Stop and think about how your November unfurled. Any surprises come your way? Any twists in the autumn fate you weren’t expecting? Of course. None of us can plan our days down to single minutes and play-by-plays, no matter how we want to. What I’m about to write, what I’m about to relay pertaining to my November and its reading list, is going to shock, especially those who know my literary tastes.
I have become quite taken with a series of “vampire” novels, and with a non-fiction book, “Merle’s Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog,” by Ted Kerasote.
I know. How could this be? How did I get wrapped up in the trends of vampire novels and memoirs of men and their canine companions? I avoid trends, I do. Or at least I try.
I attempted to stay away from Stephenie Myer and her ever-popular teen vampire series “Twilight.” (The movie version of this book hit theatres with its sharp teeth Nov. 22.) I rolled my eyes every time I saw a poster touting one of these four books, or the movie. Then a quiet co-worker suggested I pick up the first one.
“I can’t,” I told her with some pretension.
“Oh, why?” she asked.
“Because I can’t read vampire books. I tried Anne Rice, and the whole thing, I just don’t get it. Plus, I don’t like to think of the blood and guts and stuff.”
“Oh, no,” she began to correct me, “there’s no blood in these books.”
“Um, vampires survive on blood, right? So even if it’s not written in gory detail, it has to be implied.”
But my curiosity was piqued and I Googled the series. I read an excerpt. After finishing “Independence Day,” by Richard Ford, “I See You Everywhere,” by Julia Glass and “Home,” by Marilyn Robinson, perhaps I was ready for something lighter. I picked up the first book, “Twilight,” (warning: the mass market paperback has a frightening, movie-poster jacket. I covered it with a Macy’s advertisement), and couldn’t put it down. I couldn’t help but think as I was reading about how fun the character development was. Why didn’t they have anything like this when I was in high school? I would much rather have read these pages than the Sweet Valley High series about the superficial folly of long-haired, blond female twins.
The Twilight series, four books thus far, circles around Bella and Edward. Bella is a clumsy 17-year-old smarty-pants who recently moved to the Pacific Northwest. Edward is a 17-going-on-100-year-old vampire who is intrigued with her. They have more conversation than anything else, which also adds allure to the unfolding romance.
The family of vampires is both quirky and wise and often makes the humans appear ridiculous and provincial. And, sometimes, it’s the other way around. See how fun? Supernatural creatures make fun of humans and humans do the same. Everyone wins.
“Twilight” is amusing no matter where your tastes fall on the literary scale. And Edward, vampire protagonist, despite my disdain and contempt for his ilk, is dreamy.
However much entertainment I received from these books, I felt guilty. Luckily, in my post office box a few days later, came an unexpected surprise from the Pacific Northwest.
“Merle’s Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog,” has been on the best-seller lists for a while. I’ve seen it before and passed it by. The trend of owner and canine relationships, which began with “Marley and Me,” and continues with such books as “The Art of Racing in the Rain,” by Garth Stein (which was chosen this summer by Starbucks as the featured selection sold in all stores), is overdone for my liking. Not that these reads lack literary merit; not that I don’t enjoy the subject. I have a dog, or she has me, and our life is an adventure. But there is an obvious common theme. Trends in literature are no different than trends on the runway or trends in the automobile industry. Fuchsia and yellow footless tights, bell-sleeved sweaters, Bel Airs, P.T. Cruisers. You see where I’m going.
But because “Merle’s Door” was sent to me by someone whose intelligence and reading tastes I trust, I opened and began reading.
This book is charming and insightful, sprinkled with scientific fact. One can’t help but read these 361 pages with a tender eye.
Take page 112, for example: “And thus, like many mates, each in our own thoughts, only touching, and in silence, we ended the day.”
Page 144 will make you exhale a small, sweet sigh as well.
Kerosote is a great writer, twisting poetic phrases in between Darwinian and Pavlovian theories. The research he pored through was extensive, and it shows in the 17 pages of endnotes.
But I think, despite all the research, despite the subject and writing, it’s his observation that grabs me. For anyone to observe the world from not only their perspective but their dog’s as well is no small feat. He admits he could be anthropomorphizing. But when observation is this keen; when one hones in on a small part of the world so closely that it becomes all-encompassing, the observations read as fact, and the hypotheses seem so real they can be touched, seen, felt, — well, if the writing is good the senses are engaged. And this writing, my friends, is good.
I had no choice but to turn the pages and admit I was hooked. Judge how you will; roll your eyes if you must. Three weeks ago I would have been doing the same thing and would have said, “Pick up a vampire novel or a dog memoir? No, thanks. I’d rather read a cereal box.”
Golden Grahams is an unexpectedly good source of whole grain, by the way.
Cheers, best and be good.
Shannon Calder is a freelance writer, consultant, inspiration specialist and book reviewer. To read more go to postcardscalder.blogspot.com.
