#but she's got a stack of funny graphic novels and science books about space in her room now

[glorious-spoon]

My oldest kid STRUGGLED with learning to read - part of this is that Covid started when she was in kindergarten and distance learning was an unmitigated nightmare, so she pretty much lost any momentum she'd had and took most of first grade to catch back up. It was really only when my sister in law got her a Captain Underpants book for Christmas when she was seven that she was suddenly like, oh! this can be fun! and took off with it.

My younger kid, on the other hand, just sat down and read me an entire book, out loud, barely stumbling over sounding out three- and four-syllable words. He's five; this is well beyond what they're practicing in school. He just... learned how letters make sounds and instinctively picked the rest up. The contrast is wild.

[generalized-incompetence]

“You have, like, books here, right?”

Myrtle, the librarian, looks up from her desk, at the library, where she has been finalizing a new order of library books. 

“Yes,” she says. “We do.”

Read on AO3 here

“Oh!” says the man with a relieved smile. “Great.”

Myrtle eyes him over the stacks of books and notepads on her desk. She has been a librarian for nearly four decades, and she’s seen all sorts, though she can’t recall anyone ever asking this particular question. The man in front of the desk is… hm. Muscular is the best word she can think of, though she would have more choice adjectives if she was a few decades younger and/or inclined in that direction. Chiseled, perhaps. Blonde, predictably, with the sort of haircut that had been popular on Ken dolls, back in the day (do they still have Ken dolls? Barbie has certainly traveled; she’d heard something about a breakup?). His smile is pleasant enough, though somewhat vacant, and judging by his question, this might be the first library he’s entered in his life.

But, librarians didn’t judge - not books by their cover, and not patrons by their questions - so she shifts away from her computer and says, “Can I help you find anything in particular?”

“Oh!” says the man, brightening at the offer of help. “The thing is, this guy Mike? He’s, like, really smart? And I’m not? So I thought, maybe, if I read some books and stuff, he might like me more?”

He looks so hopeful that Myrtle doesn’t have the heart to tell him that changing oneself is rarely worthwhile, and that his best hope with this “Mike” likely involves who he is now. The man misinterprets her silence and blunders forth with, “Not like like, obviously. Just as, um. Is there a word for, like, people who hang out all the time, and talk a lot, and think the other person is really smart and cool and funny and just make each other, um, I guess. Happy?”

Myrtle raises an eyebrow. “...Friends?” she says.

“Yeah!” says the man with the biggest smile yet. “Yeah. Friends.”

Myrtle has always considered her duties as a librarian to extend past the books and towards the well-being of her patrons, but she feels this man may need more help than she is able to provide. “What kind of books does this Michael enjoy?” she asks. “Any subjects he’s interested in?”

“Aliens,” says the man instantly.

“Aliens?” says Myrtle.

The man nods enthusiastically. “He knows everything about them,” he says. “Like, all the stuff the government’s been covering up - he got access, or I guess I gave him access, and he says it’s just what he thought the whole time and people are super not paying attention. And then he said a bunch of science things that sounded really smart. So maybe if you have some books that could, um, explain that?”

“You’re looking for,” says Myrtle slowly, “scientific books about aliens?”

“Yeah!” says the man.

Myrtle takes off her glasses, polishes them on her sweater, and puts them back on. “I’ll… see what I can do,” she says.

“Oh! One more thing,” says the man. “Sorry, I know you’re a librarian and everything, but reading, like, kinda sucks? So if there’s any books you have that you, like, don’t have to read to get smart - could you find those?”

Ah, she thinks. Thoughts of UFOs fly out of her head as she recalibrates her illicit judgments. There are reasons she is a librarian, and this man is one of them. She is suddenly and overwhelmingly grateful that this man has chosen this library, on this day, to walk in and present her with an opportunity to unlock literature, outside the written word.

“Have you ever tried,” she says, “audiobooks?”

An hour and a half later, she has loaded the man down with several audiobooks; a stack of graphic novels; links to browser extensions for changing font size/spacing and rendering text to speech; and, of course, a brand-new library card. 

“Now, these are all just starting places,” she says, methodically scanning out each graphic novel in turn. “If any of them don’t work for you, you don’t need to push it. But if it does work, then you feel free to come back and ask me for more, alright?”

The man, who, to his credit, did not flee when she went Full Librarian, swallows. “I - I guess,” he says. “But, I mean. Are you sure? Like, this isn’t really reading, right? Picture books are for babies.”

“These aren’t picture books,” she says snippily. “They’re graphic novels. It’s a perfectly legitimate form of literature, and if anyone gives you a hard time, you send them straight to me.”

He pulls the closest book towards him and flips through the pages, lingering over some of the more vivid illustrations. She’s had this conversation so many times she could have it in her sleep, but it still breaks her heart a little, to think a little thing like formatting has stood in his way for so long. 

“We’ve only had writing for about five thousand years,” she tells him, “but we’ve always had stories. True purists should still be sitting around a fire carrying on the oral tradition. There are plenty of ways to read that don’t involve words on a page.”

“Huh,” says the man, staring at a full-page spread of a detailed spaceship. “That’s - that’s kinda cool.”

“It certainly is,” says Myrtle. She finishes checking him out and slides the rest of the books and resources across the desk. “Good luck with your Michael,” she says, looking him straight in the eye. “And everything else.”

“Thanks!” he says with a bright smile. “You know, I always thought libraries sucked? But you don’t suck at all.”

Myrtle refrains from a sigh. “Thank you,” she says instead, and waves him out.

—

She thinks of him a few times over the next couple weeks. She doesn’t seriously expect to see him again; there are return bins outside, and her shifts are fairly irregular. But roughly three weeks later, she looks up and there he is, with a slight, nervous-looking man in tow.

“Hey, it’s you again!” says the man with an oversized wave. “Mike, this is the nice librarian lady who gave me all those, um, graphic novels. Hey, librarian lady, those links you gave me were so cool! I never knew there were all those things that would read emails and stuff to you, so you don’t have to read them at all!”

Myrtle does try to remain somewhat detached, but she can’t help but feel warmed by this outcome. Even better, Mike responds to this speech with a fond smile, first in the man’s direction and then in hers. “Thank you,” he says. “That was, um. Overdue, I think.”

“Oh, no, I turned all the books in on the day they said!” says the man quickly. “No library fines here!”

Mike laughs and pats the man’s arm. “Come on,” he says. “Didn’t you want to look for the Predator sequels?”

“Yes,” says the man, and tows Mike inside. Myrtle watches them go, still feeling like a job well done. Maybe she needs a new slogan, she thinks. Libraries: We don’t suck at all! She snorts and shakes her head. She’ll work on it. She has plenty more patrons to practice on.

[allthebest20]

Kindred

by Octavia Butler (1979)

This was easily one of the best books I’ve read in a while.  I finished it in only a few days.  It’s a 9/10, maybe even a 10/10.

The writing style feels almost made-for-the-screen, as it is pretty dialogue heavy, but also very plot driven.  (Note: there is no movie, but there is a graphic novel). There is not a lot of descriptive paragraphs, but the writing is still very vivid and detailed, giving just enough information at just the right times for your brain to see the scene clearly, but not be distracted from the plot.  Sometimes the dialogue felt a little bit unnatural, but only because the events of the book (fantastical time-travel) are quite unnatural.

The publisher, on the back cover, claims this book is Science Fiction / African American literature, but I think I might disagree.  I mean, it’s definitely A. A. lit, but I’m not sure it’s science fiction? There is no time machine or other works of science involved.  Instead, what connects Dana to the past is her own history, her own spiritual connection to her ancestors, specifically her great-grandmother and grandfather, Alice and Rufus.  I think that makes this book fantasy and historical fiction.  Obviously, Butler did a lot of research to make the book’s setting in Antebellum Maryland historically accurate, and in some ways, it reminded me of The Land by Mildred Taylor.  I loved that book when I first read it in 7th grade, before we read it in class, and I think it had a big impact on the way that I think about race.  That book was so sad, so vivid, so real, and it introduced me to the feeling of being stuck in a system stacked against you.  Similarly, Kindred helps one understand how slavery could never have ended with just one proclamation or even one lost war.  The ideals of slavery were so forced on both white, black, and mixed people that extricating oneself from it was nearly impossible, especially for white folks.  It was never an individual problem, it was always societal.  Even Rufus, who had all the ingredients to be a “good white man,” couldn’t even do the bare minimum for Dana or Alice, woman he claimed he loved. 

At the same time, Rufus could have made a positive difference in the lives of the people he owned, and I think it says a lot about the white psyche, even today, that we so often say we want to do good things, but ultimately feel as though we cannot be expected to act outside our own best interest.  I feel that for myself sometimes: like it is so ingrained that we must do what’s best for ourselves, and that we should expect everyone else to do the same, and somehow that will equal out to having things be best for all.  Sure, in an ideal world that MIGHT be true (I’m not sure what an ideal world would even look like), but unfortunately, there’s almost always a power dynamic or some other unevenness.  Rufus was de-facto put in charge of all these people, even though he never asked for that, never qualified for that, and I think that must be one of the excuses he uses to justify his actions.

The book explores the difference between White Sadness and Black Sadness. Here, the black sadness is everywhere: Sarah losing her children, but keeping one and living for that girl; all the other people who lose family members forever to causal slave sales and the fear that they could be punished in that way at anytime; the way the field hands dislike Alice, Dana, and Sarah for their proximity to whiteness; the patrollers and the precarious position of even the free Black people; the hopelessness of trying to run away; the constant threat of rape and then the dispensability that comes when the white man is no longer interested; the violent punishment and the over-working; the total lack of control over one’s circumstances, one’s job, one’s religion and education, one’s family, even one’s own morals; and the idea that no one can enact revenge on the slave owners without hurting everyone else.  |I mean, I could go on, the book is steeped in sadness for the characters and anger for the readers at the apparent helplessness of these strong, smart people.  Dana says it best when she talks about how she does not have the endurance, the strength, that the enslaved people do, because I feel the same way.  I do not have the will to live like some of these people do.  I’d rather be dead than enslaved, but Butler shows how the enslaved people both do and do not feel that way.  It brought up so much anger in me when Dana kept saving Rufus, and he kept treating her like shit.  Made me want to kill that little fucker myself.  But, at the same time, she simply cannot do that until her grandmother is born. This is very similar to the position Alice or Sarah is in: “I would kill that fucking devil, but that would tear apart my family and the family of everyone I know, and definitely come back on my kids.”  What a genius way to portray this.

There’s a lot to be said about what’s wrong with Rufus, but I think one of his driving motives is his sadness.  This is why Dana is called to him in the first place, I think, because he is sad and reckless.  He does not feel loved by his father, who arguably had never been shown love by his own white parents. He was probably raised by black woman who he was simultaneously taught to disrespect.  That’s probably also why he has no respect for Rufus’ mother, and why, in turn, Rufus also has no respect for her.  She probably also did very little of the work to raise Rufus, even if she tries to be there for him.  Her own psyche is so damaged by the messages of slavery and misogyny that her weak brain cannot possibly understand her place in the world or how to feel about it. It’s funny that after her husband dies, Margret is able to be friendlier, more open, and even less racist. Rufus’ only friends seem to be black people, who are probably a bit weary and cautious around him, because their little “friend’s” father can decide to beat or sell them or their families at any time.  So Rufus never learns true friendship, true love.  He doesn’t understand and cannot work on the different parts of himself because he does not have the vocabulary or the experiences to differentiate selfishness, empathy, and justice.  This makes him sad, lonely, and angry.  He should have listened to Dana, but there is no space in his head to understand a smart Black woman.  I don’t mean to sound like I’m excusing him in anyway, he’s the devil, but Butler made him a very dimensional character in a way that makes me reflect on my own whiteness and how I experience whiteness in the world.  Still, it is mind boggling how Rufus again and again has a chance to make the right choice, or a better choice, and chooses something else.  It is clear that he has no sense of morality or objectiveness, only his perception, his desires.  His father, on the other hand, is painted to be a much more close-minded, violent, and cold man, but he still has intacted, yet warped, sense of morality, at least towards other white people. At least, Dana and Rufus seem to believe this, but there is very little evidence of it in the book.

Being white is all about mixed and purposefully misleading messages.  My favorite is how we are taught to fear black men, even though most violence enacted on white woman is from white men.  However, the fear of blackness keeps us from suspecting the white pedophiles, abusers, and rapists in our midst.

It would not be a proper remembering of this novel if I didn’t at least briefly mention Kevin, the white husband.  In 2020, we are no longer marrying dudes that doubt our intuition, who makes us unpack all the boxes, who hold their career success over us so that they can hopefully cajole us into doing their secretary work.  Like the fact he didn’t even consider coming back with her again, even though she was in much more danger their then he would be.  All around, I found him unimpressive.

Alice was also interesting.  It was almost as if Dana felt more kinship with Rufus than with Alice, which makes sense given her circumstance -- that she was called to the past by Rufus’ potential deaths.  Still, sometimes I forget that Alice is Dana’s great-grandmother, because she doesn’t seem to connect with her as inimitably.  At the same time, Dana knows that she is doing Alice a disservice, knows that there are things worse than death, and still, plays a role in creating Alice’s hell to save Dana’s family’s own existence.  Perhaps that is why she cannot be as close to Alice, just like some of the people who work in the fields hate Sarah and Dana.  Perhaps it is a way to illustrate the contentious relationships between black people in that era created by the white people or more specifically, created by the white people’s power and privilege.  I read some on the internet about black unity and black community, and it seems like some of these trends still play out today.  I read on sishi.rose’s instagram today about how when she spoke out about racism in her workplace, black people where some of the most skeptical.  Even today, there is issues in the black community regarding proximity to whiteness on both sides (ie both “your too close to whiteness” and also “I want to be close to whiteness”).  I can’t really speak much more about that, but I haven’t read many narratives about the negative aspects of intra-slave relationships.  It was also interesting to hear about how they created justice within their enslaved communities.  Obviously, the want justice between themselves and the whites, but because that was unobtainable, it felt so... vindicating? empowering? surprising? in the plot when they got to do that in their own community.  A few of them beat up the woman who tattles on Dana when she runs away -- that woman, too, displays more morality in her pinky finger than Rufus has in his entire body when she refrains from telling on her attackers.  Is she scared of being attacked again or being ostracized for her actions? Or does she know that telling on them could lead to their deaths or their movement away from the plantation -- is morality innate or enforced by our surroundings?  Either way.  When that man gets sold and his family blames it on Dana, I think it is Alice who later sets them straight.

All in all, it is a riveting story, that makes a lot of points about race relations in America not only 200 years ago, but today.