When reading becomes impossible, I turn to poetry. I let my mind wander over the words, though I am barely grasping what’s going on. Still, I ride the word rhythms over my reading funk. I take cover under the clever arrangement of words until reading becomes feasible.
Recently (maybe it was the holiday blues, I don’t know), the familiar fog descended on my mind, and I couldn’t muster up enough concentration for adult books. Intrusive thoughts wedged themselves between the words, so it as impossible to read Descartes’ Errors that demands my excess focus to be devoted to neuroanatomy recall.
This time, however, I didn’t turn to poetry. Instead, a children’s book provided shelter and allowed me to keep reading.
The book was Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech. It wasn’t my intention to read this book to weather the storm. I pick up the book because I felt guilty. Guilt can be the only motivator when you are in a funk and I was feeling particularly guilty about being a terrible reading role model to the sixth grader who lent me this book weeks ago. I figured I should demonstrate that books—even the lent ones—get read and perhaps more importantly, returned.
The sophisticated and intricate plot pulled me in. I was intrigued by the caricatured yet still three dimensional characters. Then at the end, when the sorrow of the character became too palpable, the tears came, at first slowly in a dignified stream, then in an uncontrollable cry. Getting a good cry over the piles of misery that young protagonist faced actually made me feel better. And in some simple yet clear words in this children’s book, I felt encouraged to confront the complexities of life.
Now I am back to reading “grown up books.” But I am getting more and more hooked on children’s books. There is something really immediate and urgent about the plots in children’s books. They provide a wonderful refuge when reading becomes hard or when you just want a concrete plot. So poems and children’s books: they are my refuge and they keep me reading even when reading is impossible.
