Life’s a Journey
from my email newsletter | issue no. 18 | June 18, 2024
Once in a while, library systems will post cool videos of a book’s journey from return box to being re-shelved or the journey from one department to another. (Here's one from the NYPL.) It’s very reminiscent of those fun scenes in Monsters, Inc. when monsters are sorted, conveyer-belt-fashion, with the “door” that they are assigned to walk through. These inside peeks also add a bit of an anthropomorphic air to these books: Did they make it OK?! (And I hope they feel wanted and loved for being checked out!)
In 1985, a movie called The Journey of Natty Gann debuted, and I thought it was the Greatest Thing Ever. I even wrote about it in the journal my teacher required us to keep. (That said, I think on this particular day all I wrote is “I watched a movie called The Journey of Natty Gann.”) It turns out that John Cusack was in it, but my fourth-grade self had no idea who he was or that he was on his way to being iconic Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything. I saw it with my mom in a theater in Seattle’s Southcenter mall, which was nowhere near our home, so the only thing I can think of is that we saw it en route to or from my grandparents’ house. Ergo, it truly felt like a proper “outing” — maybe we were doing some back-to-school shopping. I have a vague recollection of being in a fussy mood (not uncommon in that era, I’m sorry to say, especially when it came to clothing), but the film calmed me. Call it my journey from brat (Bratty Gann?!) to curious 9-year-old film connoisseur.
Here’s the premise: It is the Great Depression, and a young tomboy (with a nonetheless modern and super-cute 1980s-style bob) named Natty Gann sets out on a journey to find her widowed father after he must leave abruptly for a lumber job in Washington. This the kind of drama that appeals to the hearts of kids who know the privilege of stability. We know our parent loves us but he must leave at the drop of a hat? Exciting! This is the same reason my friends and I weirdly wanted to be orphans just like Annie.
I shared this image on Instagram and wondered how many people knew this movie. Turns out, not a ton! But a childhood friend sure did...
But, really, what made Natty Gann so appealing was that it is a perfect model of a “lost and found” story framework. I don’t study plot devices in a technical sense, so I’m sure there a precise phrase for this “type” of story, but I imagine that you need to have a villain and a sidekick (our boy, John, for instance) and then an obstacle that the protagonist needs to overcome in a sort of full-circle justice. It’s the kind of formula that makes a solid story and, well, one that kids like.
But what happens when the journey is a little less linear? And when others might not even see value in this journey at all?
I didn't save the copy at Julia's from The Gaylord, but I did make use of a library copy of Meg Fee's book.
I discovered a book the other week called Places I Stopped on the Way Home by Meg Fee. Twice a month, I volunteer at Julia’s Books & Café, which is a used bookstore that operates in conjunction with a Habitat for Humanity ReStore in Charlotte. My duties mostly involve shelving books, and this task also includes the monthly purging of books that have sat on the shelf for nine months. I specifically chose this organization not just because I wholeheartedly support Habitat for Humanity’s mission, but also because I wanted a taste of working in a bookshop. (Btw, owning a bookstore is a terrible undertaking from a business and financial perspective. But do Matt and I nonetheless feel that our current city can support more than it has? Yes. Just throwing that out into the universe…) As I was purging the Memoir & Biography section, I noticed the aforementioned book. It had to go; no one had bought it in nine months so it would have to come off the shelf and be tossed into a large dumpster-type bin mysteriously called The Gaylord. (I’ve Googled this and it is actually the name of a specific type of box originating from the Gaylord Container Corporation.)
Even though I had no idea who Meg Fee was, and even though I sensed that the book’s contents might be a bit light on meaningful detail and a little too reminiscent of someone’s journal (but perhaps more mature than my journal from 1985), the title spoke to me. (I’m obsessed with the idea of “home.” It was the subject of the first Book Covers event I produced, and its flipside — homesickness — is the subject of an essay collection I’m working on.) So right then and there, I put it on reserve via my library system’s app. However, for the almost two months I had it in my possession, I mostly felt that Places I Stopped on the Way Home offered me very little. It is Fee’s somewhat ethereal recounting of several romantic dalliances with (mostly) equally self-absorbed men with New York City as the backdrop. Even the bits that I can relate to — the harshness of finding a suitable apartment in NYC, the daily trudge of simply making your way around — didn't compute. I think that perhaps the disconnect comes from the fact that at age 48, I understand that at least trying to hide some of one’s own self-absorption is the couth thing to do, but Fee still lives in an early-21st-century reality of oversharing.
But I knew there must be something in it for me. At the very least, I don’t want to hurt the book’s feelings! Yes, it’s an inanimate object, but when something is created by a human with a heart, it’s easy to want to “understand” it. Maybe all I would get out of reading Fee’s book was just to feel relieved that I wasn’t currently experiencing this hoppy sort of unsettled merry-go-round of apartments. That’s ok. But then, toward the end of her slim book, Fee finally articulates that what she is feeling as homesick. In fact, she writes this: “I have been homesick all winter long, but can’t quite place the feeling, as the city has been home for so long that how can I be homesick if I am already here? Perhaps it’s more a of a longing for permanence, which still feels so maddeningly elusive.” Yes. Or this: “Sometimes I think if the only joy of leaving home is the gift of returning to it, then that is enough.” Yes to that too. I have empathy for her and the challenges that she faces that I do not. And I really respect the fact that she is trying to put a name to something that she’s feeling — and also that she understands the term “homesick” as something that is multi-layered.
“For thirteen years I have been scything the tall grasses that I felt sure obscured it, gripping tightly to the handle and grasping at anything that looked the part, secretly a little desperate for another person to guide me there. And only now am I realizing that home is like anything important—it cannot be contained or circumscribed; it is within and without. It is larger than language allows for.” That’s still a lot of thin and nebulous verbiage, but it gave me comfort to know that there is someone else out there who can place their emotions under the broad umbrella of “homesickness.”
Behold! A Gaylord.
Is Places I Stopped on the Way Home a story worth saving? Oral traditions are strong and solid and make stories bendable and fluid, but when a story gets published as an actual book, does that transmutability change? Publishing is a fickle industry: What do we save and what do we send on its merry way into possible oblivion? Or into The Gaylord, as it may be?
In other words, when to keep a book and when to toss one? There is a different calculus for everyone, of course. In our case, we have moved many times. And there is a constant recalibration of physical objects, of actual, three-dimensional structures that take up space. But the space for books, so far, has felt expansive. We don’t buy many books these days — our kids are away at school so a lot of their books live with them, but also, I use the library a ton. (And Matt, as has been well-established on my Instagram account, doesn’t read books with much regularity. But he does read a lot in general and is a very interesting conversation partner!) Some books are keepsakes, and some are easy to give away to others. Judging from my time at Julia’s Books & Café, a lot of people feel OK parting ways with Becoming by Michelle Obama and Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance. Who’s to say why, but I guess the owners decided that it was time for those books to journey to someone else.
In my case, a particular book made its journey to me, and I feel satisfied that I could give it its due. Maybe someone else will check it out from the library before it gets weeded out of that system too. Will I remember much about Places I Stopped on the Way Home next year? Truthfully, probably not. But it left a little imprint, a mark of recognition. And maybe that is the grown-up version of a journey story. (Or, to reference another movie from the 80s: Maybe it's healthy to view life as The NeverEnding Story?)
Latest Reads
If you're looking for an easy way to come up with ideas for your next read, you can screenshot or save the graphic below. And as always, I share more about the books I read on Instagram; see below for direct links to each post.
The Women Behind the Door by Roddy Doyle
Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout
Margo's Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe
Choice by Neel Mukherjee
Playground by Richard Powers
Colored Television by Danzy Senna
Scaffolding by Lauren Elkin
Pearl by Siân Hughes
Same as It Ever Was by Claire Lombardo
Read This! (i.e. some quick links)
< "When Your Technical Skills are Eclipsed, Your Humanity Will Matter More Than Ever." This NYT piece isn't about books per se, but it is — I believe — a good argument for "soft skills" ... such as reading critically!
< "Can You Read a Book in a Quarter of an Hour?" I actually started composing a post about this New Yorker piece about a CliffsNotes-esque app, but got waylaid. So, here, just read the article!
< "Costco Just Announced a Major Change, and Shoppers are Not Happy." Bye, bye to books at Costco. I'll probably post about this soon on Instagram, but in the meantime, go ahead and read this little Apartment Therapy post about this "major announcement"!
Am Reading
“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.”
— Annie Dillard
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