Live Literary Reading in Library - Essay Example

? I actually attended two live literary readings. I had planned to attend two from the very start after receiving the assignment. I guess I am a trueGirl Scout, thus I live by the Girl Scout Motto “Be Prepared.” So, with that in mind, just in case one reading was cancelled, I had a backup plan. I really am glad that I was able to attend two readings, which allowed me to have two different styles to compare. Both readings were held at the Brooklyn Center Library, hosted by Club Book in partnership with the Hennepin County Library. It is a very nice building, one of the newer libraries, and is well used. I go there sometimes myself, outside of school assignments. It is a rather large library, which has a great coffee shop. I usually get a cup of Java and a sweet roll, then look around for a comfy chair. With book in hand, I then settle in and before long, in my mind, I am no longer in Minnesota. I am amazed that even at the age of fifty I can still get lost in a book. Books have always had that affect on me. I find reading such a great way to relax. I feel the stress fall of me as soon as I walk in the library doors. I live in Brooklyn Park so it was easy for me to get there from my home. The first reading I attended was on June 19th at 7:00 PM and the author that presented was Mr. Jonathan Odell. Mr. Odell is the author of the books The View from Delphi and his most recent book, The Healing. Free cookies, coffee and bottle water were served, and copies of Mr. Odell books were made available to purchase. The library coordinator announced that Mr. Odell would be signing books at the end of the reading. Now, I must admit before scouting around to find a live reading that I had never heard of Jonathan Odell. So, I had no clue to what style of writer he was. When I discovered that he was a white writer and he wrote stories about the South, where the focus is particular on African-American characters, I did an automatic eye roll, and I thought to myself, “Here we go again. I need to listen to another “Gone With the Wind” and “Driving Miss Daisy” story like I need a hole in my head”. Before the session began Mr. Odell walked around the room and greeted each member of the audience. There were around twenty or so people there, and most of them looked to be around late 60s or older. There was one young African-American lady who sat near me, and she looked to be in her 20s. In addition, there was also one African-American male there that looked to be in his 60s and he sat in the back. I noticed a young man sitting a row over from me who had a folder as if he was going to take notes. I brought along a pad and pen myself with the same purpose in mind. I assumed the young man was there for a class requirement, as was I. I went over to him and introduced myself and asked him if he was a St. Catherine student, hoping that someone else from our class was there. He wasn’t but he was there for a class he attends at the University of Minnesota. We chatted a while and then I returned back to my seat. Mr. Odell made his way over to me and introduced himself. He thanked me for coming and I, in kind, thanked him for coming to our area and told him that I looked forward to hearing more about his work. He then asked me if I was from the East coast. I giggled a little and said, “No sir, I am from Indiana.” He then replied in a uniquely Southern and almost feminine manner, “Oh really, now, to me you sound like you are from Nu Yawk”. Which I found to be odd because since moving to Minnesota I cannot tell you how many people have told me that I sound like I am from the South. I guess it makes sense because prior to relocating to Minnesota I lived in South Carolina. And, if that did not seal in my accent, the years growing up with Southern parents sure did. Mr. Odell asked me about my name. I said Ernestine is a good Southern name. He then asked me if I had any family from the South and I shared with him that both of my parents were from the South. My mom is from Mississippi and my dad was born and raised in Kentucky. He appeared to gain a real interest in our conversation when I said the birthplace of my mother. He then told me that he too was originally form Mississippi and then, for reasons I cannot explain, call it a sixth sense, intuition, or, as I would prefer to think of it, discernment, an invisible wall went up between us. I felt that he was waiting for me to say more, to share more about my family, about their lives. I felt as if there was a hidden tape recorder on his person. In Assignment One, Mr. Keith Gray made me aware “that all great writers are always looking for inspiration for a good story.” (Gray) But, I covet my family story. It has been told from one generation to the other. I desire to be the one that put it down in print. Not that I wish for our story to be published but rather to preserve it for the next generation. My father died this past March and that desire has only deepened. You have to understand I come from a family that has never had much. All we have is our story. I think Mr. Odell sensed the barrier too. He awkwardly smiled and thanked me again for coming and moved on to another guest. Mr. Odell did not read from his book but shared where his inspirations for his latest book came from. He said he grew up in Mississippi in the 1950s and enjoyed all the privileges of being a white male living in the Jim Crow South. He stated also that he would be a lair if he said that he didn’t. (Odell) In addition, he spoke about a Black woman that worked for his family, and said that she was a nice lady and treated him kindly. When he became older he took notice of the differences between the races, and this is where he gets a lot of his inspiration for his writings. (Odell) Mr. Odell spoke about how he actually marveled at the strength and ingenuity of the Black race. He said he thought that it is amazing in spite of all the hardships, barriers, and hatred that Blacks have endured as they are still a strong, proud, and loving people. And, to still maintain such joy and hope for life and yet not be full of hate is in itself a miracle. (Odell) He then asked the audience to think of how ingenious the Black people must had to have been in order to survive not only slavery but Jim Crow. (Odell) With that statement he introduced the topic of his new book “The Healer.” The book is based on the African-American midwives in the South. He gave a brief account of the importance the midwives had during slavery. He went on to explain how these women had to have a take-charge attitude. (Odell) I would like to inject what I know about these women. They were given as much reverence as any good Horse Smith or Veterinarian; after all, each is important to caring for the “live stock.” Slaves were very much viewed in the same way. Mr. Odell also spoke about how the midwives would use natural herbs to create their own medicines, most of which are now being used widely today. He also shared with the group that up until the late 1960s many white doctors would not treat a Black patient, again making the midwives all the more important in the Black community. (Odell) He noted also too, that many Blacks were leery of white doctors and with justification, he noted The Tuskegee Experiment. (Odell) I would like to add The Eugenics Laws that littered the country well into the 1970s in addition to The Negro Project, also known as Planned Parenthood, founded by well-known racist Margaret Sanger. These details most definitely warrant pause. Mr. Odell said that he has a few Black friends that he consults with to make sure the characters in his book sound and act real. (Odell) He then stated that he is aware that he may be accused of telling someone else’s story. (Odell) As he said this, he looked directly at me. He also used the n-word quite a few times and this caused the only other African-American lady to leave. When he used it again the African-American man in the back of the room got up and left too. That left me the only other person of color in the room. There was, I must say, a lightness in the air of the room. Many of the people who were there seemed to genuinely enjoy hearing Mr. Odell speak almost in a matter of fact way about the atrocities done to so many African-Americans during the years of Jim Crow. For example, there was no shaking of the head as he spoke about a black man being lynched in his hometown. (Odell) There was no one flinch, no bemoaning for the ravaged image of God. When Mr. Odell was done speaking there was a short Q&A session. I did not ask any questions. I got up and put my pad and pen in my book bag. The young man I spoke to earlier looked at me and his eyes seemed kind of sad. I am not sure if mine did not appear the say way? Was I projecting? I don’t know. Mr. Odell was now in the back at a table signing books. As I turned to walk out the door his eyes met mine and he quickly turned away. Why did I stay, you might wonder? I struggle to find the right words to express what I felt, and why I stayed. I can tell you this, even as I write this essay, that I still have that same feeling down in my heart. You know, my parents use to say, “God is always going to have a witness.” It basically means that no matter what people try to do in the dark, God will somehow, someday, expose it. No matter how we try to whitewash sin, evil, as if it never happened. God will have a witness to affirm that it indeed did. For example, the genocide in Germany of six million Jews, there are some that said it never happen, and slavery, it was not that bad. But the Lord allowed survivals of both to live and tell the story that it did happen and it was just that bad. After the reading I kept going over in my head what Mr. Odell said with unabated breath that he enjoyed the privileges of treating people that happen to have Black skin as being less than human. Now, he is making money off of telling their story of suffering. Perhaps Mr. Odell is still enjoying himself. The second Literary Reading I attended was also at 7:00 p.m., which happened to be a very convenient time for me. I had time to get home from work, grab a quick bite to eat and head over to the reading without feeling rushed. I was really looking forward to hearing the author, Ms. Isabel Wilkerson, speak about her book, The Warmth of Other Suns I had previously read the book and royally enjoyed it. I’ve encouraged many of my family and friends to read the book. I actually purchased copies of the book and have given them away as gifts. I really identify with the book. Many of the experiences that the people in Ms. Wilkerson book recounted, I had heard over the years in similar stories told by my own grandparents and parents, as well as from my friends’ parents who also fled the oppressive segregated south. I took one of my daughters along with me. I felt that it was important that she be there. To be a part of “the circle”. In African tradition, the elders of the village gather the families around and he/she would tell the story of the entire village. During the era of slavery in America that tradition continued. It was a hard task since slave families were often sold and separated. Tracing one family back more than three generations is still a formidable obstacle for most of African-Americans. What slavery did not destroy, the sting of living under Jim Crow forced many African-Americans to erase the past from their memory and, sadly, that sometimes included family. Lighter skin Blacks with European features passed as white and just blended in to white society and never looked back. I don’t know how to explain it but I felt that even though the people written about in the book, The Warmth of Other Suns, to my knowledge has no blood relation to me. The story was still about my family lineage. I wish my youngest daughter did not live so far away. Her not being there was like she missed a family reunion. I left home for the reading kind of early; I wanted to get a good seat. But, when I turned into the parking lot of the library I knew that was not going to happen. The parking lot was packed. My daughter and I made our way across the parking lot. When we entered the library there was a line already formed out in the lobby. There was a library staff member handing out tickets. Just before I entered the conference room, where the reading was held, the friendly, but obviously overwhelmed library aide placed a ticket in the palm of my hand. She then told me to hold on to my ticket and after the reading the number at the bottom of my ticket would determine the order they will be calling people out to the concourse to get their book signed. I looked down at the number on my ticket. Number 69. I knew I had a long wait. I walked in the room and, instinctually, my daughter and I were on the hunt for two side-by-side empty chairs. My daughter went one direction and I another. We stealthily circled the room. My daughter pointed to the back of the room, then as fast as a cheetah, she rushed over to the chairs, and like Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin planted the American flag on the moon, she planted her purse on one of the chairs. After worming my way to my prize seat I sat down and tried to settle in. There was a buzz in the room. People flowed through the doors, waving and looking for friends and family who kept vigil by the “reserved seats,” which basically meant that there were a lot of purses on the chairs. There were no complementary cookies, coffee or water at this reading, and by then I could have sure used a drink of water. I was anxious for the reading to begin but I could tell that I was not the only one, as there was exciting restlessness in the atmosphere. People continued to pour in the room. There were all kinds of people there. There were as many young people as older ones. There were whole families of multi-generations there. There were markedly more African-Americans at this reading than the first one I attended. Actually, there were people there from all backgrounds and cultures. One man wore a Yarmulka on his head, and another man wore a Dashiki. One very distinguished elderly Black man that had on an elegant brown suit walked gracefully by me and nodded his head with respect like a sweet glimpse of yesteryear, how gentlemen used to acknowledge women. People was smiling and saying hello. There was none of the usual invisible barriers that people put up when sitting next to a stranger. No eyes looking off into the distance like people often do when riding an elevator. People chatted with each other about how much they enjoyed the book, and displayed their copies on their laps with pride. It really felt like a family reunion. Finally, the library hostess reigned in the flurry in the room. She introduced Ms. Isabel Wilkerson who bubbly entered the room to a thunderous applause and a standing ovation. Ms. Wilkerson graciously thanked the audience for such a warm greeting and kindly asked us to take our seats. She said she was humbled by the response and positive feedback she had received worldwide from her book. (Wilkerson) She spoke of how the book was written about the African-American Great Migration, during which over six million Blacks moved out of the South from the years that began in 1916 and lasted all the way until the early 1970s. (Wilkerson) The story is really a universal human story. All of our forefathers migrated from some other lands. (Wilkerson) She spoke on the circumstances that forced this “leaderless movement” into motion. (Wilkerson) The South had a history of disfranchisement towards Blacks, by denying Blacks their voting rights, such as creating Poll taxes, the Grandfather Clause, and threatening of bodily harm in way of bombings and murders. The most sinister in disenfranchisement vehicles were the inhuman Jim Crow Laws that Ms. Wilkerson refers to as A Caste System. (Wilkerson) Jim Crow Laws kept Blacks from not only shopping in most stores or eating in restaurants, but also from having certain jobs. Their aim was to keep Blacks working in the fields, picking cotton and other regional crops. As stated earlier, the constant threats of death for any real or imagined breech of the social taboos or Jim Crow code of ethics was another reason Blacks fled the South. A Black man could be killed for “acting white”, or looking at a white woman; even for smiling at a white woman could be justification to be beaten, jailed or, worse, lynched. (Wilkerson) In the South, lynching were as common as dishwater. Ms. Wilkerson quoted the alarming statistic that in the year 1919 a Black man, woman, or child was lynched every four days in our country (Wilkerson). My mother ,who also left the South, has a saying, “Like lilacs in the spring, that was how common it was seeing Black men hanging in tress” (McAllisters) It took Ms. Wilkerson 15 years to complete her book. She said had she known when she first began writing the book that if she knew that it was going to take that long she might not have written the book (Wilkerson). Author Nora Roberts stated that “writing is hard work, and it takes discipline.” (Roberts) Ms. Roberts went on to say, “You have to write every day even when you do not feel like writing.” I unequivocally concur with Ms. Roberts. This class has taught me that writing is sometimes tedious, frustrating, and restricting. Yet, at the sake of contradicting myself, when I don’t have to concentrate on grammar I feel a sense of freedom, even self-discovery, when I write. Words seem to seep up from my soul; deep hidden emotions rise to the surface. I sometimes found it unsettling and other times a relief. There was a Q&A session after the reading. I have not attended enough of readings to know for certain if that is a standard practice. A lady raised her hand and made a statement rather than a question. She said that she was a high school teacher and that it was her opinion that: The Warmth of Other Suns should be required reading in school. The audience affirmed with a show of clapping hands. In the back a tall blonde woman stood up and said that she had heard about separate restrooms and drinking fountains during segregation but she had no idea how awful the everyday life was for Blacks living under Jim Crow. A stately African-American man emotionally thanked Ms. Wilkerson for writing the book. He said that he felt that she wrote his life story. There were many in the audience that made similar comments. I could not help but be moved. Suddenly it reminded me of a church service. One person after another gave their testimony of how they were able to break the bonds of being a second class citizen in their own country. Each set out to find or create their promised land. I waited in line for the book signing. My daughter stood in front of me. She stepped forward and handed her book to Ms. Wilkerson, who greeted her with sincere warmth. Ms. Wilkerson then asked my daughter who would she like her to address the book to? Then a flood of memories overtook me. I thought about my grandmother who left Kentucky carrying only what she could in a brown paper sack. She had heard that there were good paying jobs in a town called Hammond, Indiana and they were hiring Negroes. She did not know anyone there, but it did not matter. Any place had to be better than Herndon, Kentucky. Later, she would bring her mother to live with her after her father died. Her son Ernest would follow her when he returned from the service. Her son would meet a woman name Lillie Mae, who moved to Hammond from Mississippi who, like him, thirsted to drink from water that a sign overhead would read is COLD. Lillie Mae, while living in Mississippi, watched her brother be buried alive by a group of angry white men. She recalled telling her daughter there was nothing her family could do other than watch, scream and beg. Years later the couple would have a child and they would call her Ernestine. My thoughts were interrupted when Ms. Wilkerson asked my daughter, “Do you know where your people come from?” I stood there and listened to my daughter share my family - her family tree - one leaf at a time. As a parent I often wonder if my kids are truly listening when I retell our family story. I hope it matters to them and pray that they feel and understand how important it is. Our story, it is all we have. My mother is from Hammond, Indiana, and my father is from Chicago. His parents were from Mississippi and Missouri. My daughter has Autism, and she also has an incredible memory as she rolls our entire lineage out like she was reading off a teleprompter. Bless Ms. Wilkerson’s heart, she sat there and listened attentively. Finally, my daughter completed her ancestry line at the shores of West Virginia, and the base of a slave ship. She then thanked her for signing her book and then turned and looked at me with such pride. I was beaming as well. I’ve passed the gauntlet, and my concerns relieved. She does know how important our story is. She was listening. I then stepped forward and thanked Ms. Wilkerson for her time and for validating my parents as heroes. I told her she already knew about my family and then I pointed over to my daughter. We both laughed. She then asked me the same question she asked my daughter, “Who would you like me to address the book to?” I froze. How could I single one ancestor out? So many were instrumental in my life. My mother’s saying, really expressing what I was feeling, “We stood and took the slave and the free so you can sit and say what you please.” (McAllisters) Ms. Wilkerson looked as if she knew instinctually what I was feeling as she began to write in my book. She then gently handed the book to me. I looked down and read the description. “To Ernestine, warmest wishes and God Bless a daughter of the Great Migration, Isabel.” I looked at her and then squared my shoulders and smiled. I replied, “Yes, I am. Amen.” I love words, stories and journeys. Attending a live literary reading allowed me to immerse in a delectable triad. I was able to close my eyes and listen to the writer’s story, and I allowed their words to take me on their creative journey. Going to a live reading was not a hard task for me. I was happy when I read the assignment. I immediately started my search for a reading location. I was successful by applying the advice my grandmother gave long ago, which was, “Look around and see what is in your own backyard first.” What she meant by that saying is that one should see what was happening in your own neighborhood or town before you go looking elsewhere. My grandmother had a wonderful way of putting things. I looked up libraries in Hennepin County. In addition, one of my classmates posted on the discussion board that there was a reading scheduled at Brooklyn Center. I then went to the library site and sure enough there were lists of multiple readings. Those of us that live in the Twin Cites are fortunate to have access to live readings of every genre. Of well-known writers like Dr. Maya Angelou, which I had the honor to attend her live reading at St. Catherine’s University. And we get the pleasure to enjoy some not so well known writers like Mr. Mark Rosen. Well, he is known, but not nationally, at least yet. The county libraries in the metro area in partnership with their corporate sponsors help ensure literary openness. Now, considering the greater Minnesota area, would a person living in small town Minnesota for example, Walnut Grove, Minnesota, would a student living there have the luxury of hearing a writer like Mr. Larry Watson? That is exactly one of the concerns Mr. Ian McEwan posed in his YouTube video Advice for Aspiring Writers. He said that too many writers were requested on college campuses and are cut off from small towns. (McEwan) I am not sure how to resolve this problem. Writers go along like any other business to where they can get the most money for their product. Perhaps the writer could donate more of their time then what they could write off on their taxes. Or if they give away a few books free at the smaller gatherings again, that might be a tax write off. I am not an accountant so I cannot say that for certain that that is a real possibility. It would sure solve the problem. Mr. Odell’s book I would classify as fiction and geared mostly to adults. Ms. Wilkerson’s book is a non-fiction novel written in the narrative, though I would classify her book as a documentary. It is written for adults and young adults. I think history buffs would add it as a must have for their collection. Before I conclude this essay, I would like to share with you one thing that I discovered to be most profound from this assignment. I noticed there is a common thread that runs through all the writers. Each writer did say it in his or her own way. You have to love to read in order to become a good writer. You should read a lot and various types of readings in order to become a well skilled writer. (McEwan, Gray, & Roberts) And lastly, you must write, write, and write. Read More