Books: Mrs Miniver

I'd like to talk about books.

Because books have shaped me. Books have grown me up. Books are a road-map of where I've been, and of where I've dreamed of going. So I'm going to slowly, quietly examine the books that loom large to me. I will write love letters to the books I love best.

Starting with Mrs Miniver, of course.

Every summer my family goes to the beach for a vacation, and for a few years we stopped along the way at a big antique store in Burgaw. The old tables and rings and quilts didn't interest me much, but on the second level, in the dusty lighting, they had a selection of books and magazines. I have perfected the Bookshelf Shopper stance, which involves standing with your head tilted to the side so as to read the sideways titles of the books.

I'm not sure why I picked up Mrs Miniver. It was a rusty brown hardback with scuffed corners and water stains. The gold lettering on the spine was so faded that I flipped to the title page. I'd never heard of the book, or the author. I read the first few pages anyway.

I fell in love.

Mrs Miniver is a series of newspaper columns originally published in 1937, written by Jan Struthers. They were later published as a collection two years later, just after WWII broke out. The columns center around a seemingly ordinary, but actually quite remarkable housewife named Caroline Miniver. What makes the stories sing is that they are grounded in truth -- the Minivers are thinly disguised versions of Jan Struthers' own family.

I think books should leave you with greater understanding. When you step into a book, you should walk out a little deeper, a little broader, a little taller. Every time I read Mrs Miniver, I come away looking at my world and my people in a gladdened way. Somehow Jan Struthers helps me understand why I love certain things, or how I think of certain ideas, or even what it's like work hard and long on a hot day. Mrs Miniver as a character lives deeply and enormously in each moment.

I have a hard time explaining my love for this book. As Mr Knightley said, "Perhaps if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." All I know is that when I read Mrs Miniver, it feels like home.

In the Interest of Full Disclosure

I think nooks and kindles and every form of e-readers are an abomination.

A book isn’t quite a book unless it’s a book.

Books aren’t just meant to be read, they’re meant to be held and sniffed and stacked and dog-eared.

You don’t just look at the words, you cry and your tears leave that little round ripple on the page.

Books shouldn’t be in glass cases, they should be tucked in your shoulder bag or tossed on a bedside table or wedged into your coat pocket.

Books are roadmaps of where you’ve been; they stand on the shelf as the quiet companions of your past. They are the guardians of your memories. They are the most faithful lovers.

You can’t plug in a book. Books don’t run out of batteries.

You can keep your tablets and nooks and cold, slick readers. I shall stick to paper and binding and books.