Thursday – The Book Club
Apr. 15th, 2010 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
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In March when I dropped by the new (used) bookstore, Bookworms, not too far from where I live, the lady behind the counter (Judy, the mother of one of the owners) invited me to join their book club when they met again in April. They would be discussing Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, in large part because they had a lot of copies of it to sell. She put her hand on the stack of copies of this book that sat on the counter when she told me, and I could see they certainly did. I can imagine that when you run a used bookstore, it can be feast or famine with certain titles.
“It’s really good,” she told me, “I wasn’t sure I would like it, but I read it in about 4 days.” She told me a bit about the book and when I looked skeptical (it’s about a veterinarian in a circus during the Great Depression), she promised that it was an amazing book and that once I picked it up I would have a hard time putting it down. I added it to the stack of books I was buying, more because I was curious about what goes on at a book club meeting that I was about circus life in the 1930’s.
Judy didn’t invite me because I looked interesting or fun, of course. She was inviting everyone who walked into the store. She told us the book club meets the first Thursday of every month at 7 PM (when the store normally closes), though in April it would be the second Thursday since the first Thursday fell during Holy Week. This would be the second week they would be discussing Water for Elephants, and they would discuss a new book in May.
“And we’ll have cheesecake!” she promised. I told her I’d try to make it by.
On the night of the meeting, I made the point of eating a small dinner before leaving the house so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat any cheesecake. People might assume that I avoid desserts because of my diabetes, but that really has very little to do with it. I avoid desserts because the idea of buying clothes any larger than the ones I already own depresses me. I can easily take an extra shot to keep my blood sugar from going too high after I eat a slice of cake. Lying down on the bed and using a pair of pliers in order to pull the zipper on my jeans closed is a lot of exhausting work. Besides, it’s embarrassing to have my 5-year-old son stand there and quiz me about what the heck I am doing. I am haunted that long after I am dead and gone, my son’s clearest memory of me will be me trying to get into a pair of blue jeans that didn’t fit because I was too proud to buy a larger pair. Too proud, and too weak to say no to a free slice of cheesecake offered up at a book club meeting.
I pulled up to the bookstore at about 15 minutes until 7 and noticed there was only one car in the parking lot. I figured that would be the owner of the store. I pulled into another parking lot across the street from it to watch and see if anyone else showed up. I’m the sort who needs time and space to warm up to a social situation; being the only person in the room besides the proprietors was enough to make me feel a little anxious. Besides, I had only started the book two days before and I wanted time to read as much as possible before the meeting, assuming someone else showed up and there would be one. I was halfway through the book. Judy was right: it was very, very good. The only reason I’d started so late was because of the other books I’d bought the same day as that one. I’ve been on a memoir kick lately, reading books by real people about their real experiences. I’ve always been a big fan of fiction, but lately I’d come across a lot of non fiction book that read as good as fiction. Some were sweet, some were touching, some were gritty, some were inspiring, and a couple bordered on pornographic. I’d bought 3 other books and I’d bought them because I had an intense interest in reading them. This book I’d bought so I could maybe join a local book club and getting started look a little will power. After I started it, putting it down was what took will power, but I was still only 150 pages into the 300+ page story when Thursday night rolled around.
At 6:58, two other cars pulled into the bookstore parking lot. I put down my book and drove over to join them.
There were 6 of us there: Kristen (who owns Bookworms along with her husband), her mother Judy, and four "bookworms" (me, two other women, and a man) who had never been to a book club meeting before and wanted to know what went on at one. We asked what went on at the first meeting, and Kristen said everyone pretty much just got to know each other but didn’t discuss the book that much. Later it came out that only Judy and Kristen had been at the first meeting and they were delighted (not to mention relieved) when the 4 of us showed up to this meeting. Since before we left we each bought a copy of the book to be discussed at that the next meeting, A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, there is a good chance we will all show up to the meeting in May.
Everyone kept trying not to reveal too much about Water for Elephants for my benefit, since I hadn’t finished it and they didn’t want to spoil it for me. As much they tried not to, they did let some crucial details slip (I would never have guessed that the elephant and not the girl was guilty, for one thing), but that didn’t ruin it for me. You can’t ruin a book for me by telling me what happens, because it isn’t the story that transports me, it’s the telling of it. I like to submerge myself in the language and suspend the world around me when I read a book. What I know going in (even if it is the ending of the book) means nothing at the moment I am reading. A predicable story told beautifully is much more enjoyable that a good story told badly, in my opinion. So-called spoilers spoil nothing for me.
I’ve already started the next book and will be finished long before the meeting so that people don’t have to trip over themselves not to give too much away (it’s pretty hard to talk about a book without actually revealing what happens in it – I don’t want to put people through that again). I’m not sure if we did the whole book club thing right or not; we didn’t follow the questions in the back of the book. We just talked about what we liked and what we wondered more about, and then shot the bull and got to know each other a little.
And there was cake, which I did not eat but which looked beautiful. My pleasure from books is in the telling, and the joy I derive from desserts comes from the presentation. It is the gift of any true book lover to be able to enjoy an experience without personally having to experience it at all. In my case, I can taste the cake in my mind without having to lift a fork. This month, it was chocolate. I hope the one they have next month looks as pretty.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
In March when I dropped by the new (used) bookstore, Bookworms, not too far from where I live, the lady behind the counter (Judy, the mother of one of the owners) invited me to join their book club when they met again in April. They would be discussing Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, in large part because they had a lot of copies of it to sell. She put her hand on the stack of copies of this book that sat on the counter when she told me, and I could see they certainly did. I can imagine that when you run a used bookstore, it can be feast or famine with certain titles.
“It’s really good,” she told me, “I wasn’t sure I would like it, but I read it in about 4 days.” She told me a bit about the book and when I looked skeptical (it’s about a veterinarian in a circus during the Great Depression), she promised that it was an amazing book and that once I picked it up I would have a hard time putting it down. I added it to the stack of books I was buying, more because I was curious about what goes on at a book club meeting that I was about circus life in the 1930’s.
Judy didn’t invite me because I looked interesting or fun, of course. She was inviting everyone who walked into the store. She told us the book club meets the first Thursday of every month at 7 PM (when the store normally closes), though in April it would be the second Thursday since the first Thursday fell during Holy Week. This would be the second week they would be discussing Water for Elephants, and they would discuss a new book in May.
“And we’ll have cheesecake!” she promised. I told her I’d try to make it by.
On the night of the meeting, I made the point of eating a small dinner before leaving the house so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat any cheesecake. People might assume that I avoid desserts because of my diabetes, but that really has very little to do with it. I avoid desserts because the idea of buying clothes any larger than the ones I already own depresses me. I can easily take an extra shot to keep my blood sugar from going too high after I eat a slice of cake. Lying down on the bed and using a pair of pliers in order to pull the zipper on my jeans closed is a lot of exhausting work. Besides, it’s embarrassing to have my 5-year-old son stand there and quiz me about what the heck I am doing. I am haunted that long after I am dead and gone, my son’s clearest memory of me will be me trying to get into a pair of blue jeans that didn’t fit because I was too proud to buy a larger pair. Too proud, and too weak to say no to a free slice of cheesecake offered up at a book club meeting.
I pulled up to the bookstore at about 15 minutes until 7 and noticed there was only one car in the parking lot. I figured that would be the owner of the store. I pulled into another parking lot across the street from it to watch and see if anyone else showed up. I’m the sort who needs time and space to warm up to a social situation; being the only person in the room besides the proprietors was enough to make me feel a little anxious. Besides, I had only started the book two days before and I wanted time to read as much as possible before the meeting, assuming someone else showed up and there would be one. I was halfway through the book. Judy was right: it was very, very good. The only reason I’d started so late was because of the other books I’d bought the same day as that one. I’ve been on a memoir kick lately, reading books by real people about their real experiences. I’ve always been a big fan of fiction, but lately I’d come across a lot of non fiction book that read as good as fiction. Some were sweet, some were touching, some were gritty, some were inspiring, and a couple bordered on pornographic. I’d bought 3 other books and I’d bought them because I had an intense interest in reading them. This book I’d bought so I could maybe join a local book club and getting started look a little will power. After I started it, putting it down was what took will power, but I was still only 150 pages into the 300+ page story when Thursday night rolled around.
At 6:58, two other cars pulled into the bookstore parking lot. I put down my book and drove over to join them.
There were 6 of us there: Kristen (who owns Bookworms along with her husband), her mother Judy, and four "bookworms" (me, two other women, and a man) who had never been to a book club meeting before and wanted to know what went on at one. We asked what went on at the first meeting, and Kristen said everyone pretty much just got to know each other but didn’t discuss the book that much. Later it came out that only Judy and Kristen had been at the first meeting and they were delighted (not to mention relieved) when the 4 of us showed up to this meeting. Since before we left we each bought a copy of the book to be discussed at that the next meeting, A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, there is a good chance we will all show up to the meeting in May.
Everyone kept trying not to reveal too much about Water for Elephants for my benefit, since I hadn’t finished it and they didn’t want to spoil it for me. As much they tried not to, they did let some crucial details slip (I would never have guessed that the elephant and not the girl was guilty, for one thing), but that didn’t ruin it for me. You can’t ruin a book for me by telling me what happens, because it isn’t the story that transports me, it’s the telling of it. I like to submerge myself in the language and suspend the world around me when I read a book. What I know going in (even if it is the ending of the book) means nothing at the moment I am reading. A predicable story told beautifully is much more enjoyable that a good story told badly, in my opinion. So-called spoilers spoil nothing for me.
I’ve already started the next book and will be finished long before the meeting so that people don’t have to trip over themselves not to give too much away (it’s pretty hard to talk about a book without actually revealing what happens in it – I don’t want to put people through that again). I’m not sure if we did the whole book club thing right or not; we didn’t follow the questions in the back of the book. We just talked about what we liked and what we wondered more about, and then shot the bull and got to know each other a little.
And there was cake, which I did not eat but which looked beautiful. My pleasure from books is in the telling, and the joy I derive from desserts comes from the presentation. It is the gift of any true book lover to be able to enjoy an experience without personally having to experience it at all. In my case, I can taste the cake in my mind without having to lift a fork. This month, it was chocolate. I hope the one they have next month looks as pretty.
