I love to read. I love to read so much that sometimes I avoid starting a new book. I know the minute the spine cracks, I’ve just abandoned every other responsibility for the opportunity to escape. There is something so intimate about a book. While the author may intend a specific interpretation, the reader can take from the text what is most meaningful to them. The relationship between the words written and the takeaway is infinitely dynamic and therefore curious to me.
My most recent escape was being sucked back in time to Jackson, Mississippi. The Help, by Kathryn Stockett was a birthday gift that I just recently allowed myself to indulge in. I was surprised with how quickly this book took me away. The story is of three women, deep in the south during the civil rights movement. Two of the characters are black women, working as the help in Jackson, Mississippi. The third character is wealthy young white woman, struggling to find her way as a writer. The fictional setting was easy to be consumed into considering how far the concept is from my reality.
I was most inspired by the risks that the young writer took to tell a story no one wanted her to write. Also how she discovered her talents and true path, despite it alienating herself from those closest. I also was caught up in the nurturing nature of the two black women, their fierce loyalty to the children they raised and how that translated to the lives they had become accustomed to. Throw into the story a bunch of catty Southern socialites and this book was just the right mix of entertainment and insightful.
It was a great book and it only whet my appetite for summer indulgences. My next treat, Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall.
Oh and I found a new nifty tool that takes you right to amazon to purchase the same books if you so desire. Enjoy...