Story Sunday #2
World Book and Copyright Day, and a bookish essay
Hi and welcome to the Storyteller!
Hope everyone’s keeping well. After a bruising April as a Gooner (though there have been wonderfully bright spots like the women coming back against Wolfsburg in the semifinals of the Champions League despite being 2 goals and a few key injuries out, and being 3000 tickets away from selling out the Emirates for the home leg; and yes, the comeback that shouldn’t have been one in the first place against last-place Southampton), I’m wary but quietly hopeful of May.
Since a certain billionaire owner doesn’t allow tweets to be embedded anymore, you’re going to have to click on this link if you’re interested in my thoughts on this past month. I didn’t have it in me for a whole article, so this thread is what you get instead.
Now, moving on bookish things. Did you know that last Sunday was World Book and Copyright Day, also known as Sant Jordi/San Jorge/St. George’s? If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll have seen me post about it. For those of you who don’t and/or missed it, I’m sharing it below.
✨ Bon Sant Jordi! ✨
Did you know that UNESCO adopted April 23, 1923 as the World Book and Copyright Day in 1995 because of a Catalonian tradition from the 1920s? When I lived in Igualada, I got the chance to celebrate Sant Jordi on this day, where you exchange roses and books with loved ones.
Exchanging roses on St. George's Day was common practice, but it was writer and publisher Vicente Cavel who decided to honour the passing of Miguel de Cervantes and William Shakespeare (both on April 23, 1616) with this exchange of books.
What do books mean to you? If I think about it too much, I won't write anything at all because it's everything, and how do you encompass everything?
Maybe we can start with something. With safe spaces. Lights in the darkness. Warm hugs and hands to hold. Communal belongingness and fellowship. With found families within words and pages, and outside of them. With courage and adventure and travel. Unexpected but destined friendships and connective tissue that stretches across this world and others.
Anne Lamott says so eloquently that books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship are and offer us the same within their pages; they show us how to live and die. Reading and writing decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul.
As @india.holton's Alice Dearlove says, "Reading is not a hobby, it is a way of life."
What's your bookish story?
(If you want to see photos of bookstores I’ve visited across the world, click through to the actual post below.)
Story Sunday #2
Since we’re sharing bookish stories, I thought this one was apt for the second edition of Story Sunday.
BOOKS, DAD, AND JACK REACHER
(Originally published on my now-archived blog, and written in early 2019)
One late afternoon I was at a bookstore in Birmingham, England, clutching Lee Child’s thriller Night School, featuring long-running character Jack Reacher. I was there just for the signing, with an awards ceremony awaiting me that evening in Manchester, a two-hour train ride away. But how often can a girl surprise her father with a birthday dedication from a favorite author?
Until I was about six years old, my father, a surgeon, made sure he was home every night to read to me and my little sister. He adapted the comic characters Asterix and Obelix for our enjoyment and performed the stories, aware that we would appreciate their subtleties only later. It was my first experience with the power of storytelling.
As a 10 year old, visiting Crossword bookstore in South Mumbai became a biannual tradition for me, my sister, and Dad. We would return with bags of books and retire to different corners of the living room. My father doesn’t go out of his way to talk; instead, he prefers being lost in a book or his music, while simultaneously being around “his people.” Reading became the perfect way for us to spend some quality time together. Not to mention discussing the books later. It’s when he’s at his most talkative.
Today, studying in Boston, I’m the farthest I’ve been from home, and there are overwhelming days and moments. Talking to my parents has always helped, but it’s not until recently that I’ve realised how different the interactions are. I’ll tell Mum everything in detail, and she’ll talk me through it, while Dad’s a mostly silent but fully attentive and supportive presence in the background. But there is always that moment when Mum hands Dad the phone. That’s our signal to shut out the world for one that is just us and the books we’re reading.
This isn’t to say that we don’t talk otherwise; just that often, we relate to life through books, and his advice will include literary references that only we will get.
The Lord of the Rings was how we first navigated the topics of inevitable loss, goodbyes, hard choices, the shades of grey, and the wisdom of hope. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes was my first adult introduction to logic, deduction, and keeping a cool intellect under pressure. Bertie Wooster & Jeeves and Summer Moonshine by Sir PG Wodehouse taught me the importance of seeing the light in the worst of situations, and even now when I’m down, Dad will read a passage from his books, whether in person or on Skype. Lee Child whets our need for vicarious adventure where good always triumphs, while, lately, teaching us that even our heroes are mortal and fallible. Recently, I finally entered a world that effortlessly combines it all—the Discworld—and Dad’s thrilled to share another beloved series with me that has shaped him and the way he looks at life. Falling in love with his favorites on my own terms has been a bonus.
When he read to my sister and me all those years ago, we didn’t know how big this love for books would be for us, between us. We didn’t know that I would study abroad or live in four countries; that book by book, author by author, I would find my place and my voice; that I would be a writer. Without books, most of our conversations might be me talking and him listening, something that the disconnect of modern technology could easily have worsened. Instead, our love for words continues to comfort and bind us across the seas.
As I stand across the table from Lee Child in Birmingham and spell out Dad’s name (“Anand” aptly means happiness), it feels like the culmination of a part of our story and the beginning of another (with the next Reacher, of course).
What’s your bookish story? I’m going to be starting a Storyteller subscriber chat later in the week and this is going to be the first question, so would love to hear everyone’s stories. Stay tuned!
In the meantime, if you haven’t yet checked out my interview with India Holton from last Sunday, now’s your chance! It’s waiting for you here.
As always, please feel free send in recommendations—books, movie, TV shows, authors to interview, ideas of what you’d like me to write on, rants/ramblings/excited monologues, GIFs and memes (especially them) and more. Just drop me a line and turn this into a conversation, even if just to say hi and let me know what you thought of the latest issue :) Or share this with someone you think might enjoy it.
Take care and see you next week!
Anu
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You can find me on Twitter at @AnuNande (follow for all the football chatter) and on Instagram at @booksinboston.
Thanks Anushree, what a lovely reminder about St Jordi day and tradition of giving a book and a rose! I'd forgotten completely about that, but also having lived in BCN I've been exchanging those very gifts. Nice memories.
Excellent contemplation on the importance of books and reading (and lovely tales of "Dad" too). Incredible way to see through the eyes of others and gain empathy and experience without leaving the sofa :) Great stuff.