On the "right" way of doing things
Or, this year's plan to read books the wrong way
From a young age, I've been pre-occupied with the right way of doing things. There is a right way to behave, a right way to wear clothes, a right way to clean a shower, eat, fold washing, exercise, handle emotions, be a woman, colour pictures—and read books.
This year I am determined to gently nudge against this tendency by reading books the wrong way. Reading—soaking up stories, ideas and information—is one of my oldest loves. It is an ordinary and beautiful thing to open a book or put on your earphones and enter a room of new perspectives; a whole other world of possibilities.
Looking for a new book to get started on the other day, I scrolled through my Goodreads “want to read” list. On a whim I went way back to the start of that list in 2013, and laughed at my seriousness as an early twenty-something reader: it’s all classics and bleakness and density. I have loved many a dense, bleak, classic—the books you’re “supposed” to read. Of late, though, my taste is eclectic: from theology to frothy Francophile reads, to First Nations perspectives, Emily Dickinson’s poetry, a book about accepting our feelings and another on the Victorians who discovered dinosaur bones. I have a thirst to be lost in ideas, to jump from one world to another in the space of an afternoon.
I am currently in between multiple books—though I’m supposed to read one at a time. I am only reading fiction I enjoy—though I’m supposed to read fiction that instructs. I am allowing myself to feel the words rather than understand them, to make messy notations in my books, to choose the format that takes me for any given book (I prefer poetry in book form, fiction on a Kindle, theology as audio), to take copious amounts of notes on some books and barely remember any of others, to abandon books entirely if they are not serving me.
This is not so much a lesson about reading as it is about life: letting desire and practice unfold in the way they’d like to can often be a more joyful way of approaching our days. Structure can also bring good things: joy, peace, safety, clarity. But when it becomes a “should”—when it prevents rather than facilitates the flow of joy and curiosity and energy—it’s no longer serving us.
It’s not always easy for me to listen to what the “soft animal of my body” wants (to misquote Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese) but my new found “wild” approach to reading is a way I can teach myself not only to allow the desire to come forth, but also to show myself what good can come of listening and then following what it has to say. It’s a small way of building a muscle.
Here’s what I’m currently reading:
The Pocket Emily Dickinson (book) - I started asterisking the poems I liked best and am realising I may have to end up putting one on every page.
Sand Talk by Tyson Yunkaporta (Kindle) - has been on my list for the longest time and something prompted me to finally open it up on my kindle. He’s such a great writer that I was hooked from the first paragraph.
Remarkable Creatures by Tracy Chevalier (Kindle)
Eclipse by Kirli Saunders (book) - I want to read more poetry this year, and saw Kirli’s book in a Readings newsletter. I’ve not read her work her but am really enjoying the rhythm and creativity of her writing. Get a taste for her work on Instagram.
Practices for Embodied Living by Hillary McBride (book) - more of a workbook, for a book I read a while back and loved. I’m working through the prompts slowly as I feel able.
On reflection this is probably too many books at once, but I got caught up in the bookstore and I make no apologies for that.
Recently finished:
The Orange and other poems by Wendy Cope (book) - one of the most delightful things I’ve read in a long time, and I love looking at the juicy, joyful orange on the front cover. I’ll be leaving this on my bedside table for a little while longer before it retires to the bookshelf!
Murriyang: A song of time by Stan Grant (book) - it took me a while to figure this book out, but once I started feeling it rather than understanding it, it was like a curtain parted. It’s such a lyrical and unexpected book.
The Glass Maker by Tracy Chevalier (Kindle) - even though historical fiction is my favourite, I’m surprised I haven’t read more Tracy Chevalier!
A delightful illustrated book about Henri Matisse that I came across in the Cowes bookshop.
Tired of Being Tired by Jess Connolly (audio on Spotify)
Thirsting by Strahan Coleman (audio on Spotify)
Do you have any book (including poetry!) recommendations for me? How do you approach reading?
