Would you die for a story?
Plus, April picks, a visit to the backlist, and how to make the most of your local library account.
It’s hard not to think of war these days. The images and videos are everywhere. Of course, I remember 9/11 and the invasion of Iraq, as well as the decades-long conflict in Afghanistan. But it’s something else altogether to see an invasion play out in real time on social media. To see fighter jets screaming through the sky, bombs exploding in city squares, fire erupting from residential buildings. War is brutal—and that fact is ever present on our infinite scroll timelines.
Recently, I stopped on a post from a Ukraine-based war reporter commenting on the state of Kyiv. Despite nightly bombing runs and news of an advancing Russian convoy, he described vehicles traveling the streets like normal, the heart of the city alive and beating. Summing up, he wrote:
“Life has adapted to wartime.”
That line stuck with me. I began to think about the ways so many of us have been exposed to “wartime” through entertainment mediums like film or video games. We’re given snippets, scenes to witness, missions to complete. Even the more graphic offerings demand only a few hours of our time before sending us on our way with some form of climactic resolution. The credits always roll.
But what of all the other moments, when the gunfire has paused and the sirens quiet? Preparing a meal, brushing one’s hair, visiting the toilet, gassing up a vehicle, tucking in a child to sleep on whatever surface is available?
Life adapts.
I’ve lacked the imagination for such moments. I struggle to reconcile the notion of adapting in the face of belligerent destruction. And yet, I find myself daily awed by so many Ukrainians’ resolve to not only adapt, but to smile amidst wartime. Like the friends who gather in Kyiv parks for games of chess. The cellist performing atop the ruins of central Kharviv. Odessan opera singers belting a tune in front of a tank trap. The pianist playing Chopin after discovering her instrument intact within her ruined home. The precious little girl singing “Let It Go” in a Kyiv bunker. Life adapts.
Neil Gaiman once recounted a conversation he had with his 97-year-old cousin Helen, a Polish Holocaust survivor. While living in the ghetto, she gathered a group of young girls into her home each day under the guise of a sewing class to teach them math, grammar, and other critical skills. At the time, books were prohibited, and possessing one, especially one of Western origin, meant a bullet in the head if discovered.
So when a friend slipped her a Polish translation of Gone With the Wind, she took great care to conceal it, staying up an extra hour each night to read a chapter. When her girls arrived the next day, rather than teaching them, she retold what she had read the night before. Hearing this, Gaiman asked, “Why? Why would you risk death—for a story?” Helen replied:
Because for an hour every day, those girls weren’t in the ghetto—they were in the American South. They were having adventures. They got away.
Life adapts, and it yearns for more. It craves order and beauty. So we paint, we cook, we sing. We play chess between bombings. We risk death to read a book.
Here’s Gaiman once more.
Fiction can actually offer you a genuine escape from a bad place and, in the process of escaping, it can furnish you with armor, with knowledge, with weapons, with tools you can take back into your life to help make it better . . . Helen’s story is a true story, and this is what we learn from it—that stories are worth risking your life for. They’re worth dying for.
I hope you’re never faced with the kind of circumstances that necessitate taking such a risk. But what a gift it is to know the worlds of hope that lie within something as commonplace as ink-stained paper, a cellist’s bow, or the voice of a child who’s imagination has been captured by a story.
March Reads
Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson—A multigenerational family drama about two siblings who discover the secrets of their mother’s past upon her death. Come for the gorgeous writing, stay for the Wilkerson’s ability to demonstrate how we are all shaped by the untold stories of those who come before us.
The Fell by Sarah Moss—In this slim story, a woman breaks her mandated two-week quarantine for a brief stroll to clear her head only to find herself in the unimaginable situation of being gravely injured, unable to move, and all alone. Moss manages to capture the ever-present frenzy that is a mind in lockdown as well the truth that disaster is always nearer than we like to think.
Secret Identity by Alex Segura—Set in 1975, Carmen Valdez is an assistant at a third-rate comic publisher with aspirations to write. She finally gets her break when a colleague asks her to co-author a new run introducing a promising new female lead. Then the comic goes to print without her name and her colleague turns up dead, leaving her without a byline or an explanation for his death. For fans of noir, mystery, and comics, Secret Identity is a well-crafted story as playful as it is absorbing.
April’s Most Anticipated
Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel—The hum of a violin, a rush of air, the roar of an engine—this odd moment, experienced by a few noteworthy individuals across centuries, binds their stories together with a thread that transcends time. Part mystery, part metaphysical exercise, Sea of Tranquility is a search for meaning and presence in a world chronically fixated on what comes next. I had a chance to read an early copy, and it did not disappoint.
Bomb Shelter by Mary Laura Philpott—Can we ever do enough to guarantee the safety of our loved ones? Philpott thought so, until the day she discovered her teenage son unconscious on the floor, a reality check she never requested. In her new memoir, she retells that encounter as a lens through which to examine our protective instincts and what it means to live well when danger is always close at hand.
End of the World House by Adrienne Celt—Lifelong friends Bertie and Katie take a trip to Paris as Katie prepares to move from San Francisco to Los Angeles. While there, they accept an invitation to a private tour of the Louvre only to find themselves alone, separated, and trapped in a day that repeats itself. The publisher’s blurb describes it as “Groundhog Day meets Ling Ma's Severance,” and that’s more than enough to pique my interest.
Memphis by Tara Stringfellow—At ten years old, Joan finds herself uprooted as her mother takes her and her sister to her family’s home in Memphis to escape the unrestrained anger of their father. There, Joan begins to learn how violence has shaped so much of her lineage and how the love and sacrifice of her mother and grandmother paved the way for her to experience life differently.
Backlist Recommendation
The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman—I’ve been on a Gaiman kick recently and reread this little gem. It’s such a beautiful story told through the eyes of a believable eight year old. Gaiman is a master of weaving reflective insights into playful, childlike stories. This one is easily my favorite of his works, and it’s even better on audiobook thanks to Gaiman’s narration.
Reading Roundup
An 8-year-old slid his handwritten book onto a library shelf. It now has a years-long waitlist.—There’s not much more to add to the title of this article. Consider it your feel-good story of the month.
Slow Readers, Let’s Leave Shame Behind—It may come as a surprise, but I’m not a fast reader. So I identified a lot with the author of this piece and her encouragement to slow readers.
Sixteen Years After ‘The Road,’ Cormac McCarthy Is Publishing Two New Novels—Yes, you read that right. Cormac McCarthy. Two novels. This year.
The Rewriting of Emily St. John Mandel—Technically, this one’s cheating because it published April 1, but I’m going to sneak it in anyway since I recommend Sea of Tranquility above. Plus, Katy Waldman is one of my favorite writers to read about books, and this profile is no exception.
Afterword
If you’re not taking advantage of all your local library has to offer, here’s another reason for you to get started. Libby is a reading app, developed by OverDrive, that allows users to borrow ebooks, audiobooks, magazines, and any other digital content for free without ever having to visit the library.
It’s as simple as connecting your library account, browsing available titles, and checking them out on the app. The built-in reading and listening features are easy to use and let you instantly get started on your latest title. It can also be used on a tablet for an enhanced reading experience. I love this little app and regularly max out my hold limit because of how simple it makes the processing of borrowing.
Until next month, happy reading, friends.
P.S. If you prefer reading The Foreword on your mobile device instead of your desktop, you can now beef up your experience with the new Substack app for iPhone.
With the app, you’ll have a dedicated Inbox for my Substack and any others you subscribe to. New posts will never get lost in your email filters, or stuck in spam. Longer posts will never cut-off by your email app. Comments and rich media will all work seamlessly. Overall, it’s a big upgrade to the reading experience.
The Substack app is currently available for iOS. If you don’t have an Apple device, you can join the Android waitlist here.
Would you die for a story?
I love Libby, I have 3 out of state library cards along with my own local library. I've started reading Memphis and I'm really enjoying it. Great recommendations!
This is really lovely, Collin.