Hard books and easy

One could accuse me of acts of snootery when it comes to the kinds of books I prefer to read -- or have liked to read in the past. You see, dears, ever since Bee was born I’ve had to stick with texts of the not-terribly-taxing variety. Why? Well, I do have plenty of time to read books, because Bee only sleeps when she’s being held by Ben or me -- so I spend hours at a time, at all hours of the day and night, camped out with a baby in my lap and a novel in my hand. HOWEVER, I’m also extremely sleep-deprived, so I find myself turning my attention to a) story-driven works, b) writing that’s fairly easily digested, and c) a variety of undemanding stuff that can be comprehended on four hours of sleep. Oh, and the books should be d) ones that are lightweight in more than one sense, because I need to be able to support the book in a single hand while cradling Bee with the other arm. At three in the morning, I can’t handle the intellectual rigors of Bleak House or, Dear Reader, the physical poundage of it.

So, less Clarissa and more Rilla. An absence of Brontë, but a little bit of Finney. And I must give a weary nay to historical fiction -- for now -- and a hearty yea to time-travel love stories (the line between the two being somewhat blurrier than you might expect, by the way). Anyway, lately I’ve had no lack of time to gulp down some Barbara Kingsolver and finish up one of my favorite things in this world, the Anne of Green Gables series (who knew there were eight books?! I always thought there were only six!). Wonderful, leisurely volumes, I assure you. And this week, I’m sailing through a painless sequel to The Bean Trees and eyeing a library copy of Enormous Changes at the Last Minute – because I daresay I can handle short stories, even postmodern ones, as long as they are in fact short, and not too toilsome. After that I’m likely to re-read some of my YA fiction faves, like this and this. (Man. You know, I really should just dig out my old copies of the Baby-Sitters Club series and have done with it.)

Of course, I miss capital-L literature. There are so many reasons read, and to love, Difficult Books, and the rewards of that reading, and of that loving, are not always to be found in easy books. I mean, I’m sorry, they just aren’t. That’s why people labor (but it’s a joyous labor!) through Tolstoy, you know? Your reward is comfort, and a timeless comradery, and encouragement for holding on in this life as your betters before you have held on. (I also tend to think that the best Difficult Books are instructive on the general subject of how to conduct oneself in this world. My own comportment, inadequate though it continues to be, owes a debt to Charlotte Brontë and Samuel Richardson that I feel sure I can never repay.) And then there’s the beauty of brilliant prose, often a reward unto itself. There are all of those things, plus the satisfaction of knowing you’re so much smarter than everyone else. (Joking! Totally joking!)

But when you’re tired, you’re tired; maybe this is what people mean when they talk about Mommy Brain. The phenomenon, if there is one, is always made out to be some sort of physiological occurrence, as if producing an heir actually melts a woman’s cerebrum. You’ll never do physics again. I mean, of all the cockamamie ideas! If Mommy Brain is anything at all, in my view, it’s just a vastly reduced quantity and quality of time and energy. You’ve got less time to read novels (or do freelance work, or translate ancient Hebrew texts, or paint, or revise your novella, or study for the bar exam, or INSERT YOUR INTELLECTUAL PURSUIT HERE). Plus, you’re fatigued. And the time you do have for these occupations is total crap compromised. As my friend Kara phrased it, “Doing any mentally immersive work with a baby in the house is a fantasy.”

Perhaps things do get better, as everyone swears they do (and as a few things, in our first several months as parents, already have), and I’ll be able to resume reading hard books at some point -- probably around the same time that I start combing my hair again. I don’t know. But I hold literature as one of life’s great comforts and pleasures,* so I sure as hell hope so. For now, though, I’m embracing easy books. Easy books are better, as I do not need to tell you, than no books at all.

* And that is why being an English major pays for itself hundredfold over the course of a lifetime. Comfort and pleasure, I tell you! Comfort and pleasure!

Baked-apple porridge

Steel-cut Scottish oats are finer than the oatmeal most of us in the U.S. grew up with. Both are nice on winter mornings, but somehow I prefer the porridge-y texture of Scottish oats; it's just so Dickensian or something. My favorite way to enjoy this breakfast is with baked apples, maple syrup, and soy milk. The fruit and maple syrup are perfectly sweet, so you don't even need any brown sugar.*

Vegan baked-apple porridge

1 baking apple
1 t. cinnamon
1 c. water
Pinch of salt
1/3 c. steel-cut Scottish oats (Bob's Red Mill brand is easy to find)
1 T. maple syrup
1/2 c. soy milk or almond milk

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Peel, core, and cube the apple. Place in a baking pan. Sprinkle with the cinnamon, cover, and bake for 20-25 minutes.

When the apple is nearly done, combine the water and salt in a small pot. Bring to a boil over high heat, then add the oats and stir (actually, I use a whisk for this). Immediately turn the heat down very low and cook, covered, for 10 minutes. Add the baked apple pieces in the last 2 minutes. I kind of like to retain a few for garnish, but you might not be quite as high-maintenance.

Spoon cooked oats into bowl. Add maple syrup and soy milk.

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* But, you know, whatevs. Don't let me stop you.

Chuck D, serialized

I'm not talking about the hip-hop artist from Public Enemy. I did love his radio show on Air America, but the Chuck D. I'm thinking of was a little more Victorian.

This neat site will help you read (or re-read) Victorian novels in something like their original, serialised format. Subscribe to a novel (I picked Dickens' Hard Times) and receive it in installations by e-mail. Why would one want to do this? Well, assuming one enjoys nineteenth-century literature to begin with (and if you don't, I have one word for you: Villette), there are a few reasons to read a Victorian novel in its serialized form. Many novels of the time (including most of the novels of Dickens) were originally published in installations in popular magazines. Although we tend to look back and think that the installation format was just a regrettable by-product of Victorian pop culture, there are plenty of good reasons to revisit the serial texts.

If I may make a low-brow comparison: have you ever watched old episodes of a popular sit-com captured on VHS? I'm not talking about the modern-day godsend of TV on DVD, but rather, say, a few half-hour episodes of "The Facts of Life" that you taped off of NBC back in the early '80s. For me, the commercials are almost as interesting as the sit-com, and at any rate it gives me another lens to see this bit of pop culture through. In the same way that the commercials tell us something about the culture and popular values of the time, reading a Victorian novel in its original serial text gives us a little more context for the work. One specific example--the modern printings of Victorian novels often exclude the illustrations that helped Victorian readers follow a complicated narrative over an extended period of time. Today, being able to enjoy those plates gives us another means of understanding the story and its social context.

Plus, isn't it just cool to imagine a time when literature was so great a part of popular culture? I mean, at certain points in the mid-19th century, more Londoners were reading installments of the latest Dickens novel than the daily newspaper! That means that when Nell dies in The Old Curiosity Shop, the nationwide response was akin to when Bob Newhart woke up next to Suzanne Pleshette, or when Clarabelle spoke, or when Lt. Col. Blake's plane crashed, or when Luke and Laura got married. Or maybe it's more like the death of Dumbledore in the most popular serialized story ever.

The site offers a catalogue of serialized novels by, among others, H. Rider Haggard, Wilkie Collins, Anthony Trollope, Henry James, and William Thackeray. A couple of women writers, too, mostly American.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to my first installation of Hard Times. If you decide to try out a serial too, let me know. We can encourage one another, because I may need a little rallying in order to actually do the reading, since staring at a laptop is an inferior experience to actually holding a book in the hand.