Last week my book group discussed Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.  It’s a powerful book, evoking a desolate, post-apocalypse America where there are few survivors, and even fewer who haven’t thrown human decency out the window to survive.  A man and his son are at the center of the story.  The boy was born into this world of ashes and death and destruction.  The man remembers the world as it once was, and while he fills his son’s mind with stories of valor from a bygone world he must prepare his son for the world he was born into.  They carry a gun with two bullets, and this boy, at perhaps 10 years of age, knows that he is to use one of those bullets on himself if anything happens to his father and if one of the “bad guys” tries to lay a hand on him.  Yet with all of the misery and degradation this boy sees, he is still full of hope and compassion.  These two lonely wanderers represent the last bastions of civility and morality in a world torn and plundered many times over.  The man and the boy “carry the fire,” the last sparks of goodness left.

There was some debate in my group as to whether The Road provided a message of hope or not.  Man’s inhumanity to man is, I understand, often in stark display in McCarthy’s books.  William Kennedy, in his New York Times review, called it one of McCarthy’s most accessible and hopeful works. 

The love between the father and son is one of the abiding themes in the novel.  It is palpable, and it does keep the reader going in what is otherwise a relentlessly bleak book.  But as to whether a reader thinks that the book offers hope or not is an entirely subjective thing.  As is always the case, our perspective on the messages or themes in a book colors our reading of a book overall.

There were some provocative questions posed. Why does the man leave his wallet and the picture of his wife, the boy’s mother, in the road?  Why is the reason for the apocalypse never named?  Why does the book end with an image of a fish, a creature that no longer exists?  Is the final image one of hope or not?

My question for the group was also why this genre, of post-apocalyptic or dystopian societies, has become so popular in the last 10 years.  Why do we keep reading this story and its variations over and over? Why do we pay to see the end-of-the-world, last-man-standing films?  (Incidentally, the film for The Road is currently in production, starring Viggo Mortensen.) I know what I think.  But how would you, or your group answer these questions? 

I’m not trying to be contentious. Far from it. I welcome ALL readers to my book groups. Especially those who haven’t finished the book or never even heard of it. But after flipping through this morning’s news, I’m wondering: If someone brings this to the book group with an e-book on it, is the Library responsible for any spilled coffee on the keyboard?

David Rothman over at Teleread is musing over the use of the new HP Mini for e-book readers. The “gadgette” is compact, light-weight and easy to use according to a review David references from jkOnTheRun.

I thought it looked promising. I’m all about less poundage in my reading and faster access. What makes me grin at these techno-perts is how they focus on the electronics (which, I know, is their jobs, I shouldn’t expect more than that) and sort of gloss over how the newfangled things will work with everyday living. But that’s for us folks on the ground to work out.

So, I’m just wondering. How would an e-book on the HP Mini work if that techno-savvy soccer mom brought it to her book group? How does she turn to page 97 with everyone else to read the passage that holds the key to the character’s motivations? Does the Library’s food and beverage policy regarding computers apply to her? And how do you know she’s paying attention to what others are saying and not surfing her email? If she hates the book the group chose to read and discuss, does she throw her computer against the wall?

I jest, I know. This is how I make technology fit in my reading life. Can I eat with it? Can I slam it on the table if I loathe it? Can I take it in the bathtub with a glass of wine?

Of course, the e-book on the computer probably has the entire book and Scott Brick narrating to boot. When the soccer mom wants everyone to turn to her favorite passage, she keys up ol’ Scott to serenade the gang. Hmmm. There’s probably something to all these biblio-tronics, after all. 

It all boils down to just one big nasty question. Why talk about reading when you can be reading instead? A conversation composed of addicted readers is a room full of people who aren’t enjoying their addiction. For moderate readers, socializing is a pleasant break from solitude, but for reading addicts who need their hundred pages a day, a reading group means temporarily closing your book. And possibly (shudder!) having to do without your fix that night.

It’s always slightly unnatural for readers to gather together. Reading is such a solitary experience. Bookworms are comfortable alone. We’re quiet, inward folk. We each cultivate our own private techniques and methods. Our tastes in reading are as private as our tastes in physical pleasure. Over the years we grow to know what we like.

For me, a happy life includes reading good stories.

Reading a story means participating in it, in a way we don’t have to participate in a movie. A movie is complete in itself, and happens without us. A book needs us to happen. A book is printed, but doesn’t surrender its pleasure until the words come alive in our brain. The words have to be mentally processed into an experience. Books are collaborations, author and reader working together. Books are fifty percent you, which is why our reading experiences of the same book may be similar but are seldom completely the same.

A book gives you the verbal triggers, but each reader has to do the personal work to bring the story to life. You imagine what’s being described. The more often you do it, the better you get at it. Like any sport, you develop muscle: for character names, for remembering plot details.

Out of the many different kinds of books, I choose to read thought-provoking, well-written novels and memoirs. I want to spend time with characters I care about, I want to see something in a new way, I want to participate in a verbally stimulating, well-crafted story.

Almost always this means reading a first person narrative, with a character talking straight to the reader the way a real human being would. Whether the story is fiction or not doesn’t matter as long as it feels true. As long as when my imagination encounters those words on the page, I believe someone is talking to me.

Because then I can evaluate how I feel about what that person is telling me.

Which brings me to the one reason that drags me back to our book club again and again, the one reading joy I can’t get alone.

In our book club, I can compare my evaluation with others. No matter how reluctant I am to surrender my reading time, I can hear alternate experiences, variant readings, and I’m always enriched and stimulated. I see my own experience in a different way. I discover data that I missed. My feelings toward the book are modified or enhanced.

Sure, I get the jitters, I don’t get much reading done that night, but it’s just once a month. Once a month I suppress the book-loving hermit inside me. Once a month I deviate from my reading addiction and force myself to go to a book club meeting and talk to other addicts.

Sometimes it’s good to go against nature.

Okay, enough. Writing about reading is all very fine, but what I want to do right now is tuck into a good story and see life through somebody else’s eyes. I’m grabbing my book. I advise you to grab yours.

When I conduct workshops on leading book discussions, one of the things I ask my students to think about is how they would like the book discussion they are preparing to lead to actually turn out.  You can’t tell if you’ve achieved success with a project unless you have an idea of what that project would look like if it were successful.  This is harder to do if you are leading a group for the first time and you don’t know exactly who will participate and what they will bring to the discussion.  But if you are working with a familiar group, you will probably have some sense of how particular individuals will respond to certain characters, themes, and situations in the book, and so, whether the book will please them or offend them, and what the result of their reaction will be as far as contributing to the discussion.  Being able to predict some of the responses –if not precisely, at least generally — can help you to decide how you are going to try to move the discussion in terms of your questions. 

 I think it makes sense to try to imagine what the participants may expect from the discussion experience.  If you have some idea of what they are looking for, you will be better able to create that effect, and therefore provide them with a more satisfying discussion.  You quickly learn with a group what they like to talk about, and as long as it’s appropriate, that’s what you should be working to make happen. 

 In my own case, I want everyone in the group to participate — at least once during the discussion hour.  I also want individuals to talk one at a time, so everyone can be heard.  I want the group members to be courteous to each other, and listen, and respect each person’s right to contribute, even if they don’t agree with the comment.  I want there to be humorous moments, where people laugh and enjoy themselves.  I want the discussion to be lively, where people care very much about the opinions they are expressing, and also, care to hear the ideas of others in the group.  I want knowledge to be shared — not just what I bring in from researching the author or the reviews — but it’s especially wonderful when someone in the group can talk authoritatively about the book’s setting because they lived in that area at another time or when someone can tell us about actually meeting the author and sharing what that worthy individual is really like, up close and personal. 

These are probably many of the things the group members are hoping for, too.  I know most of all, they seek to be intellectually stimulated.  They like to be pushed to think, and to be urged to express themselves clearly and completely.  These are the characteristics of a satisfying book discussion, that contribute to the kind of experience participants are grateful for, and keep them coming back for more.

Misha’s last posting about the great new graphic covers that Penguin is putting on classic books reminds me of the joys of graphic novels and their potential for book groups. I hope I don’t have to convince too many of you that these books are real literature worth the time of serious readers.

If readers in your group still need convincing, try pairing a graphic novel with a regular book. Since most graphic novels are quick reads, it isn’t demanding to get through two books for one meeting. You’ll get a great discussion by comparing reader experiences of the two formats: the visual and the written word. Bring extra graphic novels to pass around the circle.

For old school graphic readers, try pairing David Michaelis’s biography Schulz and Peanuts with any of the Complete Peanuts reprints that have come out in recent years. Michaelis’s book is a fascinating psychological portrait of a man who pleased millions but could never quite please himself. He’s particularly good at showing how events in the strip reflected Charles “Sparky” Schulz’s life, and readers will want to explore this idea further by returning to the strips themselves. Reading them all over again, you’ll be struck by the many ways in which Schultz was an innovator.

Here are some other suggested pairings: Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi and Septembers of Shiraz, by Dalia Sofer; Maus, by Art Spiegelmann with Primo Levi’s Survival in Auschwitz or Elie Wiesel’s Night; Alice in Sunderland, by Bryan Talbot with Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice in Wonderland; Alan Moore’s graphic classic Watchmen with Austin Grossman’s delightful Soon I Will Be Invincible; Fun Home by Alison Bechdel with Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs; or The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Alan Moore with any of the Victorian adventures to which it alludes.

There are also some fantastic graphic adaptations of books available, such as the recent return of Stephen King’s The Gunslinger as a graphic novel by Peter David or Chris Ryall’s adaptation of Clive Barker’s A Great and Secret Show.

Try these pairings, or let each of your readers pick their own. These are not difficult matches to make. This is a great chance to open the eyes of your library patrons or reading friends to a whole new way of experiencing the book.

In the most recent Libraries Unlimited Readers’ Advisor News newsletter, a colleague, Abby Bass, wrote a great article about book covers and readers’ advisory. It’s called “Today’s Cover Story: New Trends in Book Cover Design and Their Impact on Readers.” 

In the article, she mentions Penguin’s “Graphic Classic” series–updated covers for some old classic titles.  And these book covers did need a makeover. It can be difficult to persuade a book group, especially if it includes any younger members, to read Cold Comfort Farm or Lady Chatterley’s Lover if they get a hold of a particularly bland looking cover.

We are a visual culture.  And as Nick so eloquently put it in a previous post, we respond to the physical aspects of books.  I am more likely to buy or read a book that is a pleasure to hold or behold.  Here is an example–I usually only buy books I intend to reread, but I just had to own a hardcover copy of Richard Flanagan’s Gould’s Book of Fish after I returned my library copy. It’s got beautiful illustrations of 12 fish and the color of the text changes throughout because the character/author of the tale uses whatever is at hand to scrawl down his story, from seaweed to blood.

I know that I responded to the McSweeney’s aesthetic of making beautiful books from the outset for this very reason. This early missive remains one of my favorite mission statements:

From McSweeney’s Issue No. 5, Very Late Summer, 2000

“In short, we are talking about smaller and leaner operations that use the available resources and speed and flexibility of the market (ie., the web and other consumer-driven methods), to enable us to make not cheaper and cruder (print-on-demand) books or icky, cold, robotic (electronic) books, but better books, perfect and permanent hardcover books, to do so in a fiscally sound way, and to do so not just for old-time’s sake, but because it makes sense and gives us, us people with fingers and eyes, what we want and what we’ve always wanted: beautiful things, beautiful things in our hands—to be surrounded by little heavy papery beautiful things.”

So even though I know that slapping a new, hip cover by a popular graphic artist is just marketing and that I am being pandered to as the Gen-X “insert 80’s song or reference here and they’ll buy X or Y product” consumer that I am, I also see that it cannot hurt to make something old new again.