Things I Glean From Books - Shannon Dittemore

Things I Glean From Books

May17th

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My E-Reader Dilemma

Posted in: Things I Glean From Books
So, I have a Kindle. It’s the old one–the first generation, I think. Though, in the spirit of transparency, you should know that I haven’t followed the trend closely.

My mother, however, has. She totes her e-reader everywhere and rightfully so. She loves it. Has more books downloaded to it than the two of us could read in a decade (and that’s saying a lot). She recently upgraded to the new Kindle and gave me her old one.

I am incredibly grateful. I’ve made some writerly friends and I’d like to read their work, but many of them are signed with e-publishers and I hate reading books off my computer. The Kindle gives me a beautiful way around that problem.

Confession: After Mom gave it to me, the Kindle sat on my desk, in its red leather case, for three days solid before I touched it. I was flat out intimidated by the thing. There’s the Kindle itself, the case, the downloaded instruction manual, the charger, the emergency battery pack, and the Amazon.com login info. There’s an on button, a whisper-net switch, and headphones for audio books (blah). There’s the online book storage, Kindle storage, and USB storage. Not to mention the Kindle email and one-click ordering instructions.

I just wanna read a book, people!

But, two things kept me interested in mastering this crazy device: The e-books I’d be able to read, and the possible cash savings.

Once I got the hang of it and packed away the unnecessary accessories, excitement kicked in. Amazon has actually created a pretty user-friendly device and I was giddy. The sheer volume of books at my finger-tips was intoxicating. I’ll never be bookless again! I jumped on Amazon and ordered a handful to get me started and began toting the Kindle with me everywhere.

But, alas.

I just don’t love it. I’ve yet to finish a book on the Kindle. In fact, mostly, it’s confused me.

Normally, when I have a book to read, I’m rabid about it. I devour it. I steal time to read it, sneaking in paragraphs and chapters while I sit at t-ball games or wait for my son to climb into the car after school. I think about it when I’m making dinner or folding laundry. I all but silence my children’s cartoons so I can read in peace. I dog-ear the pages proudly. Like bread crumbs, they help me find my way back through the book for a second and third read. I don’t even mind when I drip iced tea on the pages or when my daughter mistakes a novel for a coloring book.

These things mark the book as mine. They endear it to me. The chaos of my life gets written on the book just as the book gets engraved on my heart and mind.

There’s something momentous about letting an author’s words into your life. It’s intimate. It’s personal. It’s mind-altering. And for the day or two it takes me to fly through the pages, a book has the potential to wedge itself into my psyche and change the way I think.

Not every book has that power. Not every book lives up to that potential, but I never select a book without hoping. Without crossing my fingers and praying that the joint endeavor of storytelling and marketing has created something that will stay with me forever.

And when the magic happens, I want a souvenir of our time together. I want to place it on my shelf next to the other adventures I’ve embarked on. Like a photo album, the tattered cover or spine of a book acts as a way to relive the journey without having to even open the pages.

Just a glance at my bookshelf makes me smile. So many far off lands. So many cultures and characters. Villians and heroes. Beaches and deserts. Castles and swamps. Magic and Divinity.

My bookshelf tells stories.

And while that sleek little Kindle is handy, it has yet to woo me. It opens worlds to me, but it doesn’t receive mine. There’s no room for my reality to imprint on the novels hidden on its many storage devices. I can electronically bookmark pages, but I can’t dog-ear. I can download a new hardback, but I can’t run my fingers over the artwork on the cover.

I read in fear. Fear that the batteries will die, fear that I’ll leave it on my car seat in the sunlight. And I’m downright paranoid that a dripping beverage or a crayon-weilding one-year-old will bring on the premature death of this exceptionally designed device.

And so you know what? My insatiable appetite seems a lot more like an upset stomach. Instead of ravenous excitement at the new book sitting on the table, I’m irritated that I’ve still got a handful of books to get through on the Kindle before I can get back to my bookstore trawling, paper sniffing, dog-ear preferring, books-on-paper addiction.

And, while I realize that this post might place me in the same category as those still pounding away on their typewriters, please don’t judge me too harshly. I’m going to keep the Kindle handy. I’m going to try to love it, but I doubt I’ll ever upgrade. The term “upgrade” is a bit of a misnomer in any case.

Words on paper.

Doesn’t get much better than that.
April14th

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Confessions Of A Bookstore Addict

Posted in: Things I Glean From Books
It would belittle the folks with dangerous addictions to begin this blog with the expected, “My name is Shannon and I’m a book-a-holic.”

So, I won’t do it. Instead, I’ll tell you about my trip to the bookstore today.

When it comes to buying books, it is almost always best to let your gut lead the way. Some will argue that you must force yourself to read outside your comfort zone, but like many others before me, I must take a stand. Life is way too short to read something you maybe, sort of, kinda seem interested in (much less, hate). Besides, the more you read, especially recreationally, the more your interests will spread. I have read so much that I am a fairly wide reader. But I began with what I liked and, as I grew, my interests widened. Yours will too.

Back to today. I woke up needing a new book (don’t question the word need; go with it, friends). I just finished reading Stephen King’s “On Writing” and am taking a brief hiatus from my own manuscript. Thus, the need. I loaded up the kids, dropped my kindergartner off at school, and then made my way to the bookstore with my one-year-old in tow.

It’s important to note that not all bookstores are created equal. The Barnes and Noble on Sunrise is the second best bookstore in the entire world. The Powell’s Books on 20th and Burnside in downtown Portland is the absolute best bookstore, but that’s a bit of a drive from Citrus Heights, so I’ve replaced it with Barnes and Noble. Again, these things can’t be explained. You just love a bookstore or you don’t. Don’t fight it. If you hate the smell or the layout of one, find another. This isn’t rocket science. Though, if your bookstore doesn’t have a cafe, you might as well start looking for a new one. Coffee isn’t a prerequisite for finding a good book, but coffee makes everything better. Books included. That being my philosophy, I always enter B&N via the connected Starbucks. Of course, I’d prefer Stumptown, but this is what we have here in the suburbs. Besides, it’s really about the books.

Once the coffee is nestled into the cup-holder of Jazlyn’s stroller, and once I’ve poked the tiny straw through the tin-foil dot on her juice box, we set off. The first thing that distracts me is the office supply section. “Why do bookstores have these stumbling blocks?” you ask. Because of crazy book people, like me. I never pass this section without drooling all over the fancy paperweights and handy book-lights. But, drool is usually all I do here. I have two kids. Paperweights closely resemble grenades and might get thrown. Plus, I can hardly keep all the noisy toys at home in batteries. Why torture myself with a book-light?

Pressing on, I allow my hand to graze the surface of the bargain books. Jaz too, so after I’ve wiped the juice and goldfish crackers off their covers, I make my way to the General Fiction section. This is a yummy and rather large grouping of shelves. So many of my favorite authors sit here: Jodi Piccoult, Jane Austen, Stephen King, and Arthur Golden, among many, many others. I simply pass through today, though my fingers itch to grab a novel here and there. But, I have a book in mind and the one-year-old isn’t going to last long. She’s already straining at the wimpy straps holding her into the stroller. You see, she knows there are Thomas Trains to play with in the Children’s section. But we have a few more aisles to trawl before I can release her.

After ensuring that nothing new has been placed on the Christian Fiction shelves (sadly, that’s often the case with this section), I move to the Young Adult section. These shelves are the ones that give me the butterflies. One day, whenever my book is published, I imagine it will land here. At least I hope it will (and hope is very important). Today, however, I’m looking for the “The Book Thief,” by Marcus Zusak. I know it’s here. I’ve seen it a zillion times–even picked it up, read the back, placed it in the stroller, and then taken it back out.

Book choice, like I said before, should be dictated by your gut. “The Book Thief” is about a little German girl set during WWII and has received rave reviews from both critics and readers. I know it’ll be a good read, but my gut tells me I’ll bawl through the entire thing. Ever since I started procreating, it doesn’t take much to activate the waterworks. If Walmart commercials can do it, I’m sure “The Book Thief” will have be weeping rivers. Still, today I’m feeling it. Today I’m in the mood.

Unfortunately, B&N is completely sold out. Well, not completely. They do have the hardback, but I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment. So, after verifying its absence with an employee behind a desk–an employee who thinks “The Book Thief” is one of the Percy Jackson books–I sigh, and move on to the Children’s section. I release my daughter to Thomas and Friends, sip my coffee, and browse the rainbow colored spines here.

While it’s nearly impossible to pick a favorite section, this just might be mine. Harry Potter, Inkheart, Peter Pan, Percy Jackson. Yeah. This just might be my favorite. Among the spastically bright colors, my eye settles upon a dull beige book with a gray-bricked Scooby Doo kind of mansion drawn on the front. Ordinarily, I’m just like every other consumer. Book covers are important to me. I like the feel of some and hate others. If I can’t appreciate the description on the back, I’m likely to put the book back down. And, if the artwork is unique, I’m prone to check out the first chapter right there in the bookstore. Still, this boring-looking book somehow captures my attention and after putting it through all the pre-purchase tests–Who published it? How’s the summary on the back? Does the author’s voice sound genuine?–I slide the book next to the cup-holder on the stroller and watch my daughter steal trains from a kid twice her size. It’s not “The Book Thief” but I need a book, and “The Mysterious Benedict Society” will have to do.

I’m sure many people gave up halfway through this very ordinary article about a very ordinary trip to the bookstore. But, some of you–yes, you–read all the way to the end. My guess is you like books. You’ll devour just about anything discussing their magic and otherwise addictive properties. I’m the same way. The feel, the smell, the impossible possibilities. Sure, there are things in this life far more important than a stroll through your local B&N, but with a cup of coffee in hand and your children clawing at the shelves, I can’t think of a better way to kill an hour.

Can you?
April8th

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A Call to Arms

Posted in: Things I Glean From Books, Things Matt Teaches Me
The movie, Braveheart, reminds me of my husband.

There was a time, before Matt and I were married, when our relationship became the object of scrutiny (that’s the kindest way to say it, friends). The situation was messy, ridiculous, and unnecessary, but through it all I learned something immeasurably valuable about my future husband: He was willing to fight for me.

As an artsy soul, I can see the beauty in most any story, even when it conflicts with my Christian worldview. I have a certain affinity for star-cross’d lovers–stories of relationships either consumed by tragedy or thriving through it. Braveheart, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Les Mis, The Count of Monte Cristo–all stories with insurmountable odds. Obstacles that the characters could neither control nor contain. In these five works, the characters chose to fight back. I can’t say it turned out well for all involved, but that’s literature mirroring life. That’s the risk you take when you’re willing to fight for what you love.

These stories stay with their audiences long after the books are closed and the credits roll. Something about them resonates with us. We can identify with the characters and their struggles. We know the ache of wanting something so much it nearly kills us. We wish we could save them from the utter hopelessness of their plight because the despair tugs at our very humanity. And then there’s the ever-scripted ideal that there are things in this world worth fighting for. Because we’ve been there, we understand the cry of the hero’s heart when his actions say, “I may die swinging this sword, but still I’ll fight!”

I’ve been disturbed by some of the things I’ve seen in literature and in the media of late, and I wonder just how much of real life these themes mirror. There seems to be a hopelessness leaking from the pages of books, from the screens of televisions. I see a new-found willingness to lay down weapons and surrender. I look around the battlefield of life where soldiers sit stunned by the obstacles before them, hurt by the things that have attacked them, and lonely in the emptiness that remains. I feel their willingness to be done with it all. I don’t condemn them. I understand. In some, I see a callousness–their faces set and determined to simply survive the hand they’ve been dealt. And, I’ll admit, that in some, very rare instances, survival alone is a victory indeed.

But the rest of us may need to be encouraged with a call to arms. There are things worth contending for, friends, and we must be ready: Christ and His church, the truth, our families, our homes, our livelihood. We need to understand just what will happen the minute we lay our sword aside. We need to see, in our mind’s eye, the enemy of our soul attacking with unrelenting tenacity. We must rally ourselves. We must arm ourselves for the task at hand. We must surround ourselves with warriors.

And this specifically, is why Braveheart reminds me of Matt. Because Matt’s a warrior. He’s willing to fight for what he believes in. I learned this firsthand before we were ever married. And, though I’ve been tempted to throw in the towel at times, with Matt’s hand in mine and our faces set on Christ, we haven’t given up yet. So today, I’ll let the Apostle Paul do the honors. Imagine him all decked out like William Wallace, riding a horse, his face painted blue. Hear the fire in his heart as he exhorts us:

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. –Ephesians 6:10-17

On a separate, though related note, Matt’s new blog: MattCaffeinated is my April Site of the Month. Check it out. Be challenged. Be inspired.