You're a Classic (and a Mean One), Mr. Grinch

On the face of it, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and its spiky protagonist, the Grinch, seem to lack the gentle, sweet-natured tone of many Christmas classics. Yet, this 1957 tale by Theodor “Dr. Suess” Geisel has unexpected charms of its own that have stood the test of time. It’s even inspired several movies that are also holiday staples. 

For the rare few who don’t know the tale, the Grinch is a cranky, odd-looking creature who hates Christmas for some unknown reason (several theories include his too-tight shoes or a too-small heart). He lives just north of a land called Who-ville, which is inhabited by Whos: happy, quirky-looking, Christmas-loving folk of all shapes and sizes.

After many years of suffering through the annual festivities, the Grinch is in no mood for the noise and merriment of Christmas again this year, so he comes up with “a wonderful awful idea” to stop Christmas from coming to Who-ville. He disguises himself as Santa Claus and deputizes his little dog Max as his reindeer. While the Whos sleep, the Grinch invades their homes and loads his sleigh with their stocking stuffers, toys, decorations, and festive food (everything from Who-hash to roast beast).

However, as he tries to stuff a Christmas tree up the chimney, he’s interrupted by a toddler named Cindy-Lou Who, who wants to know why “Santa” is taking their tree. The crafty Grinch tells a smooth story about taking the tree for repairs at his workshop. He then snatches the tree (and the log for their fire) and makes his escape. He repeats this thievery throughout Who-ville.

When finished, he escapes high atop Mt. Crumpet, where he plans to dump the contents of his sleigh. The Grinch waits expectantly to hear Who cries of dismay and sadness as they discover the loss of their Christmas finery. But instead, every Who down in Who-ville is singing. The Grinch hadn’t stopped Christmas from coming; it came just the same. After his initial confusion, he realizes that Christmas must be about much more than the material trappings. And “in Who-ville they say…the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.” Propelled by his renewed heart, the Grinch brings back the toys and food for the feast—he himself even carved the roast beast.

There are so many things I like about this Christmas classic. I am not always a huge fan of rhyming, but the author uses rhymed verse artfully to draw in and engage the reader, particularly young readers. He also captures the excitement and hope of the season, as the Whos get busy with all kinds of Christmas prep. It reminds me of the thrill and magic of the Christmas build-up when I was young, when the only thing I had to worry about was getting to sleep on Christmas Eve. Perhaps that's why Cindy Lou Who, with her wide-eyed innocence, remains such a beloved character.

The book’s drawings—done by the author—are spare and unique, as are its quirky characters. Although the book was first published in 1957, it never feels outdated, perhaps because we are perpetually able to imagine the Whos and Who-ville in an alternate sphere untouched by time and modern concerns. Sixty-five years ago, I doubt Dr. Suess could have envisioned the commercial madness of Black Fridays and Cyber Mondays, yet his story’s message is more relevant today than ever.

That said, this story is arguably a bit dated in that it focuses exclusively on Christmas. With the current emphasis on acknowledging and honouring a range of other traditions this time of year, who knows how Dr. Suess might have framed this tale if written today. Or, he may have unapologetically held tight to a Who-ville Christmas.

Now about that Grinch—I have a big soft spot for him. Granted, I am always a sucker for a bad boy who grows up a bit in the end, but it’s more than that. As an adult, life can get hard and it’s easy to don a cynical armour and lose the magic of the season amidst stressors, losses, and an out-of-control holiday "to do" list. And, like Charles Dicken’s Scrooge, the Grinch may have a backstory of loss that contributed his seemingly small heart and self-imposed isolation. Whatever the case, the good news is that all is not lost: the Grinch shows us that change is possible, and such change often happens through the inspiration of others.

As an endnote, I’ll add that I’m also a big fan of the 1966 animated version of this book. It did a wonderful job of bringing How the Grinch Stole Christmas to life, with the voice of Boris Karloff, complementary music, and animation that honoured the original illustrations but added a little something extra as well. 

Anne of Green Gables: Scope for the Imagination

This post choice feels a little predictable, but there’s no way around it. Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery, made a definite impression on me in my tween and teen years.

I can’t remember exactly how I first discovered this book. It might have been through my maternal grandmother, who also had other books in the “Anne” series. This grandmother was not as entertaining as our other grandmother, but she had lots of interesting books; a woods and wishing well as part of her property, and told us tales of woodland fairies and other creatures. It was all scope for the imagination.

For the uninitiated, Anne of Green Gables is about a skinny red-haired orphan named Anne Shirley who arrives at a modest farm (Green Gables) in rural Prince Edward Island in the 1870s/80s. That farm is home to an older woman (Marilla) and her brother (Matthew), neither of whom have married or have experience of children. They’d originally requested an orphan boy, in part to help on the farm, but Anne quickly captures the affections of the very shy Matthew. For this reason, as well as to save Anne from a subsequent placement with a large family needing a live-in babysitter, Marilla reluctantly agrees to take Anne on a trial.

The early part of the book is full of unfortunate scrapes Anne gets into, including an angry outburst with an outspoken pillar of the community and then a popular boy in school. She also accidently dyes her hair green in an attempt to transform the red; is on the cusp of serving a mouse-tainted dessert sauce; mistakenly gets her best friend drunk, and falls off a rooftop: the result of a dare. Amidst all this, Anne’s frequent flights of imagination, constant chatter, and focus on clothing and appearance are vexing yet gradually endearing. Despite the trouble she is often in, her intentions are most often good, and she ultimately finds a permanent adoptive home at Green Gables..

As relationships with the key people in her life: Marilla, Matthew, and best friend Diana grow more secure, Anne’s mishaps quiet down and she begins to blossom both academically and socially. As well, she eventually lets go of a long-standing grudge against that popular boy in school. There's even a hint of pending romance as the book ends.

The great thing about revisiting books that have meant a lot to me is I get to read them again and reflect on how a book impacted my younger self. I also have the opportunity to read the book with fresh eyes, enjoying it through a lens of intervening life experience and matured values.

Years ago, several aspects of Anne of Green Gables stood out for me. One was its highly descriptive language. As Anne travels for the first time to Green Gables, I felt right there with her, absorbing every aspect of the experience and eager to continue the journey. I was also a little in awe of her spunkiness. She wanted to be accepted, but also spoke out if threatened. As a young person still living in an era of "children are seen and not heard," I was in awe and delighted. Anne’s intense and enduring friendship with Diana was another draw, as was the fact that the story was set in Canada: a rarity in my junior book collection.

Reading this book again today, I appreciate some of the same things, including the highly descriptive prose, particularly as it applies to the beauty and natural world of rural PEI. In my present-day crankiness though, I was less enthralled with Anne’s incessant chatter, non-stop energy, and easy distraction. I couldn’t help thinking that in today’s world Marilla and Matthew might be urged to seek out an assessment. Yet, ultimately, her high energy and imaginative thinking didn’t seem to set her back, except for some scolding from Marilla.

As well, while I can understand the source of orphan Anne’s neediness and quest for reassurance, it sometimes felt like a lot, particularly in her initial meetings with Diana. Perhaps that’s a sign of changed times—today we may be less willing to be openly vulnerable—or perhaps I am just cranky. That said, I now appreciate, much more than before, the important role of a secure home and loving but firm guidance on the positive emotional growth of a child. Not every loving adoptive home ends up raising an academically excellent, responsible, socially poised Anne Shirley, but there’s a lot to be said for the power of love, acceptance, constancy, and few enforced house rules.

While the story is dated in many respects, the end of the book reflects an ageless dilemma: pursue ambition or put family first.  When Matthew dies and family finances are strained, Anne makes the difficult decision to decline a university degree scholarship and become a local teacher to support an aging Marilla at Green Gables. It's a test of character that remains instructive for readers of all ages. Anne’s path had narrowed but her generosity and optimism remained. “The joys of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers…and there was always the bend in the road.”

Bird by Bird: Anne Lamott Instructs on Writing and Life

I first came across Anne Lamott via a short video that popped up on how she got sober. Who was this quirky-looking woman with white-girl dreadlocks, who described her past self as a drunk bulimic Christian and talked about the value of doing things badly (versus not at all)? I was captivated.

Since then, I’ve read most of her non-fiction titles, which offer slices of life, and typically touch on themes like sobriety and recovery, parenting, mental health, love, loss, faith, friendship, and the various struggles and vulnerabilities that are part of being human. Even when the topics are tough, such as losing a best friend to cancer, her gentle insightful humour often softens the rawness, without minimizing the emotions at play.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (1994) is her second non-fiction book of many. It’s been around long enough to have a 25^th anniversary edition. I thought I would feature this particular Anne Lamott book, as it's stood the test of time, and is an interesting mix of subject matter expertise and her signature story-telling.

The introduction is relatively long and one of the most interesting parts of the book in my opinion. Here she essentially shares how she became a writer. She describes her mother and father as reading every chance they got, taking her and her siblings to the library each week to load up on books. Her father was a writer and writers were revered in their family. 

This helped lay the foundation for her future career, as did her early encouraged talent (she won her first writing award in grade two), and her father’s mentoring. Sadly, her father died young. Lamott used writing as a way to help make sense of that dying process and as a collaborative vehicle for him express his experience when he no longer could.

As her career progressed, Lamott began to teach writing classes, and continues to this day. Content consists of “telling [my students] everything that has helped me along the way and what it is like for me on a daily basis. I can teach them the little things that may not be in any of the great books on writing.”

Bird by Bird brings together many of the tips shared with her students. It doesn’t get down to the nitty gritty of writing mechanics, such as The Elements of Style, but it does cover multiple aspects of the writing process at a slightly broader level.

I found her best advice in the first portion of Part One, as it potentially speaks to writers and non-writers alike. How do we start and move forward with a project that seems very daunting? She suggests starting with what you know, as well as breaking work into small assignments or chunks. In fact, the title of this book comes from advice Lamott’s father gave her brother, who had put off a large school project on birds until the last minute: “just take it bird by bird.” Lamott also advises allowing very imperfect first attempts (she calls them “shitty first drafts”), and avoiding the trap of perfectionism. While she’s talking about writing she could be talking about any challenging endeavour where we don’t know how to begin, or don’t feel up to the task.

The rest of Part One gets into more technical information: how to develop a character, plot, dialogue, setting, and knowing when you’re done. The focus seems to be more on writing fiction, which is not every writer’s preference, but it’s worth reading nevertheless. Throughout she offers gentle guidance, borne of her own experience, peppered with anecdotes on writing and life. Bird by Bird doesn’t skimp on the “how to” aspects of writing, but it takes you deeper, and with more heart, into the writing life—or at least into one woman’s writing life.

Part Two deals with the writing frame of mind; Part Three with the value of enlisting help in the writing process, such as: using index cards to organize work, tapping into subject matter experts for facts and story detail, joining a writing group(s), and finding a few trusted readers of your drafts.

Part Four explores the reasons to write, which include publication. This was also a favourite section of mine, as it doesn’t presuppose publication and getting known as a writer are the only worthy goals of writing. Lamott talks about several of her ultimately published works that were initially intended only as presents to a family member or friend. Writing can also help make sense of—or transform—something that feels too hard to fathom or even survive. Lamott’s first novel is based on her family’s experience caring for her terminally ill father. She wanted to create a story about end-stage cancer that illuminated the whole experience, including moments of humour, tenderness, and the survival of those left behind.

And while publication isn’t always the goal, Lamott doesn’t minimize its importance to those who identify as writers. She balances this with the less glamourous aspects of being published, including the inevitable pressures to do it again. She cautions her students that publication (should it even happen) will probably not transform their lives in the ways they imagine, yet encourages them to keep going because writing has the potential to make them “feel better and more alive than they do at any other time.” 

A Little Book About Waking Up

In 2013, I took a short course in mindfulness meditation at work; I then pursued a longer mindfulness-based course related to stress reduction. While both had a secular focus, Buddhist philosophy inevitably trickled in. That is when I first encountered the writings of Buddhist nun Pema Chodron.

From the outset, I found her writing straightforward and relatable, dealing with topics like coping with difficult times, our human pattern of seeking pleasure and avoiding pain, the struggle to be more compassionate with ourselves and others, accepting impermanence, and the list goes on. One reviewer noted that Chodron has a unique ability to express Buddhist teachings in terms that resonate with people’s lived experience.

This ability is no doubt due to her decades-long practice and study of Buddhism. But I’ve also wondered if her fairly conventional life before becoming a nun allows her to better apply her teachings to the everyday challenges of people who live life outside monasteries and abbeys. Pema Chodron was born Deirdre Blomfield-Brown in 1936 in New York City. She grew up Catholic, obtained a Master’s degree in elementary education, married twice, and had two children through her first marriage. After a heart-breaking end to her second marriage, she began studying Tibetan Buddhism, and became ordained two years later at the age of thirty-eight.

The Pocket Pema Chodron is a tiny (3” X 4.5”) treasury of 108 short selections from her best-selling books. These selections run from half a page to two tiny pages, and include titles/topics like: Why meditate? Difficulty is inevitable. Move toward difficulty. When you open up to life as it is. Rejoice in ordinary life. Difficult people help us to learn and grow. Moving beyond self-protection. When anger arises, remember to pause. I will stop here before I give up all the gold.

While I’m not a Buddhist, elements of Buddhist philosophy resonate strongly with me. Some of these include the idea that:

• Everything that happens in our life, including—or perhaps particularly—the obstacles and stuff/people we perceive as negative or difficult, can become our teachers and wake us up;
• Peace, emotional equilibrium, and insight are found in the present moment, not ruminating about the past or too much focus on the future (excessive planning/ worry);
• Being curious can open us up, keep us in the present, and lessen the human tendency to be fearful or judge;
• Seeking security or perfection limits our life experiences; it’s a kind of death. And, in doing so, we set ourselves up for failure because inevitably we meet something we can’t control, and,
• As previously noted, there is great power and healing in having compassion for ourselves and others.

That only scratches the surface of the wide range of Buddhists beliefs, traditions, and practices. I find even this tiny list of principles incredibly challenging, which I think is part of the appeal for me. And beyond this, my life experiences thus far has found them to be true, and worth continuing to reach for.

In Buddhist philosophy, as taught by Chodron, I also recognize some alignment with the field of psychology. For example, topics like self-compassion, the landscape of shame, resilience through adversity, and awareness of and non-attachment to our thoughts, are explored in both fields of study.

So, if you’re needing some bite-sized inspiration or guidance from time to time, I encourage you to check out The Pocket Pema Chodron, or any other book/materials by this author. It’s a very non-intimidating way to get curious about what Buddhism and Buddhist philosophy has to offer. I keep this pocket edition close at hand for those (fairly frequent) moments when I need a little Pema wisdom.

Note: I also recently revisited the website Tiny Buddha, which I find quite engaging. It's a fairly light presentation of Buddhist principles, often as they intersect with psychological guidance.

 

 

She's Come Undone

Wally Lamb Gives Voice to a Favourite Heroine

It's getting to the season where some folks are looking for a good beach read. She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb lacks the lightness of a summer read, but it’s still easy to get lost in the saga-like plot and colourful cast of characters.

Its jacket describes the book as a “coming-of-age odyssey,” and I’d say that’s pretty accurate. The story begins in 1956 as four-year-old Dolores Price and her mother await delivery of a new television set. The set is a gift from her father’s rich and overly-attentive female employer, and the reader quickly gets a sense that all is not well in Dolores’s world.

Her father’s multiple infidelities, together with the loss of a baby in childbirth, lead to divorce and her mother’s severe depression, for which she is institutionalized. Dolores goes to live with her grandmother: a woman she hates, where she encounters various school bullies and a strange collection of neighbours. At thirteen, with her mother now out of the hospital and living in the grandmother’s home, Dolores is raped by a charismatic married tenant. She slides into years of compulsive eating, TV-watching, and ongoing conflicts with her mother. Then, her mother is killed in a workplace accident and Dolores reluctantly decides to honour her mother’s wish that she go to college.

The college experience is unhappy (Dolores is bullied by many because of her weight and experiences unwelcome interest by a college staffer). Eventually she snaps, killing the staffer’s pet fish and escaping to Cape Cod to see a TV-featured dying whale before being institutionalized for seven years. With the help of a forward-thinking psychiatrist, Dolores gradually confronts her traumas, including her mother’s affair with the man who raped her. She moves to a half-way house, then productive employment, where she stumbles upon the location of her college roommate’s neglected boyfriend and decides to move to his community. A relationship ensues, and all seems initially rosy, but they disagree about having a child. Dolores reluctantly has an abortion and they marry, but after four years and an infidelity on his part the marriage ends.

About the same time, her grandmother dies, and Dolores ends up back in the house she’d longed to escape. She stays put, getting several jobs, but regresses in the midst of this stressful transition: belligerent behaviour at work, seclusion, and overeating. Her grandmother’s eccentric—now disabled—neighbour, Roberta, re-enters the picture and helps refocus Dolores, as does her former high school counsellor, Mr. Pucci: a gay man who has lost his long-time partner to AIDS and is infected as well. Dolores re-connects with an employer who sees her potential and offers to fund some college classes. There she meets and ultimately marries a fellow student and single father; they’d both like to have a child, but by the end of the book they’re still trying. As the story closes her husband takes her on another trip to Cape Cod. This time she is able to celebrate the sighting of a live whale breaking through the waves.

Apologies for the long synopsis, but it’s a meaty book. Reading it again, I felt like I’d been put through the emotional ringer; yet it was worth it, as always. Because amidst this odyssey of hurdles and heartbreak, there is also a strong sense of hope and the possibility of transformation. As well, along the way, Dolores finds multiple allies who soften life’s blows and expand her world.

Of the many books I’ve read, this stays on my bookshelf for several reasons. It's not another idealized depiction of life in the 1950s, with an intact flourishing nuclear family. That was new to me. In addition, when originally published, much was made about the author’s ability to write convincingly as a young female in the first person. While this is a lesser element in my overall assessment, it is still noteworthy.

The book also does a good job of illustrating how early trauma, particularly when not expressed or dealt with, can strongly influence the trajectory of our lives: our choices, what we feel we deserve, our triggers, and many other aspects. As research shows, the more trauma or adverse life events experienced when young, the more profound the negative impacts on physical, mental, and social health as life unfolds. Given Dolores’s early and multiple adversities, the reader has some context for understanding her subsequent behaviours. She is frustrating and unsympathetic at times—often her own worst enemy—yet I continued to root for Dolores Price throughout. And, she is just one of many multi-dimensional characters in the book: flawed yet endearing, and that rang very true to me.

I’ve always been drawn to stories of the underdog, and those who persevere through adversity to find their place and purpose in the world. Wally Lamb has created such a story, where life can be hard, people can be imperfect, and there can still be a way forward amidst that messiness.

A Love Story with a Twist

“We read to know we are not alone.” This powerful line from William Nicholson’s play (also a movie), Shadowlands, has stayed with me and is an integral aspect of why I value books and reading so much. Books can transport us to new lands and adventures, but they can also share emotional states, relationship struggles, and other experiences that are very much part of the human condition. It can be comforting and validating when an author's work and words reflect our own experience.

That's a long preamble to my latest blog post, but it speaks to the particular value of the book I introduce. The book is Drinking: A Love Story by the late Caroline Knapp. I can’t remember how I came upon this book: whether through a deliberate topic search or pure serendipity. I recall, however, that it was a book I sorely needed at the time.

This memoir tells the story of a successful writer/columnist who seemingly had it all. She also had a secret: an intense love affair with alcohol. Those who knew her best admittedly saw some red flags in her drinking but, for the most part, she presented a veneer of success in work and life. She came from a well-off, professional family; was a popular, high-functioning writer who put work first; had good friends and intimate relationships, and always looked fit and put-together.

But like many alcohol-infused biographies, there were transition points that took her drinking from social, to heavy and periodically problematic, to a realm where it took control of her life, priorities, and decision-making.

Knapp recounts how her drinking escalated when her father: a complex, renowned psychiatrist (with his own secrets, including alcoholism) was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour. At that point “all bets were off…his illness opened up a well of fear in my chest that felt bottomless, and I drank to fill it, to escape it, to numb it.”

And eventually there was hitting bottom, which looks different for everyone. It often involves a significant negative consequence to drinking that offers someone a moment of clarity regarding the destructive situation, and can spark a strong resolution to change. What had started as a relationship with alcohol full of passion, promise, and solutions, almost imperceptibly morphed into one of betrayal, heartbreak, and regret.

Ultimately, Knapp goes to rehab and gets sober: a happy ending but she doesn’t sugar-coat the particularly tough psychological process of doing this hard work. She is equally eloquent, though, about the rewards of sobriety, even as she describes walking through the experience of losing her mother to a recurrence of cancer without the protective layer of alcohol to numb and soothe.

My personal library is stocked with drug and alcohol recovery memoirs, but this one rises to the top. It was the first to tell a story I could relate to, in writing so beautiful I would re-read passages and savour her words and their ability to so accurately capture the imperfections and emotional vulnerability we try to hide in our attempt to appear together and OK. That may sound a little over-the-top, but I think it’s one of writing’s great superpowers: to unearth something in us that frees us, comforts us, emboldens us.

I post this on May 15^th, 2022 because it was on this date 15 years ago that I severed my relationship with alcohol. What had started as a way to cope with a parent’s unfathomable terminal illness, became a habitual way to take the edge off life’s inevitable stressors for many years to come. I never missed a day of work or paying a bill, and even graduated top of my graduate school class, which is why Knapp’s experience as a high-functioning alcohol misuser resonated so strongly with me. But “high-functioning” is essentially an illusion, because negative impacts to health, relationship quality, spirit, etc. still exist and accrue; it can also be a barrier to admitting there’s a problem. Because Knapp’s experience paralleled mine in some elemental ways, it had a significant influence and impact on one of my most important life decisions.

And so, I come back to my blog’s beginning, and the idea of books and reading offering us a sense that we are not alone in our challenges, aspirations, and perspectives. That sense of shared experience can be a powerful force in engendering self-acceptance and, in some cases, personal transformation.

NOTE: Six years after her 1996 memoir was published, Caroline Knapp died of lung cancer at the age of 42. As I read the obituary I felt she'd been cheated. Alcohol didn’t get her but cigarettes likely did. 

A Child's Garden of Verses

Robert Louis Stevenson’s Classic Endures

With this post, I’m moving away from the dense, research-packed pages of Quiet, to lighter fare. This choice is no doubt influenced by the uplift I often feel as spring emerges and the days start getting longer and warmer.

A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson is one of the first books I remember. I had never actually read it until a few weeks ago, because it was only ever read to me. I’m sure this was a big part of its magic.

When this collection of 64 short poems for children was published in 1885, one reviewer wrote that “[the author] not only knows what the children like, but he likes it along with them.” Even though Stevenson was 35 when he wrote this collection, he clearly hadn’t lost the sense of what it was like to be a child, infusing his own childhood joys, cares, and imagination into each poem.

The collection begins with a dedication to his childhood nurse, Alison Cunningham, who cared for him during his many childhood illnesses. Poems like “The Land of Counterpane,” and a section of poems called The Child Alone evoke the loneliness of being young, ill, and without companions. However, despite the challenges of being confined and/or alone, the children in Stevenson’s poems use their imaginations to entertain themselves.

There are also plenty of poems that celebrate the freedom and carefree nature of childhood like “Summer Sun,” “The Flowers,” and “The Swing.” Or, they reflect the adventure of creating new worlds through imagination like “My Bed is a Boat,” “Foreign Lands,” and “My Kingdom.”

The poems I remember most are ones focused on bedtime, which is probably not surprising since it’s when I usually heard them. I’m sure my parents appreciated the power of suggestion in “The Land of Nod,” but the poem that resonated most with me was called “Bed in Summer,” which speaks of a child’s struggle to go to bed when the world is still light and seeming very much awake. I’ll not recount the whole poem but include the last stanza to illustrate the author’s knack for reflecting the real experiences of a child, in soothing verse that helps the reader feel fully understood:

    And does it not seem hard to you, 
    When all the sky is clear and blue,
    And I should like so much to play,
    To have to go to bed by day?

In the last poem of his collection, “To Any Reader,” Stevenson offers a somewhat bittersweet message to both children and adults: the relatively carefree days of childhood are fleeting, and too soon they become memory. The poem also suggests that this collection is not just for children, but addresses themes that also resonate with adults, such as loss and loneliness.

Despite being written over 100 years ago, several commentators note how strongly the collection has stood the test of time. One suggests that it’s achieved this by avoiding cloying Victorian sentiment, outdated attitudes (for the most part), and moralistic lessons. Instead, Stevenson’s work continues to offer the reader vivid rhythmic writing about the business of being a child. Even in small and familiar places or things: a bed, a river, a garden, even our shadow, there is opportunity for wonder and delight.

While many present-day children will find these poems entertaining and understandable, the collection still reflects childhood in a very different time. There’s an innocence and romanticism that may feel out of step with more contemporary child-focused stories, so the poems may not resonate with everyone. But, this 100+-year-old collection is guaranteed to remind modern readers (child or adult) about the value of engaging our innate imagination and creativity. In a time when tech distractions abound and life is ever faster, we benefit all the more from the space to dream and let our fertile minds wander where they will. 

The Power of Introverts

What’s it like to be an introvert in a culture that subscribes to the extrovert ideal? What do we stand to lose by undervaluing and/or misunderstanding introverts? These are just some of the themes Susan Cain explores in her 2012 ground-breaking book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking.

The concepts of introversion and extroversion are not new. Carl Jung popularized these (as the central building blocks of personality) over one hundred years ago. But Susan Cain’s book moves beyond psychological theory and classification to explore the implications of being an introvert in various social contexts, many of which seem structured in favour of the extrovert. She looks at the unique and often overlooked strengths of introverts and the advantages of recognizing these in a more deliberate way, particularly as one third to one half of the population are introverts.

The author admits there are almost as many definitions of introversion-extroversion as there are personality psychologists. However, there are several important points psychologists can usually agree on. Introverts and extroverts typically differ in the amount of stimulation they prefer, with introverts needing/seeking less stimulation. They also work differently. Introverts often work more slowly and deliberately, with high concentration, often preferring one task at a time. Extroverts tend to tackle assignments and decisions quickly, and are more comfortable with multi-tasking, risk-taking, and conflict. In the social realm, extroverts are often more dominant, assertive, and in need of company; they also think out loud and on their feet, preferring talking to listening. In contrast, introverts may have strong social skills, but have more finite energy for larger social events and small talk. They often prefer more intimate in-depth conversations, nurturing a smaller social circle, listening more than talking, and writing as opposed to talking.

Cain also does some myth-busting. Being an introvert is not the same as being a hermit or anti-social, nor are introverts necessarily shy. The author includes a 20-item assessment scale to give the reader a sense of where they might fall on the introversion-extroversion spectrum. Although, she notes, there is really no such thing as a pure introvert or extrovert and behaviour can also shift with circumstances. [Note: I include a few online scales below]

After introducing the basics, the author explores extroversion as a cultural ideal, and how this impacts assumptions around leadership, creativity, and workplace dynamics/structure. Although, there are select cultures where this is not the case. She also examines the nature versus nurture question regarding temperament, and provides some practical guidance for introverts re: navigating an extroversion-centric culture, parenting introverted children, and how to communicate in a mixed introverted-extroverted relationship. Woven throughout is considerable research and personal stories/case studies that help illustrate her ideas.

The late distinguished Hungarian-American psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihaly offered an endorsement of this book, writing that introverts “will feel a burden lifting from their shoulders” as they read this book. And that is exactly how it felt for me. It was eye-opening and incredibly validating to see myself so accurately reflected in these pages; the experience was instrumental in helping me reframe my introversion in a more positive, strength-based light.

And I know I'm not alone in this experience. Whether introvert, extrovert, or somewhere in between, Quiet continues to provide us with a more accessible language to talk about our differences and how we can understand, celebrate, and leverage these attributes in multiple realms of work and play. In the ten years since this book was published the topic has gained further traction through such titles as The Introvert Advantage, social media groups like Introverts are Awesome, and workplace-focused training and development.

Are you an introvert or extrovert? Is this distinction meaningful to you and, if so, how?

Online Assessment Resources

• https://introvertdear.com/introvert-extrovert-test-quiz/
• https://testyourself.psychtests.com/testid/2094

Beyond Nancy Drew

Forty+ Years of Loving the Whodunit

When I worked at the public library in my late teens, I would often roll my eyes at the enthusiasm of the more mature patrons for the mystery section. Fast forward forty plus years and I'm now one of those patrons; the mystery section is my first destination.

To set the stage, a quick definition (Wikipedia). A mystery is a genre of fiction where the perpetrator of an event (usually a murder or other crime) remains mysterious until the end of the story. There is typically a circle of suspects, which may change throughout the story, who have a credible motive and opportunity to commit the crime. The central character(s) is often some type of detective who eventually solves the mystery by logical deduction, from facts presented to the reader.

Several “girl detective” series including Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden served as the gateway to my long-term love of mysteries. I hadn’t read one of these in many years, so I tracked down a few familiar titles and re-read them. What was it about these books that had kept me coming back for more back then? And, what is it about mysteries in general that continues to hold my interest decades later?

Re-reading a couple of Nancy Drew mysteries as a mature reader was an interesting experience. They were understandably dated and the plots pretty contrived, yet I could still see the appeal to my younger self. The stories jump right into the action, there is typically travel, and the teenaged heroine has a car, a low-maintenance boyfriend, and is brimming with confidence. As with most mysteries, there is resolution in the end (in these books it often involves reclaiming actual treasure), which continues to be strangely comforting in a world where loose ends and shades of grey are the norm.

There is further appeal in a series, as readers can get to know the characters and ideally see these characters evolve. That’s not always the case but, even then, there is a welcome sense of familiarity at the start of each new adventure. The dynamics of the characters as they work together to solve the mystery is also a big draw for me. This is not a large feature in the Nancy Drew series, where the complexity of the characters is limited, but in several mystery series I’ll explore in subsequent blogs the relationship and growth of characters over time becomes a rich element of the story.

As one of my friends pointed out, the mystery as a literary genre may not always get the respect it deserves. And, I suspect, there are some who have a very distinct idea of what a mystery is, not realizing the many varieties now available. In the tradition of Agatha Christie and P.D. James, the classic England-centric mystery is still alive and well; Elizabeth George is a contemporary favourite of mine in this realm. But there are also many other options for the dedicated or prospective mystery reader to explore.

Mysteries come in all levels of intensity, from “cozy” mysteries to higher-action thrillers. I’ve also noticed mysteries revolving around many different interests and situations: baking, knitting, wine-making, libraries or bookstores, house/pet-sitting, gardening, and many more. Medical and legally-focused mysteries are another very popular mystery type, as are those set in the past. And, mysteries also range in terms of the expertise of the “detective(s)” involved, from the amateur who has a penchant for stumbling from one crime scene into another, to the private detective/professional sleuth, to the “police procedural” made popular through many TV series. In fact, the blog Murder by 4 outlines 13 types of mysteries, and there are likely more.

While mysteries aren’t for everyone, I encourage anyone who’s curious to scan the offerings of your local library (in-person or online) and try out anything that catches your eye. In this time of extended uncertainty, there is something very enticing about escaping into a world where reason and resolution rein.