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But it wouldn’t be her.
From Anthony to Avis
May 8, 1942
Dear Sis,
Jotting you a foxhole postcard. That’s not actual army slang—I just made it up because I see so many of my fellows writing whole books to their family and sweethearts, and I feel desperately inadequate. They must be making this rotten sit-about we’re stuck in right now into theIliad, for all the pages they pen. Or maybe they’re relating anecdotes about the way I shake the roof snoring, haha.
You asked for novel recommendations. A book club, hmm? I should’ve thought of that ages ago. Probably, I should have a list ready to go—though not the stuffy sort like100 Classics to ReadBefore You Die. (Warning: Chaucer may actually cause you to die.) But other things are on my mind these days.
Which leads to my main suggestion: no war novels. I stuffed myself withForWhom the Bell Tolls,All Quieton the Western Front,The Red Badge of Courage, and all those before we shipped out. Now I wouldn’t come close to them. When I get back, I’ll probably read nothing but satire and romances and watch nothing with gunfire except comically bad Westerns for at least a decade. We all need an escape. So read something happy for me. And be sure to tell me all about it.
Not to worry, sis. I leave out some details in letters to Mom and Dad, but things aren’t as bad as I’m making them sound. For one, my buddy Alvin Hagen—nicknamed Daisy, don’t ask why—went and found a mutt with no home, and our unit’s adopted him. I liked him a lot morebefore he piddled in my boots, but he’s a mood-lifter for sure.
Time to sign off before this postcard resembles a real letter. Wouldn’t want to set up false expectations.
Anthony
P.S. Came back after mess because I remembered—try anything by P.G. Wodehouse. Miss C got me hooked on him. You’d never guess it, but she loves his books.
Notes from the Blackout Book Club—May 30, 1942
Taken by Avis Montgomery, Head Librarian and Book Club Secretary
Members in attendance: the Regulars (no need to use names anymore)
Book under discussion:Howto Read a Bookby Mortimer Adler
Decided not to let Ginny take notes again after reading her last attempt. Will have to keep these notes safely away from Miss Cavendish.
Discussion opened with Adler’s four levels of reading, with most time spent on the last one: syntopical reading. (Ginny: “Why can’t he just say comparative reading and be done with it? Who’s he trying to impress?” Freddy: “Most of his readers, probably.” Ginny: “Not me. Once you cut out all the five-dollar words, you’ve just got a book telling you to read more carefully.”)
Despite that, the consensus was that most of us naturally make connections between the books we read. Though I’m not sure if I ever have. Something to think about. Martina said that sometimes she thinks about which characters from one book might be friends with another. This prompted a sidetrack in which the gathered company speculated on what would have happened if Oliver Twist and Huckleberry Finn had joined forces, how Odysseus would have fared if he’d come home to Jane Eyre instead of Penelope, and whether Sherlock Holmes would have been able to defeat Count Dracula.
I had no idea who most of those people were. Maybe Iought to read outside of our selections—they all sounded quite interesting.
We turned then to Adler’s thoughts on imaginative works. An all-out war ensued about the author’s assertion that they must be read as quickly as possible to understand the unity of the story, rather than lingering. Freddy insisted that’s how he always reads novels, and Delphie countered that he also chews with his mouth open, but that doesn’t mean everyone else ought to. Martina, blessedly, intervened with her usual common sense, saying the method was less important than the point that we need to step into the story and try to understand the characters and their world.
That was my favorite part of the book, actually. Put in straightforward terms—humans need stories because they appeal to our unconscious needs for love, justice, discovery, etc.—I could finally see what Anthony must have meant all along.
Goodness, I am starting to soften up to this whole reading books business. Best not to let Anthony know, or he’ll brag about being right.
Assorted smaller comments filled the rest of the time. (Freddy smug that Adler agreed that plays need to be performed, not read; Miss Cavendish in support of the idea that no one’s autobiography could be considered fully true and unbiased; Ginny wanting to know if we thought Adler had read all the books recommended in the appendix.)
Conversation continued after the allotted hour, but I was drawn away by Gio, who wanted to check out several books on gardening. One suspects his admiration for a certain army air force pilot might play into this sudden horticultural interest. It’s sweet, really, the way Freddy answers the boy’s barrage of questions without hesitation.
Earlier, I had pulled a few Wodehouse books off the shelf for consideration following Anthony’s suggestion, buthe must’ve been mistaken about Miss Cavendish’s liking them. They’re far too funny for a tightwad spinster who has forgotten how to smile. Fairly sure he got the author mixed up with F. C. Woodhouse one shelf down, a historian with riveting titles likeMonasticism, Ancient and Modern: Its Principles, Origin, Development, Triumphs, Decadence, andSuppression.
Still, it was worth a try. I didn’t see any recognition on Miss Cavendish’s face when I brought outThe Code of the Woosters, but she didn’t object, so Wodehouse it is.
Will have to write Anthony after the next meeting. I’m two chapters in already. He was right. It was good to laugh, for once.
fourteen
AVIS
JUNE 5
