In fact the recipe for my Christmas Morning Cinnamon Buns comes directly from this book.

An odd last choice, but I read this book while on a camping vacation two years ago and it seriously changed the way I think about how we do and should promote health in our society.

If you want to play along, consider yourself tagged. Feel free to list your choices in the comments or if you post them on your blog let us know so we can all follow along.

*I've listed them in the order that I thought of them, which appears to be pretty random

Fairy Tales, Part III: Sleeping Beauty

I've read two revisionist versions of Sleeping Beauty in the past month. The first, Briar Rose by Jane Yolen, follows a young woman's journey to uncover her recently deceased grandmother's true life story. Her grandmother, who emigrated from Poland to the United States in the middle of World War II, was obsessed with the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty. Throughout the novel we get the grandmother's own retelling of the fairy tale (a far more dark and sinister telling than most children receive) woven into the story of the young woman's journey. By the end of the novel the grandmother's retelling gets reconciled with her true story and we see how fairy tales (and I would add myths here) help us make sense of the incomprehensible and shape our lives. It is a beautifully told tale and I highly recommend it.

The second novel, Beauty by Sheri Tepper, begins with a more conventional approach to fairy tales. The novel is told through the diary entries of the real Sleeping Beauty. It begins in the 1300s but takes us to current day--well the 1990s--and into the dismal future. This novel is a more traditional fairy tale in that magic exists (although it is dying in the future) and we enter the world of fairies. Beauty, in her romps through time and enchantment, tackles issues of environmental genocide, male brutality, women's rights, and aging. Much of the story comes down to a battle of good and evil--we get glimpses of both heaven and hell--and the differences and similarities between magic and religion. Tepper tells us before the novel begins that Beauty is a metaphor for the earth and the novel describes our current destructive path--the killing of beauty--while leaving open the hope of change and resurrection.

I've now read three novels of Tepper and I really enjoy her work. As I may have mentioned before, she is not a subtle writer. She tackles big issues and her interests frequently overlap with my own. She also explores interesting ideas and questions through quirky plots. I enjoy a quirky plot. However I generally prefer a softer touch. Take for example the following passage:

We have been thwarted at every turn by god. Not the real God. A false one which has been set up by man to expedite his destruction of the earth. He is the gobble-god who bids fair to swallow everything in the name of a totally selfish humanity. His ten commandments are me first (let me live as I please), humans first (let all other things die for my benefit), sperm first (no birth control), birth first (no abortions), males first (no women's rights), my culture/tribe/language/religion first (separatism/terrorism), my race first (no human rights), my politics first (lousy liberals/rotten reactionaries), my country first (wave the flag, the flag, the flag), and, above all, profit first.

Lack of subtlety aside, I enjoy her novels and I find the woman to be very interesting. Tepper, who turned eighty earlier this week, is a prolific author. She has published poetry, sci fi and fantasy as well as written horror and mysteries under pseudonyms. Her latest novel, The Margarets, came out in 2007 and it looks like she has another book coming out in 2011. Tepper married and divorced young and then raised two children as a single parent in the 1950s--when that just was not done. She remarried in the 1960s but continued to work for a variety of non-profits including a 24 year stint with Rocky Mountain Planned Parenthood, where she eventually became the executive director. She has a history of advocacy--or as she phrased it "a person who wagged her finger under people's chins and said 'Now see here!'" She became a full-time author in the 1980s and currently operates a guest ranch in New Mexico. She's my kind of woman.

Food: Its What We Do

Tomorrow is a promotion test at the dojo. Normally these are done during regular class hours but a bunch of us decided we needed a social event so we are combining the promotion with a potluck cook-in affair. b can't make it--he has to work all day--but today he made a lasagna for me to bring. Actually he made two--a meat and spinach and a spinach. The latter one he made for us to have at home. But since I'll be bringing a meat lasagna and I don't eat meat, I also made a pasta salad. It may be my best pasta salad yet--with asparagus, mushrooms, grape tomatoes, toasted pine nuts, shaved parmesan cheese, basil and chives. I also heard that there was only one dessert coming so I baked peanut butter brownies (recipe from my current favorite food blog, Smitten Kitchen) too. If that wasn't enough kitchen action for one day, b decided to try to make his own waffle cones simply because we had ice cream in the house. Unfortunately he found out a little late that we don't have the right kind of waffle iron. Nevertheless they made for a yummy waffle and ice cream sandwich.

Is it any wonder I keep gaining back those same 10 pounds?

Sweet Deal

Just found out that instead of teaching an evening class with 30+ (its still growing) entry-level masters' students, I will be teaching an afternoon class with 4-5 doctoral students. I enjoy the class I'm not teaching very much but it is probably my most time-intensive class. I've taught this other class once before--and also really enjoy it--so there won't be too much new prep involved but a WHOLE lot less grading. Its shaping up to be a pretty sweet semester.

Fairy Tales, Part II: Shameless Family Promotion

Drax reminded me of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. That was one that really affected me as a child. It is both dark and cruel. The fact that someone could get issues of poverty, class, and domestic violence into a Christmas Story is pretty amazing.

Drax is a wonderful writer in his own right--and also my BIL. However his usual fare is a little too dark for my taste (sorry Drax). However a few years back he wrote this--which I quite enjoy--that takes fairy tales to a whole new stratosphere. While you're checking out the wonderfulness that is Drax, don't forget to follow the link on his website to an interview with a very fabulous uncle. In case you get lost, you can also find it here.

On a related note, several years ago I wrote this little myth:

How Winter Began: A Myth

A long time ago there was only one season and that was summer. One day a young boy decided he was sick of seeing nothing but green trees. He took out his entire collection of magic markers and started coloring every leaf he could find. He colored them red and orange, yellow and brown. Pretty much everything but green. Several children gathered around and watched as the trees started turning into living rainbows. Children being children, they couldn't sit idly by. They ran home, returned with their collections of magic markers, and started coloring. Word spread and soon the world was engulfed in a frenzy of leaf-coloring. In their haste and excitement, the children tore leaves from the trees as they colored them. At one point they looked down and saw the lovely patterns the colored leaves made on the ground. An excited cry rang through the air as they scrambled to pick all the leaves off the trees and send them cascading down to earth. When every tree was picked clean, they jumped and played in the colored leaves. Suddenly a large gust of icy-cold wind came rushing by. The leaves were lifted into the air and blown from sight. The children shivered and were afraid the gods were angry with them for destroying all the leaves. They looked up into the sky but instead of seeing angry gods, they saw white powder falling softly. Confused and a little bit nervous, they started to scatter. However, as the powder hit the ground it stuck and started to build. The children played in the piles of cold powder until their mothers called them for dinner. Ever since then winter has come for the children.

That very short story turned into this even shorter poem:

Autumn

Leaves,

picked

with

crayon-stained

fingers,

invite

winter’s

breath.

Scary Nightstand Photo

Fairy Tales, Part I

I've been very interested in the response to my fairy tale question. It seems several of you have not had a great deal of experience with fairy tales in childhood. In spite of that, I was glad to see references to fairy tales other than the usual fare (Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty). Several of you mentioned how grim the Brothers Grimm really are. We think of fairy tales as children stories but they really were originally meant for adults.

I have always loved fairy tales. Several of you were unsure what fell into the category of a fairy tale, and while I think there may be some disagreement out there for me fairy tales are stories that involve the land of fairy and/or enchantment in some way. Fairy tales can include both the dark and the light but, like White Trash Academic, I do have a preference towards the dark.

I received this book on my fifth birthday and have cherished it ever since.

Its a little worse for the wear but then so am I. I actually own several books of fairy tales but it is this the pictures in this one that are in my mind's eye when I hear the stories. I am also a big fan of myths and, like JaneB, the King Arthur legends. To me they are all an extension of my love of fairy tales.

Growing up, we also had an album from Danny Kaye's Han Christian Anderson (and yes, Dr. Bad Ass, he definitely does count). It was an actual LP that I played to death on a tiny kids' phonograph. I remember Thumbelina and The Ugly Duckling the best.

The Ugly Duckling

My favorite fairy tale is Rumplestiltskin. (I was also fascinated by the Princess and the Pea but I think that is because I've always been such a sound sleeper and can't imagine noticing such a small object under so many mattresses). I'm not sure why I loved this tale so much as a child. I think, unlike other fairy tales that have wicked stepmothers behind it all and end with happy-ever-after, the (supposed) bad guy in this tale is a creepy little man. Exactly why does he want that baby so bad? It always seemed so sinister and dark. Also the story really gets good after the young woman is married. It is the one of the few tales that actually talks about life after marriage.

But as an adult, I think the draw is that the story depicts how an imaginary child is so different from a real one. We can promise away the life of an imaginary child to save our own, but if the child is here...if we know what a child means to us...there is no bargin. I also appreciate, as an adult, the real culprits as being the father who bragged about his daughter to gain favor with the king and the greedy king himself--who threatens death and promises marriage--in order to get free gold.

However I remember a part of me thinking that Rumpelstiltskin had been gypped. The queen used her advantage to find out his name, which didn't seem quite fair. It also never seemed right that he struck the deal out of pity. Perhaps he wasn't so evil of a character? It is a complex tale in many ways.

This is the image that lingers in my mind when I hear the story of Rumplestiltskin.

I've been reading updated fairy tales (a description of these will need its own post) lately and it has gotten me thinking about an update to the Rumplestiltskin story. I have a good one in mind (although it seems there have been many many retellings) but alas fiction writing is very low on my list right now and quite frankly I don't think I have the writing chops for it.

I did run across this recently. How have I lived 44 years and not known about these poems? Here is her version of Rumplestiltskin.

Rumpelstiltskin

by Anne Sexton

Inside many of us

is a small old man

who wants to get out.

No bigger than a two-year-old

whom you’d call lamb chop

yet this one is old and malformed.

His head is okay

but the rest of him wasn’t Sanforized.

He is a monster of despair.

He is all decay.

He speaks up as tiny as an earphone

with Truman’s asexual voice:

I am your dwarf.

I am the enemy within.

I am the boss of your dreams.

No. I am not the law in your mind,

the grandfather of watchfulness.

I am the law of your members,

the kindred of blackness and impulse.

See. Your hand shakes.

It is not palsy or booze.

It is your Doppelgänger

trying to get out

Beware….Beware…

There once was a miller

with a daughter as lovely as a grape.

He told the king that she could

spin gold out of common straw.

The king summoned the girl

and locked her in a room full of straw

and told her to spin it into gold

or she would die like a criminal.

Poor grape with no one to pick.

Luscious and round a sleek.

Poor thing.

To die and never see Brooklyn.

She wept,

of course, huge aquamarine tears.

The door opened and in popped a dwarf.

He was as ugly as a wart.

Little thing, what are you? She cried.

With his tiny no-sex voice he replied:

I am a dwarf.

I have been exhibited on Bond Street

and no child will ever call me Papa.

I have no private life.

If I’m in my cups

the whole town knows by breakfast

and no child will ever call me Papa.

I am eighteen inches high.

I am no bigger than a partridge.

I am your evil eye

and no child will ever call me Papa.

Stop this Papa foolishness,

she cried. Can you perhaps

spin straw into gold?

Yes indeed, he said,

that I can do.

He spun the straw into gold

and she gave him her necklace

as a small reward.

When the king saw what she had done

he put her in a bigger room of straw

and threatened death once more.

Again she cried.

Again the dwarf came.

Again he spun the straw into gold.

She gave him her ring

as a small reward.

The king put her in an even bigger room

but this time he promised

to marry her if she succeeded.

Again she cried.

Again the dwarf came.

But she had nothing to give him.

Without a reward the dwarf would not spin.

He was on the scent of something bigger.

He was a regular bird dog.

Give me your first-born

and I will spin.

She thought: Piffle!

He is a silly little man.

And so she agreed.

So he did the trick.

Gold as good as Fort Knox.

The king married her

and within a year

a son was born.

He was like most new babies,

as ugly as an artichoke

but the queen thought him a pearl.

She gave him her dumb lactation,

delicate, trembling, hidden,

warm, etc.

And then the dwarf appeared

to claim his prize.

Indeed! I have become a papa!

cried the little man.

She offered him all the kingdom

but he wanted only this—

a living thing

to call his hown.

And being mortal

who can blame him?

The queen cried two pails of sea water.

She was as persistent

As a Jehovah’s Witness.

And the dwarf took pity.

He said: I will give you

three days to guess my name

and if you cannot do it

I will collect your child.

The queen sent messengers

throughout the land to find names

of the most unusual sort.

When he appeared the next day

she asked: Melchior?

Balthazar?

But each time the dwarf replied:

No! No! That’s not my name.

The next day she asked:

Spindleshanks? Spiderlegs?

But it was still no-no.

On the third day the messenger

came back with a strange story.

He told her:

As I came around the corner of the wood

where the fox says good night to the hare

I saw a little house with a fire

burning in front of it.

Around that fire a ridiculous little man

was leaping on one leg and singing:

Today I bake.

Tomorrow I brew my beer.

The next day the queen’s only child will be mine.

Not even the census taker knows

that Rumpelstiltskin is my name…

The queen was delighted.

She had the name!

Her breath blew bubbles.

When the dwarf returned

she called out:

Is your name by any chance Rumpelstiltskin?

He cried: The devil told you that!

He stamped his right foot into the ground

and sank in up to his waist.

Then he tore himself in two.

Somewhat like a split broiler.

He laid his two sides down on the floor,

one part soft as a woman,

one part a barbed hood,

one part papa,

one part Doppelgänger.