With the inspiration of Oprah’s O Magazine’s usual feature –
“5 books that made a difference to…”
Sometimes the celebrities, or authors, or artists in general, would
answer with poignant books to their craft or to their lives in general. These were books that made them a better
actor, artist, activist, writer, etc. Or
sometimes they would answer simply by the books that they enjoyed the most – or
the books that lived on their bookshelves, or on their desktops, and would get
referred back to often. So even the
phrase “5 books that made a difference to” can be interpreted many ways. When asked, “what are your favorite
books?” These 5 aren’t even in that
list. Usually I answer:
- “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac (because I’ve read it so many times I feel I have to)
- “Of Mice and Men” (because it was one of the first books that I was forced to read in school, and I actually enjoyed, and caused me to read more Steinbeck),
- the Harry Potter series (do I really need a reason?)
- the entire Stephanie Plum series by Jane Evanovich, and anything by Nicholas Sparks (because sometimes reading is just for fun and can be done just for frivolity and entertainment).
- and now John Green. His work and his vlogs are quite inspiring and thought provoking, although I am significantly out of his target audience. But I can not wait to share it all with future generations (nieces, daughter).
The “Books that made a difference to me” are different than
that. My books didn’t directly affect me
as a writer. Jane Eyre, Lady Chatterley’s
Lover, Alice
Warrior Marks: Female Genital Mutilation and the Sexual Blinding ofWomen by Alice Walker with Pratibha
Parmar, Similarly Possessing the Secret of Joy, by Alice
Walker. Possessing is a
fictional account of an African woman, Tashi who chooses to undergo female
circumcision (more aptly genital mutilation).
In Tashi’s village this is a tradition that is usually performed on
younger children. Tashi’s sister in fact
dies from the procedure, bleeding to death.
Tashi felt torn between her roots and Western culture (she had left
Africa and married an American man), and she returns to Africa
to have the procedure done. The trauma
of the procedure, the strain of being pulled between the two cultures, and
being haunted by the experiences of her childhood eventually drives her mad and
finally she seeks psychiatric care.
Warrior Marks is the non-fiction version on Possessing. Alice Walker and Pratibha Parmar explore the
parts of Africa where this ritual is still
practiced. There was a documentary film
also, which I devoured. Warrior Marks
graphically documents the procedure, and interviews women who have had the
ritual performed on as children.
I can’t even put into words the emotions that reading
Possessing awoke in me. I read it at
fairly young age, a teenager. I had
discovered the works of Alice Walker and fell in love. I read every book by her I could get my hands
on, not realizing myself that it might be odd seeing that I was a teenage white
girl, and Alice Walker’s books weren’t exactly written with my demographic in
mind. I could write pages and pages
about the atrocity of the rituals and the depth of the tragic trauma that
results from them, not only to the women involved but to women in general. The misogynistic beliefs that sexual pleasure
and desire are the privilege of the male sex, and therefore any inclination
towards it in a female must be not only squelched but cut and torn from their
bodies. The horrific sociological,
psychological results from this gender based suffering has been written about,
and documented. It was even an episode
of Nip/Tuck (a TV drama in the 2000s about plastic surgeons) that discussed
it. In fact in said episode, the victim
was restored. Her clitoris reconstructed
and functional. After her very first
orgasm, by her own hand, she was brought to tears by the power of it, and declared
that “It was beautiful.”, “It was like God was waking up inside of me.” “such Joy.” (actress Aisha Taylor, wonderful
BTW). A woman’s body is such a magical
wonderful mystery, with surprises and every changing complexity. Perhaps it was the fact that I was just
discovering my own sexuality, creating my own sexual identity and discovering
the sexual side of my body, and here was a book about cultures mutilating their
women’s. Some women made the choice, as
it was ‘what was done’ in their culture.
But what kind of choice is it for a child? Being led to the ritual by the family that they
trust, to have that very personal part of their body and soul literally torn
from them. I hated and resented the
betrayal. I feared for their health. Having just discovered the thrills of sexual
exploration, knowing that this was being done to prevent these women from ever
having sexual pleasure. It was more than
misogynistic. It seemed to me to be pure
evil.
No One Here Gets Out Alive by Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman. A somewhat exploitive biography of Jim Morrison,
the lead singer and lyricist of the 60’s rock band the Doors. Again, a book straight out of my teenage
years. One year, my best friend and I
exchanged Christmas presents, each giving the other this very same book. We were going through a classic rock/Doors
phase, and it was only fitting. However,
I have found that the book itself has changed for me over the years, as I have
matured. In those early years, I read it
with adoration and awe at the poet James Douglas Morrison was (not to mention
super freakin’ hot). I admired his
tortured poet soul; I fantasized about his sexual/romantic adventures, and
romanticized his alcohol and drug use. I
even pondered the existence of a Jim Morrison is Alive conspiracy. The book was co-written by Danny Sugerman who
had befriended The Doors when he was just a teenager, and he idolized, and
romanticized Morrison too. And that was
how it was written. Or rather, perhaps
that is how it was read. But as I read
it now, it is a different Morrison I see.
Talented, yes. Still damn hot,
absolutely. And truly a tortured
soul. I see the drug abuse and
alcoholism in a different light, and it portrays a sadly tormented man, who in
his altered states was often mean and surly to the people who loved him the
most. He even had to be reminded or
forced to bathe. He was an addict who
was loved by so many people, friends and fans alike. Truly heartbreaking.
The Verbally Abusive Relationship, by Patricia Evans. I have bought several copies of this book in my
lifetime, and have readily passed my copy on to someone else who I thought
needed it at the time. When I was
16-21, I was in a horrible relationship. Certainly, I was just a kid who had a lot to
learn about life, about love, about relationships and even about myself. I was insecure, and needy for attention. I had found this special someone who loved me
for “who I was”, warts and all. Or so I
had thought. As it turned out, he loved
those warts so much because he was able to use them against me, and then praise
himself for loving me even when no one else could or would. All the time I was playing the dutiful loving
partner, giving some of what I considered my best performances yet as the happy
little lover. It was quite a roller
coaster ride. And then Dear Abby, or Ann
Landers (forgive me I can’t remember which), posted an article about verbal and
emotional abuse – and my mother’s husband handed it to me. I wasn’t hiding anything from anyone
apparently, not successfully anyway. And
then I found this book. It was a cliché
self-help book. It showed me “I wasn’t
alone” It showed me the classic stages
and actions of a verbally abusive person, how I wasn’t actually insane (because
at this point I was questioning this).
How could a person be so charming and everyone love him, and yet make me
feel like such dirt? The book taught
about how emotional scars are so different, but yet still very extremely
valid. This is still an issue that
plagues society today. We are so aware
and recognize that the emotional abuse towards children, and how it affects how
they grow up, and yet society is reluctant to acknowledge that this can also be
the case with adults, with lovers and friends.
Verbal and emotional abuse is very real.
Often I would say, If you are physically abused you can show your
bruises and say, “This is what has happened to me.” But with verbal and emotional abuse you
cannot. Your pain and scars are
invisible. This book was helpful in me
allowing myself to heal and it also opened me up to see the possibility of this
abuse in other areas.
When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson. There was another book,
although I can’t remember the name that originally sparked my animal rights
sympathies, it was a bit more militant and less touchy-feely. In When Elephants Weep, Masson insists that
animals lead very emotional lives, and I think that depending on the species,
it is very hard to debate that concept. Masson includes stories and antidotes
from several animal behaviorists to prove his point, separated by chapters on
love, fear, compassion, etc. Some may
argue that it is more anthropomorphism than science. But then there are those who have seen
it. The loyalty of a beloved pet. The news stories of dolphins helping lost
boaters or swimmers. The assorted interspecies
adoptions and companionships (where neither was human). I once was at a shit zoo (I am conflicted
about zoos in general, because even though I love to see animals up close, etc
– I feel deep in my core that they do not belong behind that glass, fence,
cement enclosure, or moat. Rescue zoos
give me hope. Like the Austin Zoo that
houses only animals that cannot survive on their own, wrongly domesticated or injured)
– that had a distressed elephant. It was
attached to the floor with a short chain.
The elephant rocked back and forth, in a self-comforting compulsion. . This
poor animal had been through a traumatic life, clearly experiencing symptoms of
PTSD. Something had happened that to
this gentle giant that caused it to disassociate. Heartbreaking.
I
am not all together proud that I also have the uncanny knack of turning off
that consciousness at times. It is too
easy to cruise through society and fall into the same routines as everyone
else, and forget. Books like “When
Elephants Weep” remind me.
Grieving the Death of a Mother by Harold IvanSmith. The title pretty much says it all. Yes, it is another cliché self-help type
book, like the Verbal Abuse one. Except
this one is less clinical, and more antidotal.
The author takes us through his own loss, and tries to bestow guidance
for others dealing with the same. What
speared me straight through the heart was the honesty. The simple truth that your life will never be
the same. There will never be anyone
else who will have the same kind interest in your life, your day to day life,
as your mother. I didn’t necessarily
read it cover to cover, from start to finish. But I did read the whole thing,
in pieces – pieces that I needed at the time.
And when I thought I was done with it, I passed it along to a friend
when her mother passed. Although, I
think it might be time to buy another copy, because as the book said, you are
never the same, you are never quite over that loss. And sometimes I need to be reminded that this
is okay.
I know that is my FIVE.
But I have one more. The Mulberry Bird by Anne Braff, PhD. It is a children’s book about adoption. But it is not the cliché: “you are
special/chosen/meant to be” adoption story.
It tells the heartbreaking story of the mother bird who realizes that
she simply cannot provide the protection and care for her baby bird as she
would like, and her search to find a family that would take care of her child
and give it the life she dreams for it. It tells the story from the view of the
birthmother, and how adoption is a chosen path.
Chosen not because of lack of
love or concern, but truly out of deep thought and more love than you could
even consider. This is not a baby who
wasn’t wanted, or who was “given up” , this is a baby who was loved and
cherished, so much so that Mama Bird found the strength to let her go, find her
a home that would give her everything that Mama Bird could not. Safety, Protection. Free from worry of survival and plenty of
love to spare. Mama Bird is heartbroken
to have to say goodbye, but she takes solace knowing that her baby bird is now
safe, and cared for, and she will remember always. The different approach for this book is comforting
and bittersweet. It reminds you that
there is a birthparent out there who let go of their beautiful child out of
love and sacrificed the sharing of that love for themself for a happy life for
that child. It also makes you think
about the parents who don’t make that adoption choice, who do not think about
their lack of ability to provide for their child either physically or
emotionally and they try anyway, keeping said child in danger, at risk, to the
end of possibly giving that child a distressed turbulent life. Or about parents who are just not cut out to
be parents, and do it anyway, again resulting in a traumatic troubled
life. This Mama Bird is already a better
parent than those, because she has chosen what is best for her baby. However painful it is. But that is parenthood, isn’t it? – self sacrifice
for that little being. Giving up part of yourself, part of your life
so that that little one is happy and safe.
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