Yesterday evening, I joined another reading group, this one in my very small home town. I delight in these, no matter the genre or the group’s temperament or lack of cake and coffee.
The book being discussed was Elizabeth Gilbert’s The Signature of All Things (which I hadn’t read, being new to the gaggle). I held my singular, almost standard question until the end (manners for once keeping me leashed).
“As you wadded into this novel, assuming you didn’t toss it across the room, what drew you through, what compelled you to engage with the story and read on to the end?”
I won’t summarize, but simply share what I scribbled as these kind and sincere folks spoke:
“I cared for the her (the main character).”
“It was a puzzle that I wanted to complete.”
“The first few pages snagged me, I want to see what would happen.”
“There were these interesting twists. Even when some confused me, I pressed on.”
“It was so real.”
“I had to know what happened in her life.”
“I was learning so much about moss.”
It’s for others, likely the East Coast Literati, to construe a single learning or insight from such comments. Not my job. But for my work, I am encouraged yet again to remember on a daily basis (I write seven days a week), that I write for myself and others and offering a hand whenever I can, feels right and caring. I’ve also decided to not research and work at length in moss – it’s now be done by one of the finest.
All the best,
The Danser Novels