Here is the third post in the series, written by Julia Fishwick, a friend from Twitter, Tumblr and as of last fall, real life. She is an amazing friend, a lover of good books, good television and good people. Do yourself a big favor and check out her blog over at Tumblr. 

Also: make sure you get in on the commenting. What books have inspired you and the person you want to be?

Thanks!

- Sarah

A Look at My Favorite Literature

Guest poster: Julia Fishwick (check her out on Tumblr!)

When Sarah asked me if I would like to contribute to her series, I was simultaneously intimidated and delighted. I had no idea where to begin! But …I also cannot resist talking about literature any chance I get. 

The books I have read throughout my life have helped define who I am by clarifying who I want to be, as well as who I do not want to be. I grew up reading all the books I could get my hands on, and yet, I still feel tremendously inadequate as a reader, and every day my to-read list grows!

Part of the reason I have not read all of the books I would like to have read by now is my love of re-reading. When I fall in love with a story, I want it near me all the time. I want to be able to pick it up at a moment’s notice and fall back into the familiar tale. My favorite stories are at once a well-worn security blanket, comfort food, a favorite sweater I curl up with when I’m feeling unwell, a hug from a friend, and a reminder of who I am.

I have a list of comfort stories, which consists books as well as television and movies, filed somewhere in my mind. These are the stories that I turn to when I need cheering up, or when I need an emotional outlet.

I read a lot in my youth, as I said. When recommended a book to read, I always asked if it had a happy ending before I would commit to reading it, until I was able to understand what I wanted well enough to phrase my request a little more accurately and ask if it had a satisfying ending. What really mattered to me was that, if I fell in love with the characters, I wouldn’t be left wondering and worrying about what might or might not have happened to them. (This is still important to me. That unfinished feeling will nag at me for weeks, or longer… and while I don’t seek out books that will break my heart, a happy ending is not a requirement, but a conclusion that wraps things up effectively is definitely necessary in my reading material.)

I fell deeply in love with the L.M. Montgomery books (not just the Anne series, though I love it with all of my heart and have always lamented the shyness and predictability that made me feel I was more of a Diana Barry than an Anne Shirley), Girl of the Limberlost, and Jane Eyre. In early middle school, I became acquainted with science fiction, reading first the Tripod series by John Christopher, then the Hobbit, and Ray Bradbury’s Illustrated Man… followed by everything I could find by Bradbury. But more than anything, I loved Jane Austen’s stories.

I’d read most of the Austen books before I was 14, and I loved that there was a female character I could relate to in every story. It wasn’t always the main character, of course… as shy, insecure, and passive as I was, I wasn’t the type of personality that people would write stories about… and, much like with the Anne of Green Gables series, I often identified my more familiar traits in the character of a friend or sister rather than in the heroine. But that never matters in the Jane Austen books, because she pairs her characters with the people who suit them best, and they could not be happy any other way. Of course, not all of them were happy in the end, but I felt they couldn’t have been happier in any case. Through these stories, I found hope that I would be able to spend my life with the people who suit me best, as her characters did.

 I found myself at a loss for what to write when contemplating this post, because I did not think I could put into words what stories have meant to me. There is still so much to say, and I am not convinced I have done justice to what I have tried to say here, but that’s okay.

I have long had a suspicion that reading so much has led me to feel insecure about my own writing, I have never been very competitive, and so instead of saying, “I could do that!” I often think I could never express myself as well as the authors I love have done.  Even so, I wouldn’t trade for the world the experiences I have had through stories, or the comfort they have given me.

Stories are so subjective, their meanings and impact will change depending on what is going on for me when I’m reading them. I have never liked trying to summarize things for people when I tell them about a story I love. I know that the things I noticed about it, or the significance those things (or the story itself) held for me will not be the same for everyone, and I worry that telling my version will influence how they watch or read the story themselves and what they get out of it. This aversion to summarizing (or even filling in gaps) when someone misses part of a TV show, drives people crazy, unfortunately… so I have resigned myself to doing recaps when we can’t just rewind and let them see the story for themselves, but I tell them to read the book themselves so I don’t have to fill them in. 

I still worry that they are missing out on things that would be meaningful for them if they watched it without my influence. 

In any case, I hope I continue to re-read my favorite stories all of my life. They feel like coming home, but I instead of getting sick of them, I always notice something new, or experience things differently nearly every time I read a story.