My Top Reads for Summer 2013

Yesterday at work I wrote copy for a marketing email advertising select summer reads for a couple publishing houses. "Start your summer reading adventure today," it read. "Find the perfect book."

I found it likely that I wouldn't agree with all the books on their list, so I decided to make my own. In any case, as an English Writing major, I am frequently asked to recommend books and often find myself suddenly blanking on anything beyond a title or two. So in the future, I will just refer those people to this page. Here is my list of ten great summer (or anytime) reads:

1. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy---I will never stop recommending this novel. Set in a small town in 1969 India, The God of Small Things poignantly captures the innocence of childhood through the eyes of twins Estha and Rahel. Their narrow perspective is rivaled only by the even narrower (and not so innocent) perspective of the adults in their lives who have rendered themselves completely blind to truth. Brilliant characterization, brilliant narrative structure, and magical language. The prose reads like poetry and carries a richness unparalleled to any novel I have ever read. Where else can you read sentences like, "Heaven opened and the water hammered down, reviving the reluctant old well, greenmossing the pigless pigsty, carpet bombing still, tea-colored puddles the way memory bombs still, tea-colored minds"?

2. The Brothers K by David James Duncan---This book is not to be confused with The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky (also a good book, though of a very different kind). In this case the K refers to a strike out, as in baseball, or, as one character puts it, "to come unglued, come to grief, come to blows, come to nothing." A sprawling, genre-mixing novel, The Brothers K chronicles several decades of the Chance family, especially the four brothers who come of age during the upheavals of the 60s. I love this book because while it is moving and emotionally deep, it is also laugh-out-loud funny.


3. The Princess and the Goblin by George McDonald---For those of you unfamiliar with the works of George McDonald, think C.S. Lewis plus a little more magic and mystery (McDonald was a major influence in the writings of Lewis). Like The Chronicles of Narnia, this loosely allegorical fairy tale is for adults just as much as it is for children. It's a quick read, non-intimidating, and you can get it for free on Kindle. But don't be deceived by its simplicity: The Princess and the Goblin was one of the most influential books I read in 2011.

4. Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt---This memoir won the Pulitzer Prize for Biography in 1997, and for good reason. McCourt tells the story of his childhood in America and Ireland at the height of the Great Depression, growing up poor, hungry, and largely unsupervised. The narrative is both fascinating and tragic. As McCourt himself says, "Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood." But I've never seen anyone capture the first-person experience of a three-year-old so accurately, nor have I been so caught up in the antics of a simultaneously world-wise and naive little boy.

5. Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali---Ayaan is a controversial figure in politics, but I recommend this book more for its anthropological insights than for the political and religious conclusions to which Ayaan comes at the end of her memoir. Ayaan was born in Somalia, grew up Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, and Saudi Arabia, and obtained asylum in the Netherlands to escape an arranged marriage when she in her early twenties. She eventually became a member of the Dutch Parliament and now lives in the United States. Infidel tells of her Islamic and deeply patriarchal childhood, her growing disillusionment with her heritage, and her eventual turn to atheism and political activism. But I like it most for its fascinating accounts of life in East Africa.

6. Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art by Madeleine L'Engle---At this stage in my life, Walking on Water has offered me more encouragement and direction than any other piece of literature. Most people know L'Engle as the author of the children's book A Wrinkle in Time, but this slim volume of non-fiction is my favorite of her works that I have read. My copy of the book, slyly gifted to me last summer, is thoroughly marked up and underlined, evidence of the many times it has articulated thoughts that resound deep within me. Any aspiring artist---whether writer, dancer, painter, or musician---who wants to understand the connections between art, God, and hope, who wants to "find the cosmos in the chaos," needs to read this book.

7. Cat's Eye, The Robber Bride, or anything else by Maraget Atwood---Atwood is a master of characterization. Every time I read her, I am blown away by her command of language and her abundance of vivid detail. Because she is such a prolific writer, many of Atwood's novels are still on my to-read list, but the three that I have read have completely entranced me with their worlds.


8. The Stream and the Sapphire by Denise Levertov---Not many people read books of poetry anymore, including myself, but this collection of poems is one that I eagerly sought and purchased after I got a taste of Levertov in one of my college literature courses. The poems deal with themes of faith and doubt and, as Levertov remarks in the Forward, "to some extent trace my slow movement from agnosticism to Christian faith." To get an idea of what her poetry is like, look up "The Avowal," one of my favorite poems in this little book.


9. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy---I meant to read this novel ever since one of my college professors called it possibly the greatest work of fiction ever written, but it took me until this winter to finally get around to it. It's a hefty book, well over 700 pages in my edition, and intimidating to begin. Well worth the effort, though. Tolstoy has amazing insight into the fickle human mind. If you've seen the recently-released film version of this book, don't rule it out based on that unfortunate interpretation.


10. Gilead by Marilynne Robinson---Gilead is epistolary novel, an extended letter written by a dying father and pastor to his young son. This is by far the most difficult book on my list to describe because it is so unlike any other novel I have read. Simple, unornamented language and plot yet heart-breakingly beautiful. It is a book that will have you underlining. Deeply spiritual, full of faith and doubt and all the right questions. The narrator, Rev. John Ames, is the most ordinary and yet possibly the most profound character in all the contemporary literature I have read.

"So would I learn to attain freefall, and float"

My memory of that day is hazy. A mist obscures the details, blurs the edges. Dream-like. Shimmering. I am a little afraid to touch it for fear it will come suddenly into focus. Flood me with the four-years-worth of memories it represents, the combination of which is too bright to look at.

Has it possibly been a whole year since I walked down the steps of Edman Chapel, diploma in hand, drowning happily in a synthetic blue robe?

Sunday marked the one-year anniversary of my college graduation. The weather this time around was much like it was then. Cold and wet. Mothers’ Day. I felt an obligation and yet a disinclination to write this blog post as I moped around the house, trying to figure out why I was in such a strange mood.

At this milestone, I feel like I’m supposed to have some list of profound insights, truths I have gathered over the past year that will carry me into the next. In reality, I’m just as perplexed by life as I was when I graduated. The future remains just as opaque and my next step just as shaky and unsure.

The difference is, I suppose, that this uncertainty doesn’t bother me as much as it did then. You get used to walking around in the dark after a while, even if your eyes never fully adjust. You realize that no one really knows what they are doing, that everyone---even those much older or more experienced---are 90% faking it.

A year isn’t really that long of a time. Most lessons worth learning take decades. I think I anticipated I would only need a few months to find my feet, to uncover some path with clearly marked road signs and a straightforward direction. I didn’t expect a dream job---but I think I expected at least a dream plan.I’m not sure I want that anymore though. I sort of like the forest I’m lost in.

What can I say then to those who have donned the cap and gown this spring, who also are stepping out of the structure of a school system for the first time? Only this:

Life happens and it cannot be stopped. Unexpected and ridiculous things will happen. This is a good thing. No matter what your plans are, a year from now you will look back and be surprised by how you got there.

I do not confess to understand a thing about why or how.

The World On Time...But Not Thanks to Me

It is an ominous morning. Lightning streaks horizontally across the sky, and behind me, as I drive the dark and familiar roads to work, the sunrise is a pale grey-pink. By the time I leave the airport in my FedEx van, that light has disappeared entirely, obscured by a torrential downpour of rain and even more lightning. The rain roars on the metal roof of the van.

I have only two packages to deliver this morning, a record low since I began work back in October, when I was too inexperienced to be trusted with more. Now, my First Overnight route is normally the second heaviest, and I arrive ten minutes earlier to the station in order to get it all delivered on time. I guess today is just a light one for FedEx Express.

There is a flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with deliveries, the most typical cause of anxiety on these early mornings. I grip the steering wheel and bite my lower lip as I peer through the heavy rain at the tail lights in front of me, contemplating the task that awaits on my return to the station. I don’t have to do this today, I tell myself again. I could wait another few days, another week. Schedule that dentist appointment first and take advantage of my health insurance. Deposit a few more paychecks. Perhaps that would be wise...

But no. I shake my head and force myself to think about another day in another vehicle about a week ago, the day my casual fantasies cemented into firm resolve.

I can pin it down to a moment. I was on Alpine driving north towards I-96, in what I thought would be a clever detour around the traffic on 131 where the left lane is closed. But either everyone else had the same idea, or I underestimated the ability of the people of northwest Grand Rapids to flock to their cars in early afternoon on a Saturday. We were creeping along, barely moving, and I still had several miles to go before I reached my destination, a PakMail all the way up by 4 Mile where I was scheduled to do a pick-up. As I watched the minutes tick by on my dashboard, all I could think about was all the boxes and envelopes I still carried in the back of my truck, each one adding precious minutes to my total time on the road.

It had been a rough morning. Within seconds of entering the station at 7:30 am, one of the other employees said to me, “Did you hear about the planes?” They were both over two hours late, apparently, putting us hopelessly behind schedule. My heart sank. Today of all days? I was planning to drive to Chicago immediately after work to watch my younger brother run in a track meet and to visit with some dear friends of mine, some of whom I hadn’t seen since in many months. Now I wasn’t sure if it’d even be worth it to make the drive. I wanted to sit down on the dirty cement floor of the station and cry.

Ok, so maybe I was being a little dramatic. But it my defense it was 7:30 am, I hadn’t slept enough the night before, and I had managed to convince myself that morning---as I somehow managed to do nearly every Saturday morning---that this day was going to be different. That it would not be stressful. That we would be light on freight and I would get done early.

It was rarely so.

The late planes (which, by the way, did not mean we got to sit in the break room eating donuts waiting for the packages to arrive) were only the first of a number of problems. The other problems included, but were not limited to, short-staffing, a million envelopes left over from Friday, a 5K and half-marathon downtown that had the dual effect of closing some roads and jamming others, and my perpetual problem of being assigned the most stressful route. Oh, also, it was April 20th and snowing.

So by the time I was stuck in traffic on Alpine, watching as the minutes and my chances of making it to Chicago that night slipped away, I had long ago lost my ability to roll with the punches. “Keep it together, Britta,” I muttered, but I could feel my face growing hot and tears pooling around my bottom lids. A light turned red, the digital clock ticked another minute, and I gave up. I let the tears roll and said loudly, firmly, to anyone in my truck who happened to be listening, “That’s it. I’m quitting!” And that was that. It felt good. I sent out a few dramatic texts to make it official.

But now, driving my van down the highway while listening to a symphony of thunder and rain, I am feeling a little more hesitant about that final and decisive act of quitting. The walking into my boss’s office and saying the words part. I’ve never actually quit a job before, I realize. All the other jobs I’ve had were temporary, with a set end date, so I never needed to bring up the topic of leaving. (When I worked my last day as a waitress at Bob Evan’s the summer after my freshman year of college, I was technically on an “academic leave of absence.” I never went back to alert them the absence would be permanent.) My managers at FedEx have known since the day they hired me that I would not be a career currier, calling FedEx my home for the next 30 years. But still, I’ve only worked there eight months, which---while longer than I’ve worked consecutively anywhere else---is really not that long.

When I arrive at Capital Communications, my second and last stop of the morning, the rain turns to pea-sized hail. Little white pellets bounce off my windshield and roof, and I wonder how long I can wait in the parking lot before Brian, the owner inside, starts to wonder what I’m doing. Finally, I pull on the hood of my jacket, clutch the FedEx box to my chest, and dash for the receiving door.

On my return to the station, I steel myself for the conversation with my boss. My heart is pounding a little, but I want to get this over with. I walk to his office---no boss. Another manager tells me he’s out on the road. Shoot. Just when I had worked up the nerve.

I have contemplated quitting this job for quite some time. While the pay is good, I know it’s not leading anywhere and wouldn’t want it to. But still, quitting anything is hard and humbling, especially now that I finally feel like I know what I’m doing. FedEx doesn’t own me or my time, but that doesn’t prevent me from feeling a little like I’ve let them down, disappointed them in some way. Also, I worry about the time and money gap leaving will create---but not nearly enough to change my mind.

I tend to elevate extreme busyness and the stress that comes with it to a level beyond what it deserves. Packed schedules are better than empty ones. Stress is better than boredom. I’m not very good at relaxing unless I feel like this relaxing is “accomplishing” something. Which, of course, rather defeats the purpose. Switching from a routine that involves 55+ hours  of work per week to one that hovers closer to 30, at least for now, might be a bit of an adjustment. As much as I complain, I do take a bit of pride in my ability (though that seems too optimistic of a word) to handle three jobs every day, and I feel like it makes up a little for the fact that I’ve been out of college for a whole year (yikes!) and am still living at home. But I’ll have the time to reevaluate some things now, and I think that will be good.

I decide to return to FedEx after my second job when I’m pretty sure my boss will be back in his office. I don’t want to drag this out another day. I feel better, more adult, wearing a dress and cardigan anyway, as opposed to my regulation FedEx uniform which even I can’t take myself seriously in. I still haven’t decided if the too-big purple and navy polo looks better tucked into my extremely high-waisted pants and billowing out around my rib cage or untucked and swimming about my mid-thighs (also interfering with placement of my PowerPad holster). It’s a losing battle either way, I think.

Once in his office, I stutter out my news, and he takes it surprisingly well. He’s even happy for me, or so he says, that I’m moving on to bigger and better things. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and sign my two-weeks notice.  

Thank you, FedEx Express, for delivering a paycheck for the past eight months, teaching me how to reverse a truck into a narrow parking spot, and providing me with a free Halloween costume for next October. It’s been a good run, but I’m ready for a new beginning.