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Turning pages, and writing your own
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The magical mystery of books
One of my social media feeds brought me a welcome holiday note from a writer friend in Finland. (Thank you, Hanna Jensen.) That got me thinking about the Christmas Eve tradition of exchanging books, and settling in to read. And that sent me to Google to check where that tradition was rooted, thinking maybe it was Finland, which I find a most delightful place — and not just because it put a 34-year-old woman in charge of the government.
Good thing I checked. The holiday book bonanza is usually credited to Iceland, where it's called jolabokaflod, a practice that reportedly originated in World War II, when paper was one of the few things that wasn't rationed, so people gave books as gifts. But books are not just a one-night wonder there. According to the same Country Living piece that has me trying to pronounce jolabokaflod, there's this: "... a 2013 study conducted at Bifröst University found that 50 percent of Icelanders read more than eight books a year and 93 percent read at least one."
Of course, that sent me even further into the Google-maze, because I was curious how Americans did on that score. Most stories cited a recent study that the mean average for Americans is 12 books a year, but that's inflated by those of us who devour books like a runaway wildfire; the typical (median) rate is four books a year. And a somewhat discouraging stat, as many one in four Americans hadn't read a single book in a 12-month span.
Not a single book.
I think about that not in judgment, but with sadness. Books have been a nonstop joy in my life. (Thank you, Mom.) I honestly don't remember not being able to read, so have no memories of life without a book at hand. Once, on an extended assignment to Antarctica, we traveled with severe weight restrictions; I ditched a duffle of extra gear to take 18 books. Among them: the Kristin Lavransdattar trilogy, set in 14th century Norway (thank you, Katherine Lanpher), which is another of those long-night countries where I'll bet books are as essential as bread. And thinking of that reminded me of a delightful moment in Ireland (where I read Seamus Heaney's translation of "Beowulf" — thank you, Nick Coleman), when the clerk at a bookstore waved away my VAT form and said "No tax." "No tax?" I echoed. She shook her head: "No tax on books, bread or children's clothes." And that, of course, took me back in mind to the top floor of the library at Dublin's Trinity College, which felt as sacred to me as any cathedral.
We are headed to our own long night here in Seattle. We'll technically have 8 hours and 25 minutes of daylight, but daylight can be a different creature under the winter wrap of rain, and when the sky only varies by shades of gray. (Which books of the same name I haven't read, and don't plan to.) Even some meteorologists, who are not usually prone to Gothic metaphor, call it "The Big Dark."
I call it time for a good book — and am already grateful for the magic I will find under my tree next week. (Thank you in advance, Don Nelson. And in case you need help: "The Dutch House" by Ann Patchett.)
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Gratitude has been a big theme with Storyboard this month. It seems appropriate this time of year, and given current events.
Our daily mini-stories — brief memories from journalists around the world, acknowledging who or what helped them along the way — have inspired more stories. One was from writer and podcaster Nancy Davis Kho, who launched a personal project to write 50 thank-you letters. She told me she learned so much more than expected in the process that "The Thank-You Project" became a book, and a life philosophy.
We've written before about how much story craft can be learned from practicing the art of the sincere thank-you, and a thoughtful letter expressing the same. To get a sense of that, check out how a specific story can be told in short form and collect a little spark of inspiration from our "Gratitude Posts."
We posted our 19th today, from freelancer Eva Holland, who lives in the Yukon so relies on modern technology to connect her to a writing community. These have come after an initial burst of 15 that we collected and posted on Thanksgiving Day. Each is its own delight, so please scan through them on the Storyboard site to find the ones that speak to you.
Right now, they are all headed, simply, "Gratitude Posts." Easy to find if you go to the site, but apparently not so much through a broader internet search. So one of my new learning challenges in 2020 will be to practice the art of SEO headlines, and these will be my workbook. (Thank you in advance, Leah Becerra.)
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What are you reading?
I'm casting about for the perfect thing to read, or even watch, this quiet Christmas Eve. In my house, it won't be "A Christmas Story" (Sorry, Steve Smith.), despite the temptation for pure distraction from nonstop political chaos, which too often feels like pure meanness.
Meanwhile, distractions and chaos and the holidays and probably just life have left the Storyboard cupboard a bit bare. We have two or three rich offerings to post before year's end, but invite you to flag stories you would like us to feature. Even better: pitch a piece you would like to pursue. We'd love to have you on the site in the new year.
We can be found on Facebook, on Twitter @niemanstory or @JacquiB, or via email: edi...@niemanstoryboard.org. Your best bet is my direct email, which finds me wherever I am: banasz...@missouri.edu.
Yours in story,
Jacqui Banaszynski
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