Book Clubbing
I’ve been dropping in on book clubs this summer.
It’s been fun to meet people on their home turfs, and each is so unique. The experience has also brought back some funny memories.
Just after I finished my Master’s (I’m a proud PhD dropout), I started a book club with my women’s ultimate frisbee team in New Mexico. Rowdy, adventurous, and outspoken, they were game for anything. So when I suggested we read King Lear alongside A Thousand Acres (inspired by a revisionist fiction class), I assumed they’d be into it. Imagine my surprise when nobody read Lear, as they finally confessed after an awkward silence in my living room. (TL;DR)
I started another book club when I moved to Oregon—this time a co-ed experiment so my husband and I could make some friends. This time I wasn’t surprised when some members (the guys) failed to read the books. But I didn’t expect them to dominate discussion with statements that began, “I didn’t read the book, but I’m positive…” This group broke up after some memorable evenings, including one involving the sheriff, a potato launcher, and several members dressed in robes inspired by our read—Three Cups of Tea.
Many of these former book clubbers remain dear to me, so I’ve appreciated the strong friendships I’ve witnessed in others’ book clubs this summer.
One group that invited me this met more than twenty years ago when their kids were small. Those progeny have fledged, but these mom friends have seen each other through every possible life experience, one told me.
Another book club began when a business owner wanted to meet people when was new to town. Other book clubs said they were full, so she began inviting customers that seemed fun to join her. Nearly two decades later, they’re fast friends.
I met a group of women whose self-described “Competitive Book Clubbing” began as a fundraiser for their kids’ school. Boy are these ladies serious. In addition to discussing The Music of Bees, they had a quiz of made up of bee puns and hairstyles trivia. (I’d have failed in both categories.)
A men’s book club surprised me most. I guess I didn’t expect The Music of Bees to appeal to male readers. Forgive my sexism. After all, book clubs have historically been female territory, starting with the nineteenth-century Sorosis society (formed after women were excluded from a New York Press Club event honoring Charles Dickens). There was nothing exclusionary about this Hood River book club. For one, thing, they made a killer breakfast. For another I was truly moved by the strong connection they share.
I joined a new book club recently.
This group of women—some old friends, some new, and some strangers—were united by a desire to examine the divisions in our country that became so pronounced after the 2016 election. We’ve read books about culture, the environment, social justice (and even a light tale about some fictional Oregon beekeepers). Two recent favorites: Beloved Beasts: Fighting for Life in an Age of Extinction, by Michelle Nijhaus, and Yellow Bird: Oil, Murder, and a Woman’s Search for Justice in Indian Country by Sierra Crane Murdoch. I can’t recommend these books highly enough.
Book clubs are a reminder that books bring us together. As busy as we are, people around the country still take the time to read and listen to stories and gather to discuss their ideas and support one another. It’s heartening and I’m grateful to join these circles, however briefly, virtually and in person.