This book is available in English as Planting Stories: The Life of Librarian and Storyteller Pura Belpré.
See also The Storyteller's Candle/La velita de los cuentos.
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authors. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
Sembrando historias: Pura Belpre: bibliotecaria y narradora de cuentos - por Anika Aldamuy Denise
This book is available in English as Planting Stories: The Life of Librarian and Storyteller Pura Belpré.
See also The Storyteller's Candle/La velita de los cuentos.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
On Marginalia, or, Why I Don't Write in my Books
While cleaning up my office, and computer this summer in preparation for my sabbatical I found a forgotten file that appeared to be an essay I started in response to this editorial about marginalia from the Bridgewater Review. It seemed rather late to finish it to submit to the magazine, but the ideas in it seemed appropriate for a blog post, so I've adapted the response for publication here.
While we all have been taught that marking up library books is wrong, might we not question that dictum? If you have something relevant to add to what the author is saying, why not share it? As a librarian I respect the argument, but still insist that library books be returned in the same condition that they were loaned.
But what about writing in our own books? Certainly people can do what they like with their own property, including defacing it, as long as it doesn't hurt someone else. And we might even argue that we should write in our books. We might want to refer back to an idea that was sparked while reading, and notes can help us remember those. Additionally, any of us could become another Thomas Jefferson, or a Mother Teresa. Won't our marginalia then be valuable to historians? However, for myself, I will say that if, in time, anyone should ever go looking through my books for musings they will likely be sorely disappointed. I hung up my hi-liter in college, and while I probably made some notes in some of my graduate school textbooks too, I have since been careful not to. I think perhaps what made me stop writing in books all together may have been the purchase of a used copy of Ashes of Izalco by Claribel Alegria and Darwin J. Flakoll from a college bookstore. It was not-so-meaningfully marked up by a previous reader (mostly with a yellow hi-liter), and it was also signed by both authors, something I did not realize when I bought it. I read the book for a class, and honestly don't remember it but still it sits on my special shelf reserved for autographed copies of books. And I really hate that this one has been defaced.
I read a lot of books, and I often blog about them. I use scraps of paper or post-it notes to mark things that I want to return to later. Generally, once I've published my blog post about a particular book I pull all my markings out. Of course, if I've read a library copy this is simply common courtesy to my colleagues who will have to do the work of removing the markers if I don't, but even when I use a personal copy of a book I still take the time to remove any physical evidence that I actually read it. I firmly believe that each reader needs to make up his or her own mind about the meaning of a text, and they don't need someone else's ideas mucking that up. Since I usually pass a book along to someone else once I've read it, the next reader will have a fresh start. (I do, however, make an exception to this rule for cookbooks when I make adjustments that improve the recipe as written. This, of course, will only help the next user, as Harry Potter learned in The Half-Blood Prince!).
I recommend that readers who wish to engage with authors do so directly by writing to them (if they are living). The letter writer is very likely to be rewarded with a response directly from the author. I also occasionally find that an author has commented on one of my blog posts, truly a treat! Of course one cannot communicate directly with a deceased author, and so one must be content with corresponding with scholars, editors, or other fans. All of this can be done online, and so comments will reach a wider audience than those written in a single copy of a book, to be read only by those who happen to pick up the same one.
As an end note, I will concede that sometimes marginalia can have worth, as illustrated in this story of a library book made more valuable when the annotations were discovered.
It also looks like it is time for me to re-read Ashes of Izalco.
While we all have been taught that marking up library books is wrong, might we not question that dictum? If you have something relevant to add to what the author is saying, why not share it? As a librarian I respect the argument, but still insist that library books be returned in the same condition that they were loaned.
But what about writing in our own books? Certainly people can do what they like with their own property, including defacing it, as long as it doesn't hurt someone else. And we might even argue that we should write in our books. We might want to refer back to an idea that was sparked while reading, and notes can help us remember those. Additionally, any of us could become another Thomas Jefferson, or a Mother Teresa. Won't our marginalia then be valuable to historians? However, for myself, I will say that if, in time, anyone should ever go looking through my books for musings they will likely be sorely disappointed. I hung up my hi-liter in college, and while I probably made some notes in some of my graduate school textbooks too, I have since been careful not to. I think perhaps what made me stop writing in books all together may have been the purchase of a used copy of Ashes of Izalco by Claribel Alegria and Darwin J. Flakoll from a college bookstore. It was not-so-meaningfully marked up by a previous reader (mostly with a yellow hi-liter), and it was also signed by both authors, something I did not realize when I bought it. I read the book for a class, and honestly don't remember it but still it sits on my special shelf reserved for autographed copies of books. And I really hate that this one has been defaced.
I read a lot of books, and I often blog about them. I use scraps of paper or post-it notes to mark things that I want to return to later. Generally, once I've published my blog post about a particular book I pull all my markings out. Of course, if I've read a library copy this is simply common courtesy to my colleagues who will have to do the work of removing the markers if I don't, but even when I use a personal copy of a book I still take the time to remove any physical evidence that I actually read it. I firmly believe that each reader needs to make up his or her own mind about the meaning of a text, and they don't need someone else's ideas mucking that up. Since I usually pass a book along to someone else once I've read it, the next reader will have a fresh start. (I do, however, make an exception to this rule for cookbooks when I make adjustments that improve the recipe as written. This, of course, will only help the next user, as Harry Potter learned in The Half-Blood Prince!).
I recommend that readers who wish to engage with authors do so directly by writing to them (if they are living). The letter writer is very likely to be rewarded with a response directly from the author. I also occasionally find that an author has commented on one of my blog posts, truly a treat! Of course one cannot communicate directly with a deceased author, and so one must be content with corresponding with scholars, editors, or other fans. All of this can be done online, and so comments will reach a wider audience than those written in a single copy of a book, to be read only by those who happen to pick up the same one.
As an end note, I will concede that sometimes marginalia can have worth, as illustrated in this story of a library book made more valuable when the annotations were discovered.
It also looks like it is time for me to re-read Ashes of Izalco.
 |
| Even the cover of my copy is "enhanced" with yellow hi-liter |
 |
| Autographs inside |
Monday, February 22, 2016
Last Night's Reading: Illustrated Encounters with Extraordinary Authors - by Kate Gavino
I follow author Junot Diaz on Facebook. A recent post of his featured a drawing of himself by Gavino along with a quote "Every time someone gives you a formula for what you should be, know that it's basically a pair of handcuffs". From this post I learned about the passion I share with Gavino: book readings. Some years ago I wrote an essay called "Rubbing Elbows with the Authors" for the Internet Review of Books. The essay tells of how much I enjoy going to book readings by authors (both the famous, and not-so-famous). The essay has since been removed from the IRB but it can be found here. Gavino's work is a quick read based on her tumblr account featuring drawings of authors she has heard reading their own works. When she attends a reading she doodles a picture of the author and adds a favorite quote. She and I both know that readings are generally free entertainment, and a cool way to meet famous people without the huge crowds. This was especially fun for me to read. I felt like I was playing a game finding drawings of authors I've read (Lois Lowry, Marjane Satrapi, Carl Hiaasen, Margaret Atwood, Isabelle Allende, Laurie Halse Anderson, Edwidge Danticat, Maya Angelou, Chuck Palahniuk, Jeffrey Eugenides, George R.R. Martin. John Green, Elizabeth Gilbert and (bonus!) even some that I've met myself Tiphanie Yanique, David Sedaris, Janet Mock).
I got a bit emotional reading this book. Listening to books being read aloud tends to make me cry a little bit. Apparently so does reading about readings.
So, here's hoping that I will be able to meet Gavino someday. Hearing her do her own reading would make this truly a meta experience. I've never tried my hand at drawing author's portraits, but if I meet her I will give it my best shot.
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