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Experience is a wonderful teacher, but our scope is limited by factors like geography, age and gender. Good writing takes a reader back in time, sailing with Columbus aboard the Santa Maria, rationing during the Great Depression, watching as the Great Wall of China falls. Readers feel cultural isolation by proxy, inviting them to be more compassionate. They stroll through undisturbed nature in Thoreau's clear prose, helping to develop deeper relationships with the wild. Each book has the potential to alter a reader in innumerable ways.

Sometimes the change is as small as learning new words, and certain books are written with the intention of inspiring innovation. Reading enriches my life and broadens my mind in many ways; however, there is one book in particular that has changed my life.

I discovered Animal, Vegetable, Miracle a few years ago during a typical college weekend. Taking a needed study respite, I poked around Bloomsbury Book (before I was lucky enough to work there) hunting through rows of paper treasures. I drifted to the non-fiction section, smiling as I brushed passed familiar titles, and paused to explore pages of new finds. One such discovery was a work by Barbara Kingsolver.

I first encountered Kingsolver’s work in the sixth grade, when my teacher assigned, The Poisonwood Bible, as homework, and I continued nurturing a love for her writing.

When I slid the innocuous green paperback off the shelf, I was unprepared for the revelations tangled among Kingsolver’s vegetables. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle introduced me to a wonderful literary sub-genre, gardening memoirs, which continues to shape my life.

Similar to autobiographies, which are pictorials of an entire lifetime, memoirs present slices of an author’s experiences.

Kingsolver dropped me in the middle of her family’s garden in southern Appalachia, where I learned that a tomato straight off the vine tastes like a very distant cousin to the pinkish globules stacked in supermarkets (a lesson I tasted later that summer).

I began speaking the language of canning, the clink of glass jars reminiscent of summer afternoons in my childhood when I helped my mother put up apricot and blackberry jam. Window sills were suddenly potential miniature garden plots, and January of that year found me pouring over seed catalogs with the intense concentration I usually reserved for my statistics text-book.

By vicariously living a year of food life with the Kingsolver-Hopps, I realized how disconnected I had become from what I ate. As a student, both my food and time budgets were tight. I sipped cups of inky, hot coffee while I studied, and regularly munched sugary, vending-machine trail-mix between classes.

Even though I grew up with a small garden, and was taught appreciation for unprocessed, whole foods from a young age, I became caught up in the whirl of study and working. I slotted food at the bottom of my priorities totem-pole until I changed my outlook on nourishment, and everything began between the pages of a book.

My bookshelves are now crowded with gardening memoirs, manuals and manifestos, each with unique qualities.

The Kingsolver-Hopps have planted the original seed of thought, but they also encourage temperance. I have found that treating my body and the earth with respect is not a dogma and drinking a cup of coffee, or cooking with imported olive oil, will not de-rail positive intentions. I adore Kingsolver’s family and appreciate her dry sense of humor. 

Joan Dye-Gussow’s journeys described in This Organic Life, and Growing Older are soothing companions during grief, which illustrate how living close to the earth and laughing maintain a connection to those who have passed on.

Brad Kessler’s, Goat Song, has a tang similar to the home-made cheese his story centers on. Flavored with wit and vinegar, Kessler’s tale of raising goats alongside his garden is as artisan as the chevre he makes.

Prolific and pertinent, the list of wonderful gardening memoirs is too long for a mere blog entry. Trying to discuss the intricacies of how books change lives in a last paragraph feels like an insult to a complex topic as well (more fodder for other entries).

Reading inspires and makes more complex people. Enjoying a garden via an excellent storyteller’s words doesn’t automatically mean starting a compost bin and tilling soil, but gaining a new understanding and appreciation for any topic helps cultivate rich lives.

Happy reading.

Other Reccomended Gardening Memoirs:

The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball
COOP by Michael Perry
$64 Tomato by William Aslexander
Second Nature by Michael Pollan
The Chicken Chronicles by Alice Walker
And I Shall Have Some Peace There by Margaret Roach
Folks, This Ain't Normal by Joel Salatin
Everything I Want to do is Illegal by Joel Salatin
Growing a Farmer by Kurt Timmermeister
Farm City by Novella Carpenter
The Blueberry Years by Jim Minick
Cultivating Delight by Diane Ackerman
Made from Scratch by Jenna Woginrich
Grow the Good Life by Michaels Owens
Deep in the Green by Anne Raver
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
Goat Song by Brad Kessler
This Organic Life by Joan Dye Gussow
Growing Older by Joan Dye Gussow
Into the Garden with Charles by Clyde Wachsberger (Available for purchase 04/10/12)

Imagine a New Year's Day wedding; a devoted couple, a classic string quartet, and simple but elegant decorations of …book shelves?

A fixture in downtown Ashland, Bloomsbury Books is a part of many peoples' lives. Frequently a venue for author readings, events and book-club meetings, the store recently added a wedding to their repertoire.

Reading lovers are partly shaped by not only the books they have read, but also the stores where they browse and buy. 

I remember visiting Bloomsbury, chatting with Orlando, the beloved book store cat, relishing the rustle of pages as I perused a new read. I can still recall the earthy scent of the dusty air as I entered Cal's, feeling like I was walking into a cave filled with not stalactites, but books.

Taking wedding vows in Bloomsbury is a sweet example of the devotion readers have to their books, demonstrating that bookstores are more than places of literary commerce. The fate of books, and subsequently bookstores, in the digital information age is uncertain. Despite the unknown future status of local bookstores, I believe they will continue to evolve, staying alive well into the future.

Robert Darnton's book, The Case for Books, is a cohesive, well-articulated collection of essays arguing that books are far from becoming extinct; the traditional codex will out live the e-book; libraries will survive past Google and that many inherent joys of reading cannot be digitized. 

Darnton, director of the Harvard University Library, covers a range of book-related topics, from the legislative struggles between Google and the authors or book right holders to the history of the modern book and the future of reading. With a background in journalism and his current position at Harvard's library, the former Princeton University professor is well poised to navigate our current, complex information landscape.

Google Books is a topic in which Darnton is well-versed, and through reading his book, my understanding of the 2009 settlement between Google and various authors and book rights holders has deepened and broadened. Darnton makes a good case for traditional books and bookstores by writing that Google is not a bibliographer.

Bookstores are not bibliographers either, but the book lovers who work in them organize books differently than the internet. Google and Amazon organize their results based on a specialized algorithm, not  on the  qualities of the publications. Data is gathered on how often people visit or use connected sites and digital texts. When book browsing online, search results are prioritized by  how often sites or texts are frequented, rather than their pertinence or quality.

Finding the first publication date for a book (or the original name under which an author was published), tracking down books with only a key phrase or piece of an author’s name, these are the adventures of working in a bookstore. I enjoy the treasure hunt, and never organize my results based on a mathematical equation designed to recycle the most popular information. This is one of the many reasons people continue to shop at bookstores--the human element. 

Darnton paints the future landscape as a combination of new and old information technology, maintaining a strong case for books, without trying to remove the ebook from the picture.  He stresses the qualities that make a book appealing: the heft, the texture of the paper, the scents that speak of time and place of origin.

An experience for all of the senses, Martyn Lyon's new work, Books: A Living History, is the epitome of what Darnton describes. Decorated with a row of worn book spines, the dust jacket is buttery-soft, and the weight balances easily in the hand. The glossy pages have a sharp, tangy scent, vaguely like varnish. As a photographic and textual history of the modern book, each fascinating page is a tribute to the evolution of text and reading.

The digital information age seems to have exploded over night, and the ebook is the first major formatting change since the development of the codex in the third century B.C.E. Both Lyons and Darnton note the tumultuous life of text as proof of the book-shaped place carved into the heart of society. 

True, people read differently today, gleaning stories, facts and entertainment from a variety of magazines, web-sites, and books, and most listen to music, or check Twitter updates as their eyes scan paragraphs. But this is not the first time in history that reading has changed. The industrialization of the book industry changed the way people read. The West has attained almost universal literacy, since reading materials are plentiful and can be cheaply acquired. 

But books have been knocked from the highest shelf. Where a reverence for their rarity and cost once made them precious, books are now splattered with an attempt at a new spaghetti sauce recipe. They lay in the sand with sunbathing readers and fold into coat pockets. Books aren't held in awe, but are a part of daily life, on par with our electronic devices. According to Lyons, books have existed for two and a half millenia, through the Renaissance and the Scientific Revolution. They don't need to recharge or reboot, and neither do bookstores. 

Bookstores are not just places to purchase books. They are a social hub, filled with the meeting of friends, the of rustling pages, the buzz of conversation, an electric charge of exchanging ideas. I have a difficult time picturing friends Skyping while simultaneously book browsing, though friends who live far apart might do this. However, when friends are together, a bookstore is the perfect place to meet. Ebooks and Google have their roles to play (a topic for a different blog entry), but bookstores have many offerings that can't be provided digitally. 

For readers interested in the life and future of books, Darnton and Lyons are two authors I would recommend. The future of books and bookstores seems uncertain, but I don't believe their roles will be usurped by digital text. Even if an e-reader has a sticker that smells like a book (antique or new), and the plastic is textured to mimic paper, even if rows of book-lined shelves are projected into the mind, readers will detect the difference. Some experiences can't be created digitally.                        

A fresh voice reanimates two literary-couples I adore and transports me to Pemberley, an English country estate held close in my heart. Surrounded by  delicate female conventions and gallant gentleman, I dine with old friends, bask in burgeoning true-love and witness a murder trial, while becoming acquainted with a wonderful, prolific author, P.D. James.  

Released in early December, Death Comes to Pemberley, is the eighteenth mystery ninety-one-year-old James has written. Since, Cover Her Face, her first publication in 1962, James has won a multitude of awards for her creative plot tools, advanced character development and pertinent social-commentary. In 2008, she was also admitted to the International Crime Writing Hall of Fame.

This nostalgic, new read is a sweet, satisfying, English murder mystery revolving around Jane Austen's infamous lovers from Pride and Prejudice, the Bingleys and the Darcys. With layers of vocabulary, diction and style, this work is not a frivolous dessert. This novel is like a traditional English trifle, sugary, filling and flavorful. The skillfully written escapade illustrates the living quality of language, reveals the role of the modern novel in history, and serves as a gateway book between crime novels and classic fiction.

James does a wonderful job evoking the 1800's in her in her twenty-first century publication. Austen's writing mirrors and impishly exaggerates her world, eventually preserving her observations in ways she could have never imagined. Read today, a whimsical record of daily life in 1813 is alien and historical, and the language is odd, social conventions out-dated. Every modern novel will eventually become a piece of history; a motif for a writer resurrecting stories.

To capture the cadence of Austen's era, James carefully mixes period vocabulary and employs specific speech patterns, transporting readers across the marble floors of the Darcy estate. Imitating Austen, Darcy declares an event an, “invidious situation.” She also spells colorful, colourful, and calls today's prison warden a turnkey.

Invidious is seldom used today, and certainly not in daily conversation. A person does not call a situation in which we feel manipulated, invidious; we say, calculated, or set-up. This kind of careful word choice evokes a particular time and place, a reminder that modern contrivances and contentions are melting away. As readers move through history via an author's pages, the language patterns change. This shift reflects both the themes of the book as well as the changes in culture across centuries.

Spelling discrepancies like, colourful, are not only indicative of the time, but also of the English setting. Differences between American English and British English include both spelling and pronunciation. These discrepancies became largely normalized with the publication of the first American English Dictionary in 1828, further declaring independence and difference from Britain.

James effectively uses these differences in the use of vocabulary and diction to maintain a reality in which Kitty Whickham is hysterical in the foyer and two men are lost in the dark, storm-tangled forest. This period mystery, a re-make written in another era's English, highlights an important truism: the English language is a living creature, constantly evolving

Death Comes to Pemberley encourages me to reach for an old friend, my worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. I also found a copy of Innocent Blood, by P.D. James, circa 1980. Her characters are multidimensional, her story intrigues, yet doesn't terrify. I have another author to enjoy.  

A treat of a mystery, Death Comes to Pemberley,  is a connecting point between two genres: English crime novels and classic literature. It is a gateway book for fans of Austen, James, or both. I recommend a good dose of each for a well-rounded book-diet.

Happy reading.

Recently, Pulitzer Prize winner Jeffery Eugendies' third novel, The Marriage Plot, transported me to Regean-era America, where three Ivy League undergraduates are faced with the impending future; life after graduation.

A fan of Eugenides since The Virgin Suicides and a devotee of Middlesex, I almost expected to be disappointed, but this re-imagined love story is poignant, pertinent and far-reaching. 

In many ways Regan-eara America's economy and today's struggling economic circumstances are mirror images. Current college students undergo a heightened “what next” phenomena because they are not guaranteed a job after graduation.

Regardless of the state of the economy, life after college is a daunting task. College is only a petri-dish community, whether we are in 1980 or 2011, and the real world is just waiting to dash the idealists and raze the realists. Suddenly the neighbors who throw loud parties, the quarter-eating washing machines, and the vending-machine meals seem sweet and safe.

Eugenides' characters, Madeline, Leonard and Mitchell, are facing similar circumstances at the novel's onset as three Brown undergraduates on commencement day, facing an uncertain future. These characters come alive; they breathe across the pages. Their identities are undefined and their beliefs untested. Readers feel the wonder of spirituality, the danger of giving too much in romance and the breathless flush of unfolding sexuality.

The novel's title makes a direct connection with one of Eugenides' protagonists, Madeline,  whose senior thesis grapples with the roles of the “marriage plot” in modern novels. Drawing on authors like Jane Austen, Theodore Dreiser and the Brontes, Eugenides compares and contrasts the socially repressed Victorian Age to the socially sanctioned excess of the modern college experience.

Eugenides characters face mental-illness, religious disillusionment and enlightenment. They take the cliched post-graduation backpack through Europe, encountering debauchery, sex and feminism, eventually reaching convention in the post-graduation marriage.

However, unlike Austen-era works that inspired the novel's title, this story does not end with the culminating marriage, but continues after. With unflinching prose, Eugenides describes being robbed, both fiscally and of faith; his characters are humiliated and hurt, warped, and wonderfully human.

According to Madeline, the marriage plot was the driving force of the novel until 1900 when they both petered out.

The marriage plot works as a literary device only when conflict, and humor, with a wedding-cherry-topping, is readily consumed by the reading masses. According to Madeline, Dreiser ended the marriage plot with his novel, Sister Carrie, by sending the heroine, Carrie, through adultery with Drouet. From promiscuity Carrie fell to an unsanctioned marriage with Hurtwood and took a final flight to the Hollywood stage. When women began outwardly protesting the strictures of a male dominated world, the marriage plot commentary became unnecessary, uncouth, and essentially dead. 

As I read this book, I wondered whether Madeline's assertions were true; or was that Eugenides' point, that she wasn't?

Yes, a modern novel is a polaroid of current society; a frame frozen in time, one image of many lost and discarded potentials. Some modern novelists, like Jane Green or Anita Shreve, write about love inside divorce, infidelity and other untenable events; a modern woman's marriage plot. Granted, other modern novelists write political and social satire for maximum effect.

Was the original “marriage-plot” meant as an authentic plot-line, or as a good-humored poke at society?

The infamous Miss Austen ended her plots with flowers and wedding veils, even the clannish Brontes granted love to their suffering characters. However, Austen and the Brontes were not writing epistles to the gorgeous romance of their time. A modern reader might find Austen or a Bronte old-fashioned, sweet and breathtakingly romantic, in fact the stories are comedies akin to the naughty, sometimes mocking Shakespeare, whose plays were farces mimicking the cruelty and exaggerating the foolishness of high-society and social rules.

However, people read marriage-plot novels, continuing to read Austen and Bronte in schools and homes across the world. Could the marriage-plot-line really be dead if the classics, are still read, for all the high-handed, flowery language?

While hardly a classic, the already infamous Twilight saga is another a marriage-plot with attractive youth. Boy woos girl, boy declares his undead love, boy and girl live happily-ever-after, at least as the story is written. Therefore, not only are classic marriage-plots still read, but the literary device is still in employ.

Marriage creates drama; so does an engagement, a birth, promiscuity and a divorce. Life is drama, or a stage, as Shakespeare said. This enigmatic playwright from the heart of England knew that dramatic flair enhances entertainment. Video games, films and television are progressively more violent, with more desolate landscapes and heart-rending situations; these are forms of escape from reality, just like reading. As long as there is drama in entertainment, the marriage-plot won't go anywhere, even as the social landscapes inevitably change.

One unchangeable however is my vivid memory of studying the seven basic story plots in high school English. I also remember my teacher, a thirty-ish blonde in sensible heels and nylons, saying:

“ Seven plots or one, there are justifications for each. The question is, how detailed is the plot?”

Here Eugenides completely re-paints the marriage plot for today, a time when a woman's marriage is not planned between parents or necessitated by poverty, age and desperation. Men and women attend college together and enter the workforce together; women can file for divorce and men can stay at home raising children. Today a Jane Austen marriage still works for a nostalgic or  for word lovers. 

Stories are retold, in fact there is no story untold. Stories reflect life and humanity; a cycle of patterns. The marriage plot still exists, but the details are different; the shape of the pattern stays the same, but the colors change.

Welcome to Becky's Book Blog, where I share my love of books and reading with fellow bookaphiles! From bestsellers, to those who self-published; from shiny hardcovers and supple paperbacks to antiques, I enjoy them all. Reviews of new and upcoming titles, nods to nostalgia-bearing childhood favorites, musings on the future of the book--this blog is a goulash of books and book-related topics and is completely self-indulgent. This is what I really love doing; talking with people about books.

I never write in the first person; I like to develop friendships, (and readers inevitably become friends with the characters they read), slowly. Using words like, “I” and “you” create a current of false intimacy, suspending readers and characters in a haze-filled honeymoon period; a common lust of words and stories with no real truth established.

First person feels like an appropriate voice for a blog about books however, and I enjoy engaging with an imaginary thought-spar partner as I write. So here is a good piece of my truth: I believe in magic. Time travel, fairies, life if JFK was never assassinated...these all exist between the pages of books.

Books are magical; this is the truth that everything I write here is based on.  
Really, I should be grateful for the false sense of intimacy, because why else would someone care to read my opinions of books, especially after my declarations? Except I know that anyone who has let hours slip away while they read knows about the qualities of books, even if the word “magic” never touches their lips.

While hardly a literary expert, I am a devoted reader, I was converted, possibly, in the womb. My childhood was spent exploring the forests of Narnia, daydreaming in Green Gables with Anne, and playing along the banks of Plumb Creek. I befriended Betsy, Tacy and Tib in Deep Valley and imagined delicious feasts with Sara and Becky in Miss Minchin's cold attic.

My parents nurtured my love of books, and I responded by reading ravenously. I survived a sad orphanage with Jane Eyre, loved Francie Nolan's alcoholic father, and visited Lilliput with Gulliver. I adventured across New Orleans with Ignacious J. Reilly, and captured the castle with Cassie. I devoured whatever I could find about Egypt, the Pharaohs and the extensive gods, as well as anything ballet-related. In college I thrived on spirited debates recounting the symbolism of punctuation, and whether or not Kerouac needed to self-edit and female roles in literature.

Working in a bookstore, especially a charming independent like Bloomsbury, is amazing for a bookaphile like myself. The store's shelves are lined with friendly faces, like Janet Fitch's  White Oleander, mixed with exciting strangers, like Murakami's new IQ84. The best parts of my job include hearing about what other people are reading, what is coming out soon and which books received which awards. I love books and I want to share that love! So feel the love; and pass me my book.

Happy Reading!