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erincataldi's review
2.0
I thought the concept of this book was phenomenal but I was a little disappointed with the end result. It was a good read, albeit a little wordy, and the author conveyed her passion for the written word with much zeal and enthusiasm. It had a tendency to ramble on however and there was no clear format or organization. It was just a long essay on a lifetime of reading and how it had impacted the author. One quote that did stick with me, "Yet unlike love, reading is a pure activity. It will gain us nothing but enchantment of the heart." As a fellow bookworm I couldn't agree more.
toniclark's review
3.0
I liked this book, though at first I thought it could have been better. Perhaps that means I just wanted it to be more relevant to my own experience. There was a lot about specific books (that I haven't read). It's a long rambling essay that could have been improve by some organization and section headings. But I liked it more the further I read. I found much to savor, highlight, and copy out. I enjoyed the musings on what we ought to read versus what we want to read, and how oughts are often foisted on us — faux wants. The book made me want to write my own personal history of reading — if only for myself.
(Also enjoyed the meat grinder story. My mother and grandmother both had them. So I inherited one — and actually use it.)
I don't at all agree with her re the issue of text vs. subtext. She seems to think this is a useless dichotomy that should not be applied to writing at all. She says, "All fully realized works are about exactly what they are about." Well, yes, but. A fully realized work of literature can be read on many levels. A fully realized work is one in which the levels are interwoven in such a way that they work with and against one another, so that the work adds up to more than the sum of its parts. There is always a surface and a subsurface. Good fiction is almost always that way. The story we read and the emotional story we feel. The former has a rising, then a falling action. The latter has a falling, then a rising action. Moreover, a literary work, whether fiction, nonfiction, or poetry, cannot be fully realized without a reader. And every reader brings something different to the reading. Thus, a work is not static, does not mean one thing and not another. Its meaning depends on what is brought to it.
I disagree with her on the matter of dreams, too — that "dream images and events are not 'really' what the dream is about [that part I agree with], but the available detritus of the day, slyly adapted to shield the dream's actual 'meaning.'" This implies that the dream has some inherent meaning other than what the dreamer concocts to explain its images. In a manner similar to what happens with reading, it's the dreamer who brings the meaning to the dream.
A few quotes I like:
"How are we to spend our lives, anyway? That is the real question. We read to seek the answer, and the search itself – the task of a lifetime – becomes the answer." p, 13
"For here is the essence of true reading: learning to live in another's voice, to speak another's language. Reading is escape — why not admit it? — but not from job or troubles. It is escape from the boundaries of our own voices and idioms." p111-112
"Still more remarkable, these inky marks generate emotion, even give the illusion of containing emotion, while it is we who contribute the emotion. Yet it was there an advance too, in the writer. What a feat of transmission: the motive powers of the book, with no local habitation, pass safely from the writer to reader, unmangled by printing and binding and shipping, renewed and available whenever we open it." p. 117
"If we make books happen, they make us happen as well. Reading teaches receptivity. Keats's negative capability. It teaches us to receive, in stillness and attentiveness, a voice possessed temporarily, on loan. The speaker lends herself and we do the same, a mutual and ephemeral exchange, like love. Yet unlike love, reading is a pure activity. It will gain us nothing but enchantment of the heart. And as we grow accustomed to receiving books in stillness and attentiveness, so we can grow to receive the world, also possessed temporarily, also enchanting the heart." p. 118
(Also enjoyed the meat grinder story. My mother and grandmother both had them. So I inherited one — and actually use it.)
I don't at all agree with her re the issue of text vs. subtext. She seems to think this is a useless dichotomy that should not be applied to writing at all. She says, "All fully realized works are about exactly what they are about." Well, yes, but. A fully realized work of literature can be read on many levels. A fully realized work is one in which the levels are interwoven in such a way that they work with and against one another, so that the work adds up to more than the sum of its parts. There is always a surface and a subsurface. Good fiction is almost always that way. The story we read and the emotional story we feel. The former has a rising, then a falling action. The latter has a falling, then a rising action. Moreover, a literary work, whether fiction, nonfiction, or poetry, cannot be fully realized without a reader. And every reader brings something different to the reading. Thus, a work is not static, does not mean one thing and not another. Its meaning depends on what is brought to it.
I disagree with her on the matter of dreams, too — that "dream images and events are not 'really' what the dream is about [that part I agree with], but the available detritus of the day, slyly adapted to shield the dream's actual 'meaning.'" This implies that the dream has some inherent meaning other than what the dreamer concocts to explain its images. In a manner similar to what happens with reading, it's the dreamer who brings the meaning to the dream.
A few quotes I like:
"How are we to spend our lives, anyway? That is the real question. We read to seek the answer, and the search itself – the task of a lifetime – becomes the answer." p, 13
"For here is the essence of true reading: learning to live in another's voice, to speak another's language. Reading is escape — why not admit it? — but not from job or troubles. It is escape from the boundaries of our own voices and idioms." p111-112
"Still more remarkable, these inky marks generate emotion, even give the illusion of containing emotion, while it is we who contribute the emotion. Yet it was there an advance too, in the writer. What a feat of transmission: the motive powers of the book, with no local habitation, pass safely from the writer to reader, unmangled by printing and binding and shipping, renewed and available whenever we open it." p. 117
"If we make books happen, they make us happen as well. Reading teaches receptivity. Keats's negative capability. It teaches us to receive, in stillness and attentiveness, a voice possessed temporarily, on loan. The speaker lends herself and we do the same, a mutual and ephemeral exchange, like love. Yet unlike love, reading is a pure activity. It will gain us nothing but enchantment of the heart. And as we grow accustomed to receiving books in stillness and attentiveness, so we can grow to receive the world, also possessed temporarily, also enchanting the heart." p. 118
bak8382's review
3.0
Author Lynne Sharon Schwartz takes the reader through her childhood reminiscing over books she loved then and those she still loves now. Along the way she discusses what it means to truly be a lover of reading.
I am always interested in memoirs about reading, as I hope to find a kindred spirit who enjoys the same books I do. Alas every reader is different, and Schwartz is no exception. Though she makes good points about the different ways people read and share their love of reading, I was not particularly interested in most of the books she discussed. Therefore I did not enjoy it as much as I hoped.
I am always interested in memoirs about reading, as I hope to find a kindred spirit who enjoys the same books I do. Alas every reader is different, and Schwartz is no exception. Though she makes good points about the different ways people read and share their love of reading, I was not particularly interested in most of the books she discussed. Therefore I did not enjoy it as much as I hoped.
rachelb36's review
3.0
This is a short book in which Schwartz shares her opinions on reading and life.
The fact that it is not divided into chapters was annoying to me. It made it harder to stop and start, since I didn't want to read it all at once.
Some of her thoughts are spot-on, others I couldn't relate to. Some of her writing is pretentious. There were spoilers for a couple books.
There were too many little sexual references for my taste; though not graphic, they were still unnecessary.
Despite these flaws, I did enjoy the read overall, and have added a few books she mentioned to my to-read list.
The fact that it is not divided into chapters was annoying to me. It made it harder to stop and start, since I didn't want to read it all at once.
Some of her thoughts are spot-on, others I couldn't relate to. Some of her writing is pretentious. There were spoilers for a couple books.
There were too many little sexual references for my taste; though not graphic, they were still unnecessary.
Despite these flaws, I did enjoy the read overall, and have added a few books she mentioned to my to-read list.
ricefun's review
4.0
This small book helped me finish the Morrisson Reeves Library Summer reading program. It's length is about the length of a piece in the "New Yorker," and the flow and content felt similar. Schwartz considers how reading has shaped, transformed, and "ruined" her life since the age of 3 when her father would tout her early reading abilities as a quaint parlor trick. I enjoyed reading this combination memoir/philosophy in one day.
bibliobabe94's review
3.0
Really interesting and thought provoking: why do I I like reading so much and how has it influenced my life. Would be a great book club read.