When I was in college, my grandparents sent me an adorable “thinking of you” card with a cartoon cat in the clouds. Attached with perforation to this card was a bookmark with the same cartoon cat floating on a book, that said: “Travel by book… and never lose your place.” It was so sweet and it’s a bookmark that I still have and use. It’s my go-to bookmark when I’m reading a book that has an enormously strong sense of place or a book that describes traveling and is a sentimental reminder of how transportive books can be.

Traveling by book is not a new phenomenon, nor is it one that is particularly original, but it is a phenomenon that most readers can relate to. Anyone who has picked up a book and been completely transported into that book’s world (whether the places are real or simply a figment of the author’s -and thereby reader’s- imagination) has been able to travel by book. In the pages of a book, entire worlds can open up, whether it’s Wonderland, a hometown, Paris or the far-reaches of the globe. While you may not be able to come home with a camera full of pictures and a suitcase full of souvenirs, armchair traveling with a book does manage to leave you with memories and images of a place that can stay with you for a lifetime. Such is the power of words when combined with our supple imaginations. Plus, you don’t have to worry about navigating security checkpoints or what to pack.

But sometimes, traveling with a book can be far more literal, with much more tangible rewards. My new favorite example of people finding their way with books is the mayor of the Romanian city of Cluj-Napoca, in conjunction with literacy advocate Victor Miron, allowing any person who was reading a book to ride the public buses for free during a certain weekend in June. They called the campaign: Travel by Book. Miron hopes to make this a regular event in Cluj-Napoca, where apparently books can really take you places!

Travel writing was particularly popular during the Victorian age when writers like Charles Dickens, D.H. Lawrence, William Dean Howells and Henry James wrote of their adventures abroad, but it has become it’s own genre now (and a personal favorite of mine) with anthologies published annually, edited by leaders in the field. Writers of all types, poets, essayists, memoirists and fiction writers can all take us on a journey without ever leaving the comfort of our bed, chair or whatever other favorite place you have to read.

If you missed out on being able to get away during the Labor Day weekend, or if all of this travel talk has given you a case of wanderlust, here is a tiny sampling of the many books that can take you places:

Bella Tuscany by Frances Mayes

The queen of Tuscany memoirs has created quite the franchise for herself, starting with Under the Tuscan Sun, but the popularity of her books is with good reason. Not only are they beautifully written (she’s also a poet), but the reader is immediately transported not only to Tuscany, but in the midst of Tuscan life, complete with quirky residents and idiosyncracies of living abroad through an American’s eyes. This one book in particular, has one of the strongest senses of place because Mayes had already fixed up the house which took up most of her first memoir, and allows herself to delve into Tuscan life.

The Lost City of Z by David Grann

This book was surprisingly gripping as a middle-aged man goes in search of the Lost City of Z and answers to what happened to the explorer obsessed with finding it, Percy Fawcett. Hardly the first to seek an explanation of Fawcett’s disappearance, Grann gives the reader not only a solid background into the history of the mythical city, he also takes the reader alongside him as he plunges into the depths of one of the least explored areas on earth. I defy you not to be swatting at imagined mosquitoes during this read!

Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck

This book was delightful and gives the sense of road-tripping without having to fill up the gas tank of a Winnebago. Author Steinbeck takes his blue standard poodle, Charley with him across the US, visiting places and getting a sense of the locals wherever he goes. While it’s been disputed that much of this book actually happened in Steinbeck’s imagination and not real life (apparently he spent more time with the dog than with any locals), for me it doesn’t detract from the book’s charm. Whether or not the events actually happened isn’t really the point; it’s the journey, even if that journey was mostly in the author’s mind, especially since readers are journeying with him in their minds.

His Illegal Self by Peter Carey

Speaking of fiction, this book has a terrific sense of place even the  as the main character, Che, is thrust from relatively isolated privilege in New York into the depths of tropical Australia, living on the outskirts of the law. Che has to come to terms not only with his location but his place in life. The ending, I have on very good authority, is truly amazing.

Drood by Dan Simmons

I forgot to mention this book in my Book Hangovers post, but I think it fits  into the “transportive fiction” category as well. (Actually, it fits a LOT of categories, including unreliable narrators because it’s just. that. good). Drood has earned its place here, however, because this is an incredibly well-researched account of Victorian London, proving that a good author can not only transport you into a place, but to a time as well. Plowing through this book you will smell the sewers of the seedy London slums, the gardens of Charles Dickens’ house, the fireplace in Wilke Collins’s apartment, the pubs of high-brow society and so much more. This book took me into London so completely that I honestly thought the author was English (he’s not; he’s American). Don’t let the bulk of this tome frighten you off; there’s a lot here to pick you up and take you away without even realizing how much you’ve read.

Till next week, dear readers, I hope whatever you read, regardless of what it is, takes you someplace you enjoy!

Book Hangover: (Buk Hang-ov-ur)

a) the inability to start a new book because you are still living in the last book’s world.

b) When you’ve finished a book and you suddenly return to the real world, but the real world feels incomplete or surreal because you’re still living in the world of the book.  (sources: urban dictionary and funsubstance.com)

While many people have their own cure for a regular hangover (a particularly famous one here) that may or may not work to varying degrees, a book hangover is a bit trickier. I’m not aware of any particular cure for a book hangover as everyone seems to have their own way to break it. Some dive right into another book.  Some wander around aimlessly staring at their bookshelves wondering if anything else will measure up to what was just finished. Some watch TV to try and get their mind off of it (bonus points for watching the show or movie made from the book you finished- sometimes comparing the two is enough to rally). Some prefer to wallow in the book hangover and ruminate indefinitely, considering the book hangover more of a spell that the book has cast that they’re afraid to break. Everyone has their own method, sometimes the same person might have several methods depending on the book.

While there is no “official” cure (and some who don’t want to be cured), if you are a reader who has experienced a book hangover, no doubt you will eventually venture into another book at some point. Maybe you’ll get that feeling again, maybe you won’t. That’s all part of the excitement of reading life. But regardless how to choose to move on from your book hangover, be gentle, both on yourself and the new book you read. Ease into it and know that even if this new book doesn’t immerse you in the story, it could still be a great, fun read.

Here are a few book hangover-inducing selections that may get you more familiarized with this feeling :

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

OK, I’m going to get the huge, pink, British elephant out in the open first.  For those of you sick of us singing the praises of this book, feel free to move onto the selections below. For those of you still reading: this book hit me hard. Despite having a solid outline of what was going to happen from watching the mini-series, I was still blown away. This was the type of book that kept me so engrossed I wanted to keep pushing forward, but also one that I wanted to take my time with and savor. Naturally, coming to the end was a bit of a heartache and despite having finished it a month ago and read a couple of books since, I’m still not sure I’m completely over it.

The House We Grew Up In by Lisa Jewell

Patron recommendation! A wonderful patron here at the South came up to me, told me how she was still thinking about this book and proceeded to describe the symptoms of what I was able to diagnose as a book hangover. In my mind, that makes it immensely worthy of putting on this list.

Cannonbridge by Jonathan Barnes

This one caught me by surprise. The book read incredibly quickly, so when I was done, I wasn’t quite sure what happened. It wasn’t a life-altering book, but it was an extremely engaging one, particularly for those who like literary references in their fiction (Arthur Conan Doyle, Mary Wollstonecraft and Edgar Allen Poe, among others all make cameos). The ending was a surprise and stuck with me for quite a while after I’d closed the covers.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith

This book had a profound effect on me and sucked me deep into the story and the emotions the characters felt. This was another tough book to come out of and led to many wanderings among bookshelves (both at home and at the library) trying to figure out what to do with my reading self next.

In Search of the Perfect Loaf by Samuel Fromartz

I’ve added this book, in part, because I want to demonstrate how it isn’t just fiction books that can give someone a book hangover. This book made me want to buy a house with a big backyard specifically so that I could install a brick bread oven there. I had all sorts of resolutions about following a path similar to the author’s. Very little came from them, but for the week after reading this book, I was a touch obsessed with learning more about making good bread (or at least buying better bread), so not only did I get a book hangover from this book, but I got a bit of a starch hangover as well!

I’ve somewhat conspicuously left out summaries of the books I listed this week, mostly because, even though I know not everyone will get a book hangover from these selections, if others do, they deserve to arrive at it on their own terms. Books can reach people in myriad ways and I’m not about to dictate what the plot will mean to them or how they might interpret the subject.

Till next week, dear readers, I wish you good reads and safe times over the long weekend!

Whenever someone discusses Fairy Tales, this is the quote that always jumps to my mind.  Last weekend, I read an interesting post on Book Riot that got me thinking about it again. In the post, Morgan Jerkins talked about sanitizing fairy tales and how vehicles like Disney and publishers often “clean up” a story to make it more palatable to young children. For example, there’s nothing in the Disney movies about how Cinderella’s stepsisters mutilated their feet to try and fit into the slipper or how the little mermaid was asked to murder her paramour in order to keep her legs when her original bargain with the sea witch didn’t pan out. When Jerkins talks about omissions like these, she mentions that the original stories weren’t designed to entertain children, but simultaneously seems to look down up on the Disney-fied versions that most kids are exposed to.

As someone who grew up with access to both the Disney versions of fairy tales and a collection of the less-sanitized versions I have to say that the childhood me vastly preferred the Disney versions. The original fairy tales were, no pun intended, quite grim, but while I think I was profoundly altered for having read them (as is any reader who reads something powerful or memorable), I don’t remember them horrifying me. I wasn’t terrified of cannibalism after the witch tried to cook Hansel and Gretel for dinner and I still loved wolves even after the huntsman cut one open to rescue Little Red Riding Hood and her grandma. I particularly remember reading Andersen’s The Little Mermaid well before the movie first came out. The imagery of the mermaid being turned into seafoam when her deals with the witch went awry was a powerful one that has stuck with me even into adulthood, but not one that overshadowed my enjoyment of watching Ariel and Sebastian sing underwater.

Knowing fairy tales in any form can greatly enrich not only a reading experience, but the imaginative experience as well. Referring to Scheherazade may conjure up any or all of the stories from the 1001 Arabian Nights or it can refer to themes of magic and female heroism under pressure. Mentioning Cinderella may or may not make someone think of talking (and singing) mice, but it will most likely make them think of themes family discord. Snow White may or may not have a poisoned apple or glass coffin, but the themes of jealousy and innocence remain. As long as these tales remain embedded in our culture, the ideas that they bring forth in the mere mention of these stories can bring out new levels of understanding in any text. We owe it not only to our children, but to ourselves to perpetuate these stories in some form or other, if only to know what some other writers are talking about.

When I hear people talking about fairy tales, it’s often an either/or situation. One argument vilifies the sanitized versions for being too rosy or creating unrealistic expectations, particularly in young girls and believes that the original fairy tales will be lost,  to our culture’s detriment. The opposite argument feels the original stories are too violent or disturbing for young readers and children should be exposed to more uplifting tales. Each argument has its merits and detractions. As a librarian, what I’m most concerned with is allowing people to express themselves in whatever way they choose. If someone interprets a story in a particular way, we should recognize and respect that as an artistic choice.

Here are some books (including a few personal favorites) that not only refer to fairy tales, but are the authors’ artistic expressions and explorations of them, developing surprising stories for some favorite characters and defying expectations of what these stories can be.

While Beauty Slept by Elizabeth Blackwell

In this hauntingly beautiful retelling of Sleeping Beauty puts a much more realistic spin on the tale. In a medieval town plagued by smallpox, a young maid learns the trials and tribulations of life at large while she is fascinated by the courtesans she serves and their seemingly charmed lives inside the grand palace walls. After hearing her great-granddaughter recounting the tale of a young princess in a tower being awakened by a handsome prince, the aging maid’s memories of her young life return, and she tells the real story behind the legend, one that sheds light on what it truly takes to achieve “happily ever after.”

The Witch and other Tales Re-told by Jean Thompson

This collection of stories has been on my to-read list for a while, precisely because it seeks to illuminate alternate versions of commonly told, recognizable fairy tales. Focusing on the original tales’ abilities to capture our deeper, more primal fears, Thompson explores modern tales that “capture the magic and horror in everyday life” (goodreads.com)

Cinder by Marissa Meyer

This is the first in Meyer’s popular Lunar Chronicles series. It may not be for everyone, but this book is certainly a fascinating re-imagining on a traditional fairy tale. Cinder is a cyborg with a mysterious past and a stepmother who blames Cinder for her stepsister’s illness, but she may also be the only one who can save the humans and androids from a deadly plague that’s ravaging the earth. If you can’t get enough of the Lunar Chronicles, Meyer is obliging with more in the series continuing with Scarlett, then Cress and ending it with Winter, which will be out in November.

The Wild Girl by Kate Forsyth

This new title from Forsyth tells of a young woman, Dortchen Wild, in love. The person she’s in love with just happens to be Wilhelm Grimm. Amidst the tyranny of Napoleon Buonaparte who is trying to take over Europe, including the small German town in which she and Grimm live, Dortchen will tell Grimm wild tales that he’ll ultimately collect and will fuel his and his brother’s book of collected tales. This isn’t Forsyth’s first take on fairy tales, either. If you enjoy this book, you may also want to take a look at her take on Rapunzel in Bitter Greens.

Mirror, Mirror by Gregory Maguire

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention at least one book by Gregory Maguire here, as he’s made a delightful career out of re-telling well-known tales, as he did in Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. In this novel Maguire weaves historical details and actual locations into fairy tales, while retaining some of the magic that the original tales possess. Set in the rolling hills of Tuscany during the height of the de Medici reign, a young Bianca de Nevada must seek refuge, and possibly salvation in the forests, away from her once-happy home. The lush, poetic prose in this book only makes me even more eager to see what his take will be on Wonderland in After Alice, which is due out this October.

Till next week, dear readers, I leave you in the capable hands of Albert Einstein:

This week, I read an article in which an author described how, after submitting a novel to agents and publishers and receiving discouraging responses from the few who responded to her at all, she decided to submit her novel to the same group of people posing as a male author. She received several responses right away (this was on a weekend, mind you) from people who wanted to set up a meeting immediately and discuss her manuscript. Sadly, I should have been more surprised than I was when I read this. While this is just one woman’s experience, I fear that it still displays a bias that is prevalent in literature today. Men still dominate the publishing world, despite strides that have been made by women over the last 60 years or so.

Clearly this is not a new struggle. The Bronte sisters are among a host of pre-20th Century authors who published under male pseudonyms hoping that it would open doors for them. It’s easy to think that this issue is an outdated problem associated with the misogyny of a less-illuminated, pre-women’s movement time. However, male or androgynous pen names are still being used in modern literature. For example, despite what ultimately became a smashing success that altered the landscape of children’s literature, J.K. Rowling’s publishers asked her to change her first name to something more neutral so that it would attract more “boy readers.”

The problem extends beyond the perception of women writers, though. Sources are beginning to notice that men are published more often than women and are reviewed (which to many means, taken more seriously) more often than women. It is precisely this bias that incited author Kamila Shamsie to put out a call for publishers to spend a year (2018) publishing only women authors as a way to rectify the imbalance in the world of literature. So far, only one publisher has taken up the cause. What’s been called Shamsie’s “provocation” has been a way to at least call attention to the existing gaps.

This is not to say that men don’t write amazing things or that male authors don’t have any further relevance in contemporary literature.  Both men and women comprise my list of favorite authors (though in light of what I’m writing here, I feel compelled to admit that there are more men than women on that list) and men are still publishing great things. As a society seeking gender equality, beginning a conversation in which inequalities are exposed can only help us achieve what we’re striving for. Nothing can change if no one discusses the problem and everyone assumes things are as they should be. We shouldn’t stop reading what men write if we enjoy it, but discovering what women have to offer can’t hurt either.

Here are some suggestions by women authors that are worth exploring:

The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert

Known largely for Eat, Pray, Love, Gilbert is quite possibly more honest, lyrical and exciting in her fiction than her non-fiction or even her TED talks. This story follows Alma Whittaker a 19th-Century naturalist as she searches for truth and meaning and science in the study of plant life. As she gains more experience, she publishes her work and blazing a trail into the burgeoning thoughts of evolutionary theory. While she falls in love, is caretaker for her father and has overseas adventures throughout the novel it is Alma’s meticulousness in observation and her ability to forge her own path that makes this such a compelling read. Gilbert has researched and created a richly detailed, highly complex historical figure with whom the reader can truly sympathize precisely because she is so real on the page.

The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

This is a book that could easily get dismissed as a work of the oft-vilified term “chick-lit.” In all honesty, I was fully prepared not to like it. Diffenbaugh proved me very wrong. This is a layered work, in part following the exploits of a newly-emancipated foster child, Victoria Jones as she is left to face life on her own and also exploring the troubled past that has led her to where she is now. Diffenbaugh explores the themes of love, heartache and the qualities that truly make a family with the underlying current of the language of flowers, the Victorian ideal of meaning for specific blooms. The story is heartbreaking, touching and completely engrossing.

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

Lahiri is immensely talented in portraying the displacement of a cultural outsider and the struggle of an immigrant to fit into a new world of ideals and customs. Her Pulitzer-Prize winning Interpreter of Maladies displayed this talent in short form. In The Namesake, her first novel, she explores these themes amidst family dynamics as the Gangulis, struggle to balance their new life with their cultural Bengali traditions and settling into their new home. Their son, Gogol, struggles with his own identity, reflecting what his parents and traditions expect versus what he, himself wishes to become and on his own terms. This book is beautifully written and deeply engaging.

Bossypants by Tina Fey

This isn’t a work of fiction, and I’ve mentioned it on the blog before, but amidst her reflections on her own life, Fey espouses many of the same feminist thoughts and notes similar traits in the comedy world that sparked the debate in gender inequality in publishing. the writing is smart, funny with a healthy dose of sarcasm, making her entry into the gender inequality conversation delightfully palatable.

Daughter of Fortune by Isabelle Allende

Part of what’s so great about the Classics book group at the Main library, is that the group is open to reconsidering what is and is not a “classic.” This was a selection last fall and while it is not technically a classic in the traditional sense of the term, many felt that it was bound to become one. Allende writes soulfully about longing and loss, coming of age and coming into one’s own and somehow manages to frame these themes in a globe-trotting historical adventure that is both riveting and heartwarming from cover to cover.

Bonus picks:

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

I know, I know. This book and its ensuing miniseries have already been discussed by both me and the Library’s own version of a Bloggess (who has been faithfully posting despite her London locale). I will not further entrench all of you into the delights of the magical alternate-England that Clarke has created. Nor will I wax on about her engaging, highly-readable prose that captures the reader upon the first syllable. Instead, I offer this book solely as evidence for the naysayers who claim that women can’t write engaging, complex, well thought-out male characters. Magic aside, Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell are as realistic on the page as any flesh-and-blood man.

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez

The Library’s community Big Read this September happens to be written by a woman and this book is a wonderful example of the transformative power of prose. Alvarez treats the story of the Mirabal sisters with sensitivity, but not kid gloves, shedding light on a dark period of Dominican history that I’m sure many would rather keep hidden (hence the book’s status as a Banned Book). Who knows, maybe she’ll have something to say about the status of women in the literary world when she Skypes with the Library on September 2nd.

That’s this week’s dispatch from the South Branch. Till we meet again next Saturday, keep on reading whatever you enjoy, but consider reading one of these or other woman authors and have your own part in the conversation.