Book Girl

by Sarah Clarkson

  Who Is This Book For?

  My desire is that you will find a unique kind of fellowship on the pages of Book Girl. Wherever you find yourself in the reading life, I hope that as you turn these pages, you’ll discover that you aren’t alone. Do you yearn to be a book girl but don’t know where to begin? Oh, you are welcome. There’s a fellowship of book girls waiting for your presence, and every page here is my way of passing along the gift of reading that I received by pure grace. I can’t wait to set it in your hands. Are you a book girl who struggles to find the time to read? Goodness, my friend, we all understand that dilemma in this busy world. Were you once a book girl but seem to have lost your reading stride somewhere along the way? I hope you will remember afresh the joy and wisdom that wait to form you in the books that follow. Do you struggle with loneliness, do you yearn for a beauty you can barely describe, do you hope for friendship, or do you just need some courage to keep fighting the small battles of the everyday? Then pull up a chair, brew a cup of tea, and join the fellowship here as we read our way back to beauty and courage, to laughter and strength, to life in its fullest grace.

  In a World Full of Books, Why Read This One?

  I’d argue that you should read this book because it celebrates not just the gifts of the reading life but also the rich life of the reading woman, her particular experience and journey, and the wise and joyous fellowship that grows between women who undertake that reading adventure together. This isn’t a textbook or a how-to for quick education or a tome on the classics. This is a book that explores in memoir and story what it means to be a book girl, for story to suffuse and shape a woman’s experience, for books to walk with her as she navigates the varied seasons of her life. All the chapters and book lists are themed around spiritual or experiential seasons, shaped to encourage and companion the book girl who reads them in regaining strength and vision for her own story.

  Book Girl is also my witness to the fact that the reading life is a gift, one I received largely from the wise women in my life whose generosity was expressed in the sharing of the books that taught them to live with humor, humility, and grace. In one of my favorite short stories, “A Jonquil for Mary Penn” by Wendell Berry, there is a beautiful scene that describes “the dance of women laughing,” and that image came to my mind countless times as I considered what I wanted to create and offer in this book.

  The scene comes near the end of a tale about a young, newly married girl who finds herself woefully underprepared for the farming life to which her marriage has brought her. One winter day she finds herself sick and despairing. She makes it through her chores and crawls straight back, chilled, into bed. But she wakes to warmth—to the creak of a rocking chair, a fire kindled, light streaming in through clean windows. Mary, in a keen, grateful moment, knows that she has been noticed and cared for in her extremity by one of the local women who have claimed and taught her, slowly weaving her into their fellowship. She lies there in bed and remembers the way these women have taught her not only their tricks of gardening and farming but their earthy good humor, their tough grace, their will to endure. The passage describing one such memory is rich in hilarity—how one of them got tangled up in a wire fence and began to chuckle at her own clumsiness, and how they all joined in:

  There on the ridgetop in the low sunlight they danced the dance of women laughing, bending and straightening, raising and lowering their hands, swaying and stepping with their heads back.

  What that scene evokes for me is the vibrant, joyous fellowship of women who help each other to that fullness of self, skill, and insight that is the richest gift of friendship. That is what I hope Book Girl offers as well. This book is about the dance and joy of women reading, an invitation to that wise laughter, to the grace known by all the book girls of the world who live by the delighted conviction that reading is a vital ingredient in a woman’s full engagement with her faith, her creativity, and her capacity to grow in knowledge and love throughout each season of her life.

  How Should This Book Be Used?

  Consider this book a companion, meant to come alongside you wherever you are in your journey as a book girl. If you are just delving into the reading life and are in need of an overarching vision for what it means to be a reader, you might enjoy reading straight through, exploring each chapter and list as an introduction and an invitation. The following two chapters are especially crafted to be a more practical opening to the reading life, with suggestions on how to begin, how to form reading habits, and how to think about book selection.

  But Book Girl is meant to last you beyond a first read. By theming the chapters and their accompanying lists to different seasons of experience or growth, I hope you will find this a continuing resource. To that end, and particularly if you are a seasoned reader, I’d say dive straight in and read the sections that speak to you in your particular season of life or describe the sorts of books you are hungry to read in your current phase of exploration.

  How This Book (and This Book Girl) Came to Be

  With a mother who read to me in the womb, I really couldn’t escape engagement with the written word. I loved books from little girlhood, especially stories that fired up my imagination and widened the horizons of what I could dream or hope to become. I grew up in a home crammed with books, in a family who lived by the rhythm of reading—for spiritual sustenance in the morning, for learning or imagination during the day, for laughter and fellowship in the long, starlit evenings. We spoke the language of story to each other, dreaming up adventures like Frodo, wanting to be brave like Davy Balfour, each of us aware of our own lives as stories just beginning. Reading, I realize now, was one of our prime ways of living and loving to the full.

  But it wasn’t until I was in my twenties, sitting in a conference on modern culture, that I realized how great a gift this reading life was, how purposefully it had been chosen as a heritage for me. I heard a talk on the decline of reading in contemporary life, especially for children, and it brought me to a sudden epiphany. I can still recall my deep and honestly surprised sense of wonder at having been raised to be a reader, at the gift and intention of my parents’ investment in books. I sat there in the old church conference hall, sifting through my childhood as I began to examine the way stories had formed my sense of self, the way my parents had used literature to widen my concept of what was possible and to shape my ideas of the good, true, and beautiful.

  That was a moment of catalyst for me—the instant in which I took up the identity of a book girl because I realized that the reading life was a gift, one I, too, had the power to give. I left that room determined to understand more about the power of reading, and that led to a decade of research, speaking, and writing about the powerful gift parents can give their children through a childhood formed by great books. I stumbled into full-time work in reading out of sheer enthusiasm, setting studies and other pursuits aside as I researched the way reading expands the whole being of a child. I spoke at parenting events, wrote a guide to children’s literature (Read for the Heart), then another book (Caught Up in a Story) as I began to think specifically about what it means for a child to be “storyformed.” My passion for reading was such that I wanted to hand out books to children on the street!

  But my own reading adventures were just beginning, and several years ago I found myself not only about to start undergraduate study at the age of thirty but about to realize my dream of becoming a student at Oxford, a desire I’d carried ever since my teenage immersion in the writings of J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and the rest of the famed Inklings fellowship. I went to England to do a year of theology as a sort of curiosity, a thirtieth-birthday adventure, and then I fell in love with the subject and decided to stay three years, unexpectedly mesmerized by the study of doctrine as I delved into the core tenets of my faith. I also fell in love with Thomas, my adorable Dutch husband, and before my degree was completed, we’d married, moved permanently to the UK, outfitted our first house, and discovered that we were expecting a
baby.

  As a student, I was immersed in the kind of reading that challenged my whole view of the world, but at the same time gave me a renewed sense of myself as an agent, someone with the power to learn, to discern, to grow, to create. I had been teaching parents about the power of reading to their children for years, but my experience as a student renewed my own identity as a learner. As I read, I saw how deeply I was being formed in my spiritual life, my sense of self, my sense of purpose. The power that came to me both as a reader and as a woman was immense as I discovered my capacity to wrestle well with the doubts and questions I’d always carried about my faith, to face the countless changes that came with marriage and an international move with faithfulness and courage, and to articulate the truth I was discovering to others.

  I did all this in the marvelous company of other women who were also avid readers, and of fellow students and dear friends who balanced their lives as learners with their identities as wives, mothers, and teachers. I did this in community with my tutor and mentor, Liz, whose quiet authority and encouragement empowered me to explore; with my sister Joy, also a student, as we wrestled with questions of femininity, theology, and culture together; and with my mother, the first woman who taught me what it means to act in courageous discovery. When my studies finally drew to an end and my mind turned toward the messages burning in my heart, the ideas that had grown in my imagination throughout those intensely formative years, I realized that one of the first things I wanted to write was a book on the gift and grace and radiant power of being a woman who reads.

  The idea for Book Girl came to me on an autumn afternoon as I sat in my chilly little Oxford living room, the one crammed with Thomas’s and my combined libraries (the first thing we bought as a married couple were five extended-height bookshelves), and began to dream. What if I could write a book for other women that would guide them into the same kind of discovery and power that I had experienced afresh at Oxford? What if the gift of a reading life was available to every woman, something as vital for mothers as for their children? What if I could write specifically to women, exploring the way reading can shape and enrich every season of a woman’s experience? With those questions, Book Girl began.

  Now, over a year later, I sit in that same small living room. The book is complete, a manuscript that has grown alongside my belly as my own little book-girl-to-be has kept me company through all the months of writing. As I contemplate the opening of my little one’s story, glancing at the pile of picture books I’ve set ready for her arrival, my eye is caught by a particularly tattered old book, one of the few I’ve taken the trouble to cart over the ocean from Colorado because it was one of the first my mother read aloud to me. I flip through the pages, savoring the faded illustrations, remembering the cadence of her voice pronouncing the simple, lovely text, pointing out this detail or that tiny beauty on each page. Through the reading life, my mother yearned to give me, in a sense, the whole world. She wanted to outfit her little girl with a wild imagination, a strong will to discover, a curiosity about the world, and the spunk to explore it. My heart soars with thanks . . . and excitement.

  Now it’s my chance to give that gift. It’s the one I’m about to give my daughter, the same one I hope you’ll discover in the pages of this book.

  So please, my friends, join me in living the gift of becoming a book girl.

  Sarah Clarkson

  SPRING 2018

  [1] Barbara Cooney, Miss Rumphius (New York: Penguin Books, 1982).

  Chapter 1On the Crafting of BOOK LISTS

  How to Set a Course of Reading through the Ocean of Endless Books

  Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed?

  ANNIE DILLARD, THE WRITING LIFE

  “OF MAKING MANY BOOKS there is no end,” says the rather jaded writer of Ecclesiastes. Nor of the making of book lists, says this slightly wild-eyed but altogether idealistic writer. I still remember when a teenage friend and I were hosted overnight by a family in Boston during a history field trip. The mother asked me to jot down a few of my favorite children’s books, so I curled on the couch and set to it as the adults packed picnics and snacks. The house grew curiously quiet (considering the combined presence of twelve children), but I was immersed, culling my best-loved stories from memory until I felt a tap on my arm.

  “Sarah,” said my bosom friend, Katrina, “it’s time to go, and—” she peered over my shoulder before looking at me with a huge roll of her eyes—“thirty-five titles is more than enough. Good grief.”

  We both should have known my future would involve book lists.

  The fact is, I can’t keep quiet about a book I love. I want people to understand why this novel or that bit of theology can change the whole way they see life. I spent ten years reading classic literature and children’s stories before I ever got around to starting a degree in theology (I like to say I took at least a dozen gap years), but once I did, I couldn’t stop seeing connections between fairy tales and biblical narrative, doctrine and Victorian novels. I dragged my favorite works of fiction into every theological essay I could. I think I have become known as a bit of a Wendell Berry fanatic here in Oxford, because I’ve quoted him in essays on the Incarnation, argued against his being an anarchist with my college principal, and made my college small group read his poetry aloud. One of the best bookish compliments I’ve ever received came when a priest who has been mentor, theological teacher, and marriage counselor to Thomas and me asked for a list of novels to take on a spiritual retreat. We showed up at his door with ten possibilities because I couldn’t choose just a few.

  Katrina Jones

  Katrina has known me since I was eleven years old, and we have been reading novels together (or recommending them to each other), writing letters (we probably number in the thousands by now), and adventuring like good book girls ever since. She is my kindred spirit, my very old and dearly beloved friend, and I couldn’t have a book about women readers without a list from her.

  My Favorite Books, in No Particular Order (Except the First Three)

  Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

  Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

  Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers

  The Awakening of Miss Prim by Natalia Sanmartin Fenollera

  True Grit by Charles Portis (I was totally surprised by how much I loved this one. It’s not necessary to love Westerns at all to appreciate it—it’s just a great story of a tough little girl.)

  Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

  Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell

  The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis

  The Heaven Tree trilogy by Edith Pargeter

  The thing about my book lists is that they are driven by love—for the story or kernel of truth that lies hidden in the heart of what is written and for the person in whose hands I can’t wait to place the book because I honestly believe it will widen and enrich their life. And that’s the first thing I want you to know as we open this discussion on the crafting of book lists. The book lists here are formed by love.

  The problem, though, is that there really is no end to the number of book lists I could make, the number of absolute favorite titles I want to review in detail, the books I haven’t yet had time to read, and the ones I’ve heard are wondrous. During the months of writing this book, I frantically read as many new books as I could, afraid to miss that one great title or be “behind” on a contemporary classic. I finally had to take a deep breath and remind myself that I have to begin exactly where I am, with the riches I’ve culled as a reader up to this point in my life.

  So before you dive into the lists ahead, a few brief thoughts. First, on selection. It’s pretty straightforward: I list what I love. Then, organization: in other words, how I’ve arranged these potentially unwieldy lists of beloved titles so that you will know exactly where to go, depending on what kind of book you want to read. Finally, content, in which I will briefly discuss the difficult and nuance
d practice of discernment and its role in helping me to evaluate the literary quality and worldview of the books I’ve chosen.

  Selection

  I can’t say it often enough: this book is not meant to be a be-all, end-all list of every modern book you should read or the classics you should cover before death. This is not a comprehensive guide to literature. (For that, take a look at the highly ambitious recommended reading list compiled by Mortimer Adler and thank your lucky stars I’ll never be as well read as he is.[1] And at least I’m not insisting you read Thucydides.)

  Rather, my collective book list is one you could consider a story—a history by book recommendation; a living, delighted record of the books that have most kindled me to life in heart, mind, and soul. The selection process for the lists that follow is pretty basic: every one is a book I have loved. These are the books I press into the hands of my nearest and dearest, the titles I carefully select when those I love are in need of encouragement or freshened vision or comfort.

  But I am only one reader who has happened upon a certain stream of books in the great ocean of the written word. The book lists that follow are thus highly individual, even eccentric at points. Of course, I’ve tried to read widely, dip into the classics, tour contemporary stories, taste some poetry, explore the paths of theology. I honestly think that if you read every title in this book, you’d have a rich exposure to some of the best writers around. But I know I have missed a lot as well. I know some of what I love will resonate with you and some just won’t.