Introduction: Becoming a BOOK GIRL

The world was hers for the reading.

BETTY SMITH, A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN

MY MOTHER SWEARS she read to me while I was still in the womb. I must admit, I used to chuckle at this idea, half skeptical and wholly amused at the mental image of my mother reading dramatically to her newly swelled belly. But I don’t laugh anymore. For even as I type this sentence in the quiet of my tiny front room in an old Oxford row house, I’m aware of the kick of my own unborn girl-child and the picture book I have laid nearby for the read-aloud break we will take in a few minutes. It’s Miss Rumphius this morning, the story of a little girl who discovered that one of her great tasks in life was to “make the world more beautiful” and did just that by planting lupines in rainbow hues throughout the countryside in which she dwelled.[1]

Words like those, and images like that, are the kind to which I hope my daughter will waken as the story of her own life begins. In speaking them over her unborn little being, I yearn for her already to be formed by a love for the beautiful in a world that often demeans it, by a sense of her own worth and capacity, by the sort of story that will begin to show her the kind of strong, intelligent, loving woman I hope she will become. I understand now, with an ache in my heart that is both my gratitude and my own newborn hope, that my mother desired the same for me in those months before my birth. I almost laugh into the quiet as time seems to expand around me, past and present united in the stubborn and loving wish of two young mothers who hoped to give their coming daughters the beauty of the world and the strength to bear its sorrow, and knew that one of the best ways to do that was through the gift of the reading life.

It’s the same gift I hope to pass on to you in the pages that follow.

What’s So Good about Being a Book Girl?

That is the question at the heart of this book, and my answer comes in the pages that follow as I explore the gifts I received from being raised as a book girl myself and as I tell the story of my own reading life, the one I yearn to give my daughter as she opens her story in this world. Gifts of learning and wonder, of hope renewed, of the capacity to ponder, of the will to act—these are just a few of the gifts to be explored in the chapters to come as we consider the particular goodness of being a book girl.

The reading life is like one of those potent graces bestowed by fairy godmothers on princesses in old fairy tales, the sort to help a young heroine grow in all good things, to love life in its fullness and beauty, but also to make her strong in resisting the forces of evil stepmothers or wicked fairies already gathered round her cradle. I read aloud to my belly (as did my mother before me) because I firmly believe that books will help my daughter come into the full strength of her womanhood in all its intelligence and joy, its capacity and grace—and I’m firmly convinced they’ll do the same for you.

Those gifts boil down quite quickly to three basic wishes, bright as any in a fairy story. They are the wishes, the hopes that ache in my heart as I read aloud to my little girl, the ones that echo back to me from my mother and shape my prayers for you as this book begins.

I want your heart to be stocked with beauty. To be a book girl is to be formed by a bone-deep knowledge that goodness lies at the heart of existence. The feel of my mother’s warmth behind me as she read is one of the first things I can remember—the safe anchor of her body and the music of her read-aloud voice the ocean on which my small consciousness sailed into power through stories of music and brave maidens, feasts and castles, family and home. Before I knew how bad the world could be, I knew that it was wondrously good. I want the same for my daughter and for you. I want your imagination to be shaped by beauty, filled by characters of grace and strength, livened by a sense of wonder in the ceaseless gifts of ordinary life.

I want you to be strong for the battle. The future book girl of mine so merrily kicking my ribs will be born into a world where beauty is under siege and goodness is on the defensive. She will live out her story in this broken place, and sorrow will be her portion long before I’m ready for her to bear it. When my mother walked with me through the nightmares of my girlhood, the dark midnight terrors that plagued my young imagination, I’m sure she knew only bewildered grief. But she taught me how to fight the good fight and to hope with a fierce, creative will by reading me stories that came like lifelines in the night. I can picture her there in the shadows, reading of brave Lucy Pevensie or the staunch Princess Irene, who faced down terrors and fought their way back home. In my memory I see us as held in a circle of light cast from the pages of those stories. It’s a light I have found throughout my life in the narratives of great books, the one I yearn for my daughter to discover when her own battle begins, the one I hope will come to you in the stories that cram the pages ahead.

I want you to know you’re not alone. A book girl is joined not just to one but to two great fellowships, for the reading life sets book girls in the never-ending companionship of story as well as in the company of one another. To be a book girl is to take up membership in the ranks of women who read and, by their reading, live to the brave and courageous full. I knew this deeply in the reading times I shared with my mom throughout my girlhood and in the ideals I now share with both my mom and sister as we write and chatter back and forth about the novel we’ve both read or the theological classic we feel will change our lives . . . again.

But I also know it in the generosity of the women who have been my mentors and friends, the ones who stepped into my seasons of discouragement or transition with a novel for the road or a quote to set me back on my feet. I yearn for my little book girl to know this rich camaraderie, to know that when she is hopeless or lonely, there is another book girl who can kindle her courage and steady her soul. I hope that she will know this in person, but if she cannot, I hope she will find it in books that stand with her as companions and friends. I long for her to discover, as I have, the voice of companionship that can reach out from the page of some great novel or memoir to help her to find her faith afresh.

Who Is This Book For?

My desire is that you will find a unique kind of fellowship on the pages of Book Girl. Wherever you find yourself in the reading life, I hope that as you turn these pages, you’ll discover that you aren’t alone. Do you yearn to be a book girl but don’t know where to begin? Oh, you are welcome. There’s a fellowship of book girls waiting for your presence, and every page here is my way of passing along the gift of reading that I received by pure grace. I can’t wait to set it in your hands. Are you a book girl who struggles to find the time to read? Goodness, my friend, we all understand that dilemma in this busy world. Were you once a book girl but seem to have lost your reading stride somewhere along the way? I hope you will remember afresh the joy and wisdom that wait to form you in the books that follow. Do you struggle with loneliness, do you yearn for a beauty you can barely describe, do you hope for friendship, or do you just need some courage to keep fighting the small battles of the everyday? Then pull up a chair, brew a cup of tea, and join the fellowship here as we read our way back to beauty and courage, to laughter and strength, to life in its fullest grace.

In a World Full of Books, Why Read This One?

I’d argue that you should read this book because it celebrates not just the gifts of the reading life but also the rich life of the reading woman, her particular experience and journey, and the wise and joyous fellowship that grows between women who undertake that reading adventure together. This isn’t a textbook or a how-to for quick education or a tome on the classics. This is a book that explores in memoir and story what it means to be a book girl, for story to suffuse and shape a woman’s experience, for books to walk with her as she navigates the varied seasons of her life. All the chapters and book lists are themed around spiritual or experiential seasons, shaped to encourage and companion the book girl who reads them in regaining strength and vision for her own story.

Book Girl is also my witness to the fact that the reading life is a gift, one I received largely from the wise women in my life whose generosity was expressed in the sharing of the books that taught them to live with humor, humility, and grace. In one of my favorite short stories, “A Jonquil for Mary Penn” by Wendell Berry, there is a beautiful scene that describes “the dance of women laughing,” and that image came to my mind countless times as I considered what I wanted to create and offer in this book.

The scene comes near the end of a tale about a young, newly married girl who finds herself woefully underprepared for the farming life to which her marriage has brought her. One winter day she finds herself sick and despairing. She makes it through her chores and crawls straight back, chilled, into bed. But she wakes to warmth—to the creak of a rocking chair, a fire kindled, light streaming in through clean windows. Mary, in a keen, grateful moment, knows that she has been noticed and cared for in her extremity by one of the local women who have claimed and taught her, slowly weaving her into their fellowship. She lies there in bed and remembers the way these women have taught her not only their tricks of gardening and farming but their earthy good humor, their tough grace, their will to endure. The passage describing one such memory is rich in hilarity—how one of them got tangled up in a wire fence and began to chuckle at her own clumsiness, and how they all joined in:

There on the ridgetop in the low sunlight they danced the dance of women laughing, bending and straightening, raising and lowering their hands, swaying and stepping with their heads back.

What that scene evokes for me is the vibrant, joyous fellowship of women who help each other to that fullness of self, skill, and insight that is the richest gift of friendship. That is what I hope Book Girl offers as well. This book is about the dance and joy of women reading, an invitation to that wise laughter, to the grace known by all the book girls of the world who live by the delighted conviction that reading is a vital ingredient in a woman’s full engagement with her faith, her creativity, and her capacity to grow in knowledge and love throughout each season of her life.

How Should This Book Be Used?

Consider this book a companion, meant to come alongside you wherever you are in your journey as a book girl. If you are just delving into the reading life and are in need of an overarching vision for what it means to be a reader, you might enjoy reading straight through, exploring each chapter and list as an introduction and an invitation. The following two chapters are especially crafted to be a more practical opening to the reading life, with suggestions on how to begin, how to form reading habits, and how to think about book selection.

But Book Girl is meant to last you beyond a first read. By theming the chapters and their accompanying lists to different seasons of experience or growth, I hope you will find this a continuing resource. To that end, and particularly if you are a seasoned reader, I’d say dive straight in and read the sections that speak to you in your particular season of life or describe the sorts of books you are hungry to read in your current phase of exploration.

How This Book (and This Book Girl) Came to Be

With a mother who read to me in the womb, I really couldn’t escape engagement with the written word. I loved books from little girlhood, especially stories that fired up my imagination and widened the horizons of what I could dream or hope to become. I grew up in a home crammed with books, in a family who lived by the rhythm of reading—for spiritual sustenance in the morning, for learning or imagination during the day, for laughter and fellowship in the long, starlit evenings. We spoke the language of story to each other, dreaming up adventures like Frodo, wanting to be brave like Davy Balfour, each of us aware of our own lives as stories just beginning. Reading, I realize now, was one of our prime ways of living and loving to the full.

But it wasn’t until I was in my twenties, sitting in a conference on modern culture, that I realized how great a gift this reading life was, how purposefully it had been chosen as a heritage for me. I heard a talk on the decline of reading in contemporary life, especially for children, and it brought me to a sudden epiphany. I can still recall my deep and honestly surprised sense of wonder at having been raised to be a reader, at the gift and intention of my parents’ investment in books. I sat there in the old church conference hall, sifting through my childhood as I began to examine the way stories had formed my sense of self, the way my parents had used literature to widen my concept of what was possible and to shape my ideas of the good, true, and beautiful.

That was a moment of catalyst for me—the instant in which I took up the identity of a book girl because I realized that the reading life was a gift, one I, too, had the power to give. I left that room determined to understand more about the power of reading, and that led to a decade of research, speaking, and writing about the powerful gift parents can give their children through a childhood formed by great books. I stumbled into full-time work in reading out of sheer enthusiasm, setting studies and other pursuits aside as I researched the way reading expands the whole being of a child. I spoke at parenting events, wrote a guide to children’s literature (Read for the Heart), then another book (Caught Up in a Story) as I began to think specifically about what it means for a child to be “storyformed.” My passion for reading was such that I wanted to hand out books to children on the street!

But my own reading adventures were just beginning, and several years ago I found myself not only about to start undergraduate study at the age of thirty but about to realize my dream of becoming a student at Oxford, a desire I’d carried ever since my teenage immersion in the writings of J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and the rest of the famed Inklings fellowship. I went to England to do a year of theology as a sort of curiosity, a thirtieth-birthday adventure, and then I fell in love with the subject and decided to stay three years, unexpectedly mesmerized by the study of doctrine as I delved into the core tenets of my faith. I also fell in love with Thomas, my adorable Dutch husband, and before my degree was completed, we’d married, moved permanently to the UK, outfitted our first house, and discovered that we were expecting a baby.

As a student, I was immersed in the kind of reading that challenged my whole view of the world, but at the same time gave me a renewed sense of myself as an agent, someone with the power to learn, to discern, to grow, to create. I had been teaching parents about the power of reading to their children for years, but my experience as a student renewed my own identity as a learner. As I read, I saw how deeply I was being formed in my spiritual life, my sense of self, my sense of purpose. The power that came to me both as a reader and as a woman was immense as I discovered my capacity to wrestle well with the doubts and questions I’d always carried about my faith, to face the countless changes that came with marriage and an international move with faithfulness and courage, and to articulate the truth I was discovering to others.

I did all this in the marvelous company of other women who were also avid readers, and of fellow students and dear friends who balanced their lives as learners with their identities as wives, mothers, and teachers. I did this in community with my tutor and mentor, Liz, whose quiet authority and encouragement empowered me to explore; with my sister Joy, also a student, as we wrestled with questions of femininity, theology, and culture together; and with my mother, the first woman who taught me what it means to act in courageous discovery. When my studies finally drew to an end and my mind turned toward the messages burning in my heart, the ideas that had grown in my imagination throughout those intensely formative years, I realized that one of the first things I wanted to write was a book on the gift and grace and radiant power of being a woman who reads.

The idea for Book Girl came to me on an autumn afternoon as I sat in my chilly little Oxford living room, the one crammed with Thomas’s and my combined libraries (the first thing we bought as a married couple were five extended-height bookshelves), and began to dream. What if I could write a book for other women that would guide them into the same kind of discovery and power that I had experienced afresh at Oxford? What if the gift of a reading life was available to every woman, something as vital for mothers as for their children? What if I could write specifically to women, exploring the way reading can shape and enrich every season of a woman’s experience? With those questions, Book Girl began.

Now, over a year later, I sit in that same small living room. The book is complete, a manuscript that has grown alongside my belly as my own little book-girl-to-be has kept me company through all the months of writing. As I contemplate the opening of my little one’s story, glancing at the pile of picture books I’ve set ready for her arrival, my eye is caught by a particularly tattered old book, one of the few I’ve taken the trouble to cart over the ocean from Colorado because it was one of the first my mother read aloud to me. I flip through the pages, savoring the faded illustrations, remembering the cadence of her voice pronouncing the simple, lovely text, pointing out this detail or that tiny beauty on each page. Through the reading life, my mother yearned to give me, in a sense, the whole world. She wanted to outfit her little girl with a wild imagination, a strong will to discover, a curiosity about the world, and the spunk to explore it. My heart soars with thanks . . . and excitement.

Now it’s my chance to give that gift. It’s the one I’m about to give my daughter, the same one I hope you’ll discover in the pages of this book.

So please, my friends, join me in living the gift of becoming a book girl.

Sarah Clarkson

SPRING 2018

[1] Barbara Cooney, Miss Rumphius (New York: Penguin Books, 1982).