I read fiction for entertainment. While I have forgotten much of what happened in my life before the age of ten, what I do remember is strangely tied to books. In first grade, we would sit around a tilted table with Dick and Jane and these massive headphones listening to a man read us the story while we followed the oversized words. In third grade, my school opened the new classrooms above the cafeteria and the most exciting part to me was that we were within eyesight of the new library. I remember running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves (there couldn’t have been more than a thousand books in the library but I wanted to read them all). I would go straight for the biographies – I started at Abigail Adams and read until I hit George Washington. In the summers, my mom (a teacher) would take us each week to the small public library by the park and we would load up on all the books they’d let us check out. The magic number was seven so I would find the biggest books I could to make them last longer. A Wrinkle in Time was my favorite. Judy Blume was in there somewhere. Encyclopedia Brown. Watership Down. Bridge to Terebithia.
I remember junior high by the books I was not allowed to read but of course read anyway: Amityville Horror, Flowers in the Attic, Slaughterhouse Five, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Lady Chatterly’s Lover. Ghost Story. Most of these were passed around like the illicit booty they were: in a brown paper bag.
But, outside of a few true crime-type novels or books “based on real life events,” I have not gone out of my way to read non-fiction much. When I do, I want to read about people like me, every day people in unusual situations. Unbroken is one of my favorites. Reading about the rich and famous usually doesn’t interest me, not even if they started out as every day people. I will confess to binge-watching The Crown recently, however, but it’s not a book so it doesn’t count. Much.
My most recent foray into the world of biographies is Killing Kennedy. It was interesting enough for a story we probably all know front to back without reading more about it. There were small things I didn’t know, things I can’t say I cared about knowing (he swam naked daily). Like most rich and powerful men (people?) he was not a nice person much of the time. I’m sure it’s against the rules to say that but I didn’t say it first so blame the other guy.
I think my biggest takeaway from the book was the question “how did the author know this?” O”Reilley is a meticulous reporter-type. I trust if he said something he can back it up. But there were things he made mention of – thoughts in Oswald’s head, for instance – and I want to know how he discovered that piece of information. Or is it a leap based on other knowns?
The craft of writing is creating characters the reader will care about and I guess that’s true whether the characters are fictional or non-fictional. I wanted to know Oswald’s motivation more than I wanted to know about Kennedy but I chalk that up to knowing more about Kennedy than Oswald.
Reading has taken me on the best vacations, stirred deep emotions, teased me out of my shell. Now, it seems, it’s pulling me further out of my comfort zone. I’m not giving up on fiction but I will find more non-fiction to read. Send along your suggestions on good books.