The Book Club Drama

 

Sometimes I wonder why I keep blogging. Surely I’ve said everything worth saying then I remind myself it’s exercise for my brain and it comes in handy when I want to look up something I’ve done in the past, something with details too fuzzy to recall without my blog's search feature. The most recent search of my blog was to find a review I wrote for a book we were about to discuss in my new book club here at the continuum care complex. I didn’t remember reading The Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Pkhilipp Sendker, a saga that GoodReads says is “a poignant and inspirational love story” until I got about twenty pages into it. Then it hit me, my extreme dislike of the book I’d read for another book club and how everyone else in my old club loved it. 

This time there was one person who agreed with my criticism of how the author used a character to be an omniscient narrator who delivered long, rambling monologues about the backstories of a half dozen other characters including their innermost thoughts---stuff that no one character had any way of knowing. The other woman who said that bothered her too was a retired librarian which is probably why she knew what the heck I was ranting about (in a nice, sweet old lady but cynical kind of way). We both thought the book needed restructuring to make the author, not a character the omniscient narrator. I can't move past glaring flaws like that and apparently a couple dozens publishers turned the book down for presumably the same rookie mistake so there's that to rub on my lack of literary forgiveness wart.

Despite the impression you might have of our book club the discussion was well balanced with everyone having their say and we all agreeing at the end that having different opinions makes for good discussions. But for me it ended on a sour note when a brand new member to the group asked what kind of books I like since I didn’t like that “wonderful piece of literature” and I couldn’t name a single author or book and I was finally forced to admit I read a lot of trashy romances but I stupidly just had to add, “And I’ve studied a lot of how-to-write books.” She replied in an oh-so-sweet voice, “Maybe one day you’ll get published.” I’m surrounded by teachers and professors in that club who’ve never treated me like a literary flea for liking romances, but her comment and smirk seemed condescending. I felt like I was ten years old and I wanted to blurt out that I’ve had 12-15 articles published at Associated Content before they got bought out by Yahoo. But I kept that to myself and got tongue-tied for doing it.

The newbie must have taken my floundering as a call for help because she suggested a mystery series I should try to “improve my appreciation for literature” in a genre I was not aware was even a genre---‘magical realism’. Apparently the ‘Heartbeats’ book is classified as magical realism. Back in my apartment I googled ‘magical realism’ and sure enough it is a thing---never too old to learn. 

It dawned on me that I just finished reading a mystery that could be classified as magical realism and cynical me didn't like that book either. The main character was an FBI agent who could see red circles on the ground where bodies were buried and where evidence was stored between walls of a house, etc. All the leads to solve the case came, not from good detective work but by her magical power. If only life was that simple. Whip out a magical power and crimes get solved by human bloodhounds, and no daughter is left to wonder if the father she loved is dead or alive when in fact he just ran off to play Romeo to his Juliet. (‘Heartbeats’ was basically a Romeo and Juliet plot with Burmese folklore thrown in.)

The next book up for discussion in our club is one I picked for the group to read---The Death and Life of the Great Lakes---so I hope the newbie is there to see I read more than books written for flea brains. But the book club discussion continued later on at dinner, minus the newbie when a couple who had witnessed me getting flustered was asked what the ‘Great Lakes’ book is about and the guy says, “Jean picked it and it’s a romance, isn’t it Jean?” I like this guy and so I took it for the teasing it was meant it to be and I replied, “Yes, with a little mystery and sc-fi thrown in.” The three of us laughed while the woman who asked the question looked on confused. She’s not in our book club but she often reads the same books we do, she just doesn’t want to be committed to the formal club discussions. She’s not the only one who does that so in any given month there are 12-16 people walking around campus who we can talk 'book' with---“How far did you get?” “Do you like it?” “Does so and so die?” It’s pretty cool to have fictional characters to gossip about guilt free. 

And let me just add that the hour and half we spend at book club is my one of my favorite times of the month. I love the debates that sometimes happen, the sharing of personal anecdotes that relate to the story, the challenge of thinking on my feet and, yes, even when I fail to think on my feet like I did this month. Even when what happens in book club doesn't stay in book. ©