Edification – Quiet things, soaring things
Edification – Newsletter #83 – August 15, 2021
Dear Reader,
Happy Sunday!
I’ve been reading this week: First, I started Maggie Brown & Others, a collection of stories by Peter Orner.
Orner is new to me, but his style feels familiarly post-war American: spare, cutting, shot through with a kind of off-page dread – immobility in the midst of careening change. (His first story, “The Deer,” is about a child powerlessly witnessing a deer powerlessly trapped in muck.)
That, to me, is the classic American literary subtext, at least for a certain era and (middle class, academic, mostly white male) social type. Orner is good at it. He hits that Carver, Cheever, Roth spot.
I have to say, though, that it feels like it’s not the right time for me to enjoy this collection. That’s not Orner’s fault. I find it difficult to complete some books lately, and I think it must be the result of our tumultuous times.
It occurs to me that the staggering-in-place of the American literary psyche is not appropriate for pandemic/climate change/end-times crisis. More, probably, on that in a future newsletter.
But on to other books, of an entirely different sort. I’ve spent time revisiting the marvelous Frog and Toad stories by Arnold Lobel. I bought four of the “easy reader” collections for my son, who turned three this week and is destined to be a lifelong lover of books.
My older boys, now 19 and 17, found Frog and Toad so magical we even listened to a cassette of the stories on long drives. Reading these stories once again fills me with nostalgia – and boundless appreciation for the simplicity and poignance of Lobel’s writing.
There is such a gentle, unhurried, loving quality to the stories that I wish I could join these little creatures on their walks through the tall grass. For example, take a moment to read “The Kite” (and enjoy Lobel’s sweet illustrations), and feel the lift of that ending:
The robins flew out of the bush.
But they could not fly
as high as the kite.
Frog and Toad sat
and watched their kite.
It seemed to be flying
way up at the top of the sky.
I suspect that the extensive time I’ve spent over the years with children’s books has influenced my writing. Actually, my time with children has influenced my writing, full stop.
Children are wonderful learners. With a limited vocabulary it is possible to understand a great deal. But word choice, tone, expression are all at a premium. Children are wonderful learners and wonderful teachers; they teach a parent clarity of speech, clarity of argument. They test us! They try us. They push the limits.
Lobel’s writing transfixes. He has mastered the language of small moments, quiet challenges, emotional life. He speaks to children about complex things. He lets nuance sit and just be. I love that.
This week I’ve been dipping here and there into poetry-writing and letting myself breathe. As I wrote last week, I was sorting and editing a stack of sixty recent poems.
My friend Jessica Evans was on the same wavelength, writing in her newsletter about how to refocus, balance, and plan when the whole world feels overwhelming. She nails that restless autumn feeling and how to harness it:
“I love this season, this expectation of the academic year, the excitement I used to feel lining up my pencils and notebooks, the eagerness with which I approached the first day of school. I’m no longer a student, but that effusive energy is still with me, which is probably the other reason I’m so excited about the coming autumnal shift. This always feels like a new beginning, the turning of a page, the time to set goals. I used to think it was converse to what was happening in the natural world, but I think that’s because I was looking at it from the premise that change can only happen in the spring. The truth is, and what this New Moon reminds us of, is that change can happen anytime we’re ready.”
I’m not into astronomy. But it’s true that the moon impacts our world, and vice versa.
It’s fascinating to me that Jessica finds focus looking up and I focus by looking down. She looks to the moon and the planetary motion of our solar system, while I look to the ground (as you probably know, I spend a lot of time outside digging around in my yard) – which is also planetary. Earth is my favorite planet.
In looking-down news: In the past week, my sons and I have seen so many insects by studying the ground. We’ve watched two latecomer cicadas disrobe from their dirty shells. We have learned to leave anthills undisturbed – they have a whole busy city at the playground! Yesterday we saw a butterfly with a perfect wood-knot camouflage wing pattern. And we’ve learned the difference between fuzzy bees and smooth ones (leave them all alone, just a tip).
We are all learning and holding on to that wonder as hard as we can.
Talk soon,
Edie
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