Summer Reading...and Wintering

 

Over lunch with my writing group the other day, there was much animated conversation over ‘Summer Reading’ and what did that mean exactly?

Broadly speaking, I suppose it means light reading. It is perhaps reading that doesn’t require your full, deep attention or concentration while you sit poolside, on a beach, deck, or balcony, a fruity alcoholic beverage by your side. It’s books without intricate plots or dark, sombre ruminations.

One woman in my group objected to the term ‘summer reading’ as a tad insulting to both book and reader. “Does that mean I can’t read Rushdie in the summer?” Now Rushdie is not an easy read, no matter what season it is. Her objection though was based on the implication that summer reading somehow wasn’t ‘worthwhile’ reading. Another one of us chimed in with, “What’s wrong with lighter reading, strictly for pleasure and enjoyment?” But, of course, ALL reading is for enjoyment, isn’t it?

Much discussion ensued about book covers and whether books intended for summer reading had ‘fluffy’, colourful covers—bright oranges and yellows with fuzzy pictures of women’s legs and hats. Not knowing enough about the publishing industry, we could not agree upon how these cover decisions were made, but assumed that these choices are based on what publishers think will catch a reader’s eye and sell. Those book displays on tables at the front of the book store – what makes you pick up a book, flip it over and read the back cover?

We didn’t arrive at any conclusions other than to wish each other “Happy Summer Reading” as we said our goodbyes.

Some of my ‘Summer Reading’ recently has included:

The Longest Way Home, by Andrew McCarthy.  Before picking up this book, I had no idea who Andrew McCarthy was. I was drawn to the book because of the topic – one man’s travel adventures and how he liked to go it alone. Who knew that McCarthy is a well-known actor, part of The Brat Pack, and has appeared in numerous films, including Pretty in Pink and St. Elmo’s Fire. 

Of more significance to me (I have almost zero interest in celebrity culture, bratty or not) was the fact that he was a travel writer for the National Geographic. The book is about his trips (alone) to Patagonia, the Amazon, Costa Rica, and Kilimanjaro while he tries to figure out if he is ready to settle down and marry his partner of seven years with whom he has a child. 

McCarthy is a born loner, preferring solitude to almost any social situation. He travels alone to discover what he needs to learn from a place; something you might miss if you were with company, constantly chatting and pointing things out to each other. He finds comfort and possibility in the invisibility of being a stranger in a strange place. There were so many times while reading this book that I felt McCarthy was inside my own head! How did he know what I was thinking? How did he understand my reasons for craving solitude, my preferences for traveling alone? 

He says people often consider travel as a means of escape from a routine, or a treat, an indulgence, or something to be checked off a bucket list. For him though, sometimes it isn’t even about a particular destination, but all about the possibility, and relying on instinct and intuition. I’m not sure if this would be classified as Summer Reading and maybe it’s not for everyone. Some might think of McCarthy as nothing more than crabby and privileged. But the guy can write, and in a very honest way, about himself and his lifelong feeling “that there is a pure, still place in me that remains mine alone.”  The book definitely resonated with me.

Wintering by Katherine May. I’m early into this book and the title itself suggests the very opposite of summer reading. It’s a memoir of a low period in May’s life. She contemplates, in beautifully crafted sentences, how we should embrace a period of wintering in our lives. 

Wintering doesn’t refer to the actual season. It is any period where life knocks you down for a bit. It could be the loss of a loved one or a job, an illness, a depression, a series of misfortunes. None of us, if we live long enough, will escape a wintering in our lives. How we approach and handle it is crucial. The tendency is often to put on a brave face, hide it away, be silent or ashamed. May writes that "plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives they lived in the summer. They prepare.” 

And then there’s this: “Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season.”  This book may not be summer reading or even winter reading. It may be all season reading.

The jury’s still out on what Summer Reading is, or whether there should even be such a thing. I was at the library the other day to pick up a book I’d put on hold. I walked out with not just that book, but three more I absolutely couldn’t leave without, because there they were on the shelves, begging me to take them home. I did. They will be part of my summer reading, although perhaps I won’t be calling them that.