The Sunday Salon: All’s Quiet

It has been quiet here, hasn’t it? Or maybe you haven’t even noticed.

Either way, it’s alright. Autumn is a time for drawing inward, for pulling all your inner resources together, storing energy and warmth for the cold hard days ahead.

I am a quiet person, best suited to being home with my family, my dogs, my books. I’m happy to let a certain few friends enter - in small groups only, please - but also just as happy when they’ve left and I’m on my own once again. Crowds of people with their noise and activity suck the life right out of me - I recharge my batteries when I’m alone and left to own devices.

A few weeks ago, I took a shortened, online version of the MBTI, and was a little surprised to find such a strong preference for introversion (89%). Oh, I’m not surprised I’m introverted - I’ve known that since the first day of kindergarten when I was terrified and overwhelmed by spending three hours in a room with 29 other five-year olds. But I was a little nonplussed by the high degree of preference this test indicated.

Then I started reading Quiet, by Susan Cain. It’s a fascinating study of introversion - how this personality characteristic develops, the way it’s viewed in different societies, and how it can be beneficial in life and in the workplace. It will come as no surprise to most of you that America is a society which values the extrovert - people with the kind of gregarious, up and at ‘em personalities we associate with leaders and winners. Introverts often are made to feel like the last ones picked for the team.

It’s been comforting to recognize myself in Cain’s descriptions. “Introverts may have strong social skills and enjoy parties and business meetings, but after a while they wish they were home in their pajamas. They prefer to devote their social energies to close friends, colleagues, and family. They listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and often feel they express themselves better in writing than in conversation. They tend to dislike conflict. Many have a horror of small talk, but enjoy deep discussions."

You could easily insert my name at the beginning of every one of those sentences.

Cain defines introversion not as shyness (the fear of social disapproval or humiliation) but as a “preference for environments that are not overstimulating.” Which helps me understand why it’s so tiring for me to be in crowded places like airports or concert halls or amusement parks.

But the subtitle of this book - The power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking - is the key to what I’m finding most interesting.  I’ve internalized the impression that being introverted meant weakness, at least in terms of social and intellectual accomplishment. But Cain’s book debunks that theory. Not only does she talk about some very powerful and accomplished introverts - Albert Einstein, Rosa Parks, Bill Gates, Marie Curie, and Warren Buffett to name a few- she also highlights numerous ways that the characteristics shared by many introverts can be extremely valuable assets in any setting. How deep thinking, focused attention, and quiet strength can make a huge difference in everything from social justice to rocket science.

Ghandi (another famous introvert!) once said, "In a gentle way you can shake the world."  I doubt if I’ll be doing any world shaking, but it’s good to know that I don’t have to apologize for being quiet anymore.

The Sunday Salon: Falling Through Space

I’m not really falling through space. In fact, I’m sitting at my desk watching the eastern sky turn all kinds of rosy pink as the sun begins to rise on this chilly fall morning. Awake at 5 am today, I surrendered to the mental monkeys tumbling around in my head and got out of bed, pulled on a sweater and made a beeline for the coffeepot. First cup firmly in hand, I curled up on the couch to finish reading Falling Through Space, a slim paperback volume I uncovered on my bookshelf while packing up books for our move. Subtitled “the journals of Ellen Gilchrist,” the book (published in 1987) is really more of an extended essay, a slightly stream of consciousness rambling about life and writing and being a woman. I can’t recall if I’ve ever read any of Gilchrist’s books - one novel and three collections of short stories are mentioned on the back cover - but I’m always keen to read the thoughts of women who write, especially Southern women who write.

I like Gilchrist’s easygoing, meandering style in this book, which she divides into three sections: Origins, Influences, and Work. Clearly a woman of spirit and spunk, Gilchrist was born on the bayou, and deeply influenced by it’s history and natural rhythms. Yet she has “moved around” all her life, she says, “going to different schools, living in different houses, shedding old roles, assuming new ones.” Picking up and moving, “tearing up a perfectly nice comfortable life and going off to live somewhere else... is as natural to me as staying in one place is to other people."

Well, that couldn’t be more different from my experience, as I am certainly one of those people to whom staying in one place is “natural.”

But here is a thought - “nothing in the long history of our species has prepared us to be comfortable,” Gilchrist says. “When life becomes comfortable for an artist the energy stops. Being comfortable is so boring it makes us drink and take drugs and bet on football games. Anything for a little excitement."

It seems to me there are many levels of “comfort,” and for each of us - artist or not - we need to find the one that suits us best. Long ago I accepted the fact that in order to live I needed the safety of routine, that taken too far out of my familiar environment, out of my “comfort zone,” I was uneasy. All my energy then went toward keeping the fear at bay, rather than to the work that needed doing. I don’t need to go searching for excitement because so often I find it in the pages of a book, in the poignancy of a Chopin nocturne, the depths of a Monet painting.

The rosy glow of the eastern sky early on a crisp autumn morn.

I’m feeling pretty comfortable this morning, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.

How about you?

The Sunday Salon: Reading and Rambling Along

Nothing stops me from reading.

You all know that.

No matter how many boxes need packing, how much stuff needs sorting, how much laundry needs doing, when my heart feels tugged toward my book my body soon follows it to the comfy chair in the corner of my writing room where I can curl up and escape into a different world.

Throughout my entire life, I’ve found books my most tried and true companions. When I’m happy, I love to celebrate it with reading. When I’m hurting, losing myself in the words and ideas of others soothes my soul for a while.

For the books I’ve loved the most, I’m always curious to know more about their authors. So often, reading a book sends me down a virtual pathway to that writers door. I research biographies, collections of letters, published versions of their journals. If you were to search my shelves, you’d find little villages where an author “lives” in the printed word, surrounded by her own books like she would be children.  Madeleine L’Engle has a large amount of real estate in this neighborhood. So do Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf. As does Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Anna Quindlen is there - her novels and her memoirs. Gail Godwin’s novels have been joined recently by her two volumes of memoir.

Over the years, there has been criticism devoted to people who try and place authors too squarely in their work, who try and figure out what it was in the writer’s personal life that led them to write a certain character or develop a certain theme.

It shouldn’t matter, they’ve said. The writer’s personal life does not affect our interpretation of her work.

But how can it not? I think. And why wouldn’t I want it to? For me, it adds that extra bit of seasoning when I realize how an author’s own personality or life experience has shaped their work. It’s a gift, an extra layer in the cake that makes up our shared human experience.

It’s also one of the things that I’ve loved about “book blogging.” It has allowed me to meet so many writers through their blogs and on their Facebook and Twitter. It does not at all detract from the “mystery” of their writing. On the contrary, it adds a deeper dimension to my reading of their books.

Reading is the whole package for me - it’s The Story, but it’s also about the Creator of The Story. I love getting to know both of them.

The Sunday Salon: Slow is Beautiful, A Guest Post by Barbara Richardson

The Sunday Salon is  about gathering together to talk about all things bookish, and I’m pleased to have a visitor this Sunday to do just that. 

Settle in, let me pour you some tea or coffee, and say hello to Barbara Richardson, whose novel Tributary was one of the books I thoroughly enjoyed during My Summer of Reading Historically. 

Slow is Beautiful

I remember a Rilke quote, an insight from that wise and sensitive poet, suggesting life is a closed envelope and nearly all of us just pass the envelope along to the next generation. Few open it. Few even try. Almost no one realizes the envelope is addressed to them. To us. To you.

That letter from the universe waits in your hands. You are the recipient. The mystery, of course, is how to open the envelope. Every day. Every minute of every day.

I know one thing that will raise your odds: slow down. I learned this from my own speedball past. I have actually been called “Speedball” by a loved one. And, by a co-worker, “a squirrel on crack.” Being speedy meant I could deliver, oh, a few thousand unopened envelopes a day and still feel ridiculously disconnected from my life.

E. M. Forster, another wise sensitive writer, says, “Only connect.”

When I move slowly through my life, I recognize, “I am the envelope.” The objective of my days is to open and see and receive. If you find yourself unhappy and unfulfilled, try slowing down and savoring. Honestly, the human system is made for that. You’ll be good at it. When you try.

By the end of my new novel Tributary, my heroine Clair Martin receives and opens her life letter. What is inside that letter? I hope you’ll go with Clair on the journey to find out.

Speed gets you nowhere quickly. Please slow down. Be an elephant. Spray sun-warmed water on your dry back. Roll in the dust, remembering your eternal connectedness.

There IS no time like the present. And Elephants never forget.

I couldn’t agree more, Barbara. Life is best lived when savored slowly and mindfully. The modern world doesn’t make that easy for us, so thank you for this thoughtful reminder.  And for something to enjoy from the kitchen, visit Barbara’s blog to get Clair Martin’s yummy recipe for Clair’s Windfall Applesauce.

The Sunday Salon: School Days

School days, school days. For me, school meant slick new notebooks and paper folders in all colors. Boxes of flinty pencils I could sharpen into lethal points. Backpacks in stylish colors and prints.

And books. Lots of books.

I didn’t even care that most of them were textbooks. I loved them all - the battered, well-thumbed history books passed down from year to year, the shiny new workbooks for French with lovely glossy photos of famous landmarks. With only one exception (math books) each tome thrilled me to the core.

Like many adults, I have fond memories of my school days and feel a tiny bit wistful when September rolls around. One of my friends finds herself with no children to send off to school for the first time in about 23 years. “How strange it feels to walk past the back-to-school displays and not need to make a single purchase,” she sighs.

Here’s my secret. I haunt the school supply aisles every year and stock up on notebooks, index cards, folders and pens. This year I splurged and bought colored markers and some blank white paper for drawing  doodling. My biggest bargain were spiral notebooks for 10 cents. I confess to going slightly crazy on that one.

But really, can you blame me?

So - as often happens - when I’m feeling a need for something I can’t satisfy in real life, I turn to books for my vicarious gratification.

Books about school. That should do it.

Book Riot put together a nice list of books about life at school (Six Books for Back to School). Most of these I’ve read, but I may go digging for my copy of Villette (since I’m on something of a classics kick these days) and re-read it.

Here are some other of my personal favorites:

A Separate Peace, by John Knowles, is definitely a look at the darker side of adolescence in a British boarding school, but it’s still a classic and important story about relationships for people of all ages.

Class Reunion, by Rona Jaffe, is the story of four girls who go to Radcliffe in the 50’s and go on to live interesting lives, then meet up again at their 25th reunion. (On a side note, if you go to the Amazon page for this book, you’ll notice that it’s out of print and a resale first edition will fetch a price of $199.00. And my husband doesn’t understand why I save books.)

Goodbye Mr. Chips, by James Hilton, traces a teachers long career at a British boarding school, and although it seems dated in some ways, it’s quite to true to the era in which I grew up, so it’s a nice bit of nostalgia for me.

Admissions, by Jean Korelitz, is a modern tale about 38-year-old Portia Nathan, who has avoided the past, hiding behind her busy (and sometimes punishing) career as a Princeton University admissions officer and her dependable domestic life. This was a fascinating look at life in the “Ivy’s”  from the administrative side.

So even though it’s hot as blazes outside today, I may crank up the air conditioning, put on my school sweater, and pretend it’s fall while I wander back to the halls of academe.

In books, that is.

How about you? did you love school or hate it? do you like revisiting your school days vicariously through novels?