oh, hi.

i'm glad you could make it.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

tell no one

i am moments away from a pot of coffee and a tiny book that has been hidden under the far left couch cushion for days.  i'm well aware of the freedom to read whatever i want in this country, but it's not the government i'm worried about.  it's you. 

three days ago a friend gave me a book with a post-it stuck in the front with this notice:

"Mallory- This is for you. 
Read it in the most quiet,
most secret, most hidden
place in your house.
Tell no one.
Be glad and confident."

the book has since been in the front of my mind without having read the first line.  we know the history of sacred literature, of banned books, of notes passed with "for stacey's eyes only" scrawled on the front.  with all of the literary liberty we can ask for, we have constructed a system of censorship. 

sometimes it's for our own protection.  the, "Ew, you like that stuff?" still rings in my head from when i was spotted still reading the Babysitter's Club in eighth grade.  what we read (and watch), and therefore what we recommend, is still a prominent definition of who we are.  i don't have enough fingers to account for how many times i've been caught with a guilty pleasure piece of media and quickly, entirely unprompted, spat out, "oh, my friend is making me read it."  or, for my own protection, the number of books i've read that i would never tell my mother to read because it would break her heart.  because, for some reason, she would connect the ideas in that book to what her daughter really thinks.  a recommedation is an endorsement.

but then there's this strange other side.  the sacred censorship.  it's the recommendation because you are the worthy recipient.  because this book has had a profound impact on the reader and, like a good secret, needed someone who could relate and relive what the reader has found.  it's the difference in telling a room of acquaintances your favorite book and telling that one worthy recipient that what you have found out was information meant for only them, and you are amazed it has taken the universe so long to find them.  my thoughts on this were confirmed yesterday when my non-recommended book spoke it back to me:

"I hid behind a mound of earth that had been dug up to make a grave for some old books, literature was the only religion her father practiced, when a book fell on the floor he kissed it, when he was done with a book he tried to give it away to someone who would love it, and if he couldn't find a worthy recipient, he buried it" 
 -- Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

it's a strange love of a book that we believe we would rather have dead than to belong to the wrong person.  it's a sacred text that we feel self conscious evangelizing to the masses, but that we believe that one day, one pure-of-heart may come and know the goodness and peace that the text gave to us and will also give to them. 

it's enough weight to make me more aware of the words put down on a page or in a song-- that they should perhaps contain something more than juicy fiction and a self-imposed deadline.

the coffee is done.     

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