Not just an escapist read: Major Pettigrew's Last Stand.

This book was exactly what I wanted it to be: an escapist story set in a small English village with protagonists who love to read.  There is something about such a premise that gets me every time.  And so, I read without taking notes and in long swathes on the couch and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson is about a retired Major from the British Army who is the epitome of upholding what most would see as old fashioned views of loyalty, trust, and honor.  His only brother dies unexpectedly on page 1 and throughout the story Major Pettigrew is thrown into a number of conflicts.

First,  his father left he and his brother a pair of shooting rifles that were meant to be rejoined and remain a pair when one of them passed away--yet his brother, though uninterested in guns, did not leave his to Major Pettigrew, who is an avid huntsman.  Through the story, he is forced to process through his devotion to this object--and the bitterness that it may have caused in his relationship with his brother.

He unexpectedly develops a kindred friendship with a widowed Pakistani shopkeeper in the village, who his neighbors sadly view as a foreigner rather than a neighbor.    The  Major must navigate his way through not only their prejudice and the deconstruction of the picture perfect world he thought he inhabited, but his own prejudice and the way he has existed and interacted with her for years before the moment that brings them together.

Even though this was an easy, escapist read, I thought it asked some important questions--mainly, about when is it time to reevaluate systems of living that always felt right? I've found that it is easy to maintain the same ideas about life if I never find myself in situations that require me to think outside of what I have always known--whether that is a belief of a region or a belief of a subculture.  But once someone meets and truly gets to know a person who is different from him or herself, it seems crazy to hold onto old views.  So, amidst the tea over Kipling and the countryside gardens, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand challenges readers to step out of their comfort zones relationally.  

i want to go to there.

I just wrote an email to some friends who are doing a similar trip to the United Kingdom that I did a few years ago. I was using my photo album from the trip as a guide to send them links of the hostels where we stayed and some of the places I'd recommend. My heart just began to ache for England. All I would like to do right now is order a cream tea with some kindred spirits and then fall upon the grass and read. Then maybe go hiking.

I know I've already written about it just a few weeks ago, but since then I've realized that the majority of my reading this summer has been rereads of my favorite books, most of which take place in English countryside, London, or countryside from a century ago. Harry Potter 6, Anne of Green Gables, Pride and Prejudice and I think I'm going to reread Swallows and Amazons next (which I can't recommend highly enough if you love kids stories with adventure and imagination). All of these books just capture me. I realized it was getting bad (or good...) when after I read Anne of Green Gables for the hundredth time, I couldn't even look at a book that took place in the modern day.

Anyway. My summer reading update is that it has been completely wonderful. I don't have a lot of deep thoughts, but my heart is just soaring because of these stories.

God Save the Queen.

This is today. It happened on accident after I got to Central Park at 7 am to get tickets for Twelfth Night and learned that there are no shows on Monday. I already had a book, blanket and breakfast, so I went to the Shakespearean Gardens for the morning:









This is the English countryside three summers ago:


















And these are my sweet kindreds in photos that describe better than words our general feelings about the English countryside, which we had pictured in our minds for so long, but didn't really believe it actually existed until we found ourselves frolicking in it:












I couldn't stop thinking about these kindreds and England this morning as I drank my tea and had a hard boiled egg for breakfast, reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and feeling thoroughly British:) (The book is definitely the English dork's version of Chick-Lit, but I will put aside my snobbery because it was such a lovely indulgence. Set first in London right after World War Two, the main character is a 32 year old female writer whose path crosses with fellow readers who live on mostly rural Guernsey Island in the English Channel). This stolen time reminded me of Beauty and Goodness and Story and Friendship, which all seem so elusive sometimes. I'm not sure why I so often forget all of this and the feeling of a full heart, but I'm pretty sure I would be a better person if I didn't.

looking.

I washed my hair
with the same travel size shampoo I haven't used since England
a surprise--
my senses highjacked
because I haven't been breathing
all that deep
these months.
Aching,
I wanted
to be
all at sea,
and realized it wasn't just there
but northern Virginia's pines
and the creek in my hometown
and the roads that lead to Oxford
and their cool pockets of air between trees
that i just can't seem to find right now
even though i keep looking
My perceptions, maybe, are playing tricks on me.

Let's Be Honest.

I couldn't sit here and be ok with myself leaving you with winter poetry (see below). Here's one from Pablo Neruda. sigh.

Stop cursing the cold and breathe this in and think about summertimeeveninglight--yes, that's one word. My picture is of summertimeeveninglight in Hardington, England. Enchanted is the most perfect word for this. And an overflowing glass a water? There isn't a more accurate description. So read at your own risk, I guess. It just might affect you that much. Especially if you are living in the April freeze like I am. And for those of you who lived through the last round of cicadas, just imagine he's talking about crickets.

Ode To Enchanted Light

Under the trees light
has dropped from the top of the sky,
light
like a green
latticework of branches,
shining
on every leaf,
drifting down like clean
white sand.

A cicada sends
its sawing song
high into the empty air.

The world is
a glass overflowing
with water.

A Joy of Life.

Technology savvy I am not. This is a post for me to play around with adding pictures. This is of Julie, me and Jenna last July at the Eagle and Child in Oxford, England. (Did you read the New York Times travel section today? It's mentioned on the front page.) This is where The Inklings, Tolkein, CS Lewis and friends, would meet to talk literature. Needless to say, besides the fact that we spent our entire trip traipsing around the English countryside reading and drinking tea, being the nerds that we are, we were quite excited to visit the pub where our literary heroes met.

Sigh. I think that's half the reason why I love my job so much. I get to talk with kids about books all the time. It is amazing to watch the way that reading can change the way we view so much of the world. I belong to a somewhat overachieving book club. We meet every week in Brooklyn after school. We have processed through topics that otherwise would have no real voice in my life: post-colonial India, the role of memory, the Black Plague, what motivates people to action. I walk away thinking every time.

So, if you haven't gotten the hint yet, here are a few book club recommendations:

Atonement by Ian McEwan
Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton

Or, here are my current books on deck. Let me know if you want to read:

East of Eden by John Steinbeck (my book club's next pick)
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (teaching it to the kids!)
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Go read with someone. Seriously.