This regular feature on BIP altered during the past year; my favourite on-the-move notebook sprouted a layer of dust because now that I’m consistently sitting at my desk, I often choose to key my notes directly rather than handwrite.
For rereading, I still appreciate handwritten notes; that way, I’m not tempted to look back in my file to see what passages and phrases I’ve noted from a previous reading. Once I’m finished rereading, and ready to type in the parts of the story that I’ve flagged, I look back and mark the repeated passages with an asterisk, and I reflect on what has changed and what hasn’t.
Alongside, there’s a glimpse of my notebook for a reread of Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn—one of those books I’ve read a countless number of times, because I discovered it when I was eleven, before I thought of writing down all the books I read. (It’s not the only handwritten set of notes from 2020, but it’s the only set in my favourite notebook. Does everyone have a favourite notebook?)
Last year I reread all of Betty Smith’s novels, with an eye to writing about how important they were to me as a young reader and wanna-be writer, for Vol1Brooklyn. The only fresh read for my project was the book which occasioned it, Harper Collins’ fresh reprint of Tomorrow Will Be Better. (And Valerie Raleigh Yow’s biography, which is obviously of interest to any dedicated Betty Smith reader, but would also be of interest to those who enjoy women’s writing in the years surrounding and following WWII.)
In many ways, however, when I returned to Joy in the Morning and Maggie-Now, I felt like they were fresh reads. Particularly Maggie-Now, because I’m sure I would have been rather bored as a girl, by the lengthy preamble, the journey back to Ireland, the long process of building a life in Brooklyn, not only for the main characters but for their ancestors. Likely I skimmed, even flipped, through these pages.
When I was a kid, I wanted to stay firmly rooted in a single voice and time, unless the “other time” involved moving through a mirror or a wardrobe or a staircase or—I had opinions, and they didn’t always make sense.
The essay that grew out of these reading experiences with Betty Smith’s fiction would have been quite different if I’d included all my favourite passages about books (I did squeeze in a couple). Like this one, about Francie, from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn:
“From that time on, the world was hers for the reading. She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood. There was poetry for quiet companionship. There was adventure when she tired of quiet hours. There would be love stories when she came into adolescence and when she wanted to feel a closeness to someone she could read a biography. On that day when she first knew she could read, she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived.”
Annie, in Joy in the Morning, loves the library and books as much as Francie does. She declares to her newlywed husband: “Now, you let me be, Carl. Some people do crossword puzzles. I do books.”
“She went from room to room, floor to floor, stack to stack, reveling in books, books, books. She loved books. She loved them with her senses and her intellect. The way they smelled and looked; the way they felt in her hands, the way the pages seemed murmur as she turned them. Everything there is in the world, she thought, is in books.”
The pleasures of Maggie-Now lie elsewhere, in the vibrant nature of the community (which is diverse and complex, as a reflection of reality, not out of a performative desire to prove her inclusivity) and the development of a small cast of independent and determined characters. “A girl on Maggie-Now’s block in Brooklyn had an aunt who was young and blonde and laughed a lot and smelled like sweet, sticky candy. Aunt Henrietta, now, was old and withered and smelled like a plant that was dead but still standing in the dirt of the flower pot.”
What Tomorrow Will Be Better does is illustrate a different angle on working-class characters than that observed in the other novels: “They were worn out, beaten down. They had to conserve themselves each nonworking moment in order to replenish their strength for the next day’s work. And their killing work brought them nothing except enough rest and food to enable them to work. Time did not march on with them; it went around in a circle. They lived on memories of the hopes they had had as young men and on some lucky break in the future that would release them from a hard life. For the moment, nothing mattered to them except the throbbing feeling of rest.”
I got into the habit of taking my favourite notebook with me when I was on the move. It’s a nice size, a little too big to fit into a pocket, but not-so big that I was discouraged from carrying it. Now that I am not on the move very often (and never with a notebook in tow), I will need to make a point of spending time with my favourite pages.
What book and notebook habits have been changing for you?
I loved A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, but it never occurred to me to read her other books. But now I want to!
My problem with notebooks is I never want to use my favourites, because I like them so much I’m afraid to use them. So most of my notes are in the dollar store variety. They work well, too!
It’s funny how sometimes just one book eclipses the others in an author’s oeuvre.
I get it. Sometimes when I’m stuck, I use torn-out scraps (with one side of the page used) just so that I feel like I can write absolutely anything on the other side!
This blog post speaks to me because i love journaling. I have so many notebooks – some dedicated to book quotes others to poetry and so many more. I love all kinds but one of the things that is a must for me is that it lies flat! 🙂 I did read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn when I was a kid but that is one I wouldn’t mind re-reading.
Do you have notebooks from when you were growing up, too? When I was younger, I didn’t care if the pages laid flat, but you’re right, it’s much easier to write when the binding fully opens. I also used to love pretty notebooks, but I soon learned that there was an extra pressure with writing in a pretty notebook! It’s definitely worth rereading–little asides that I glossed over as a kid mean something more now.
It’s funny, I haven’t really reached for books that I read as a teenager or pre-teen to re-read, although I’m sure if i did, they would seem completely different, sort of like movies or tv shows. I honestly didn’t read that much as a teen, I sort of dropped out of it, but I slowly found my way back to books the older i got-thank god!
It might sound like a cliché but I can recall very few times in my life where I was not reading (either a lot, or obsessively). But. It’s like any other habit, I think. So it’s there when you want it to be there and it’s gone if you stop wanting it. (Plus, when you were younger, you had a lot more entertainment possibilities that would have been more tempting than books!)
I don’t know if I use notebooks that often usually. I have one on the table next to my laptop while I am working from home. It’s an embarrassment of scribbling and doodles. I must say though, those Betty Smith novels sound wonderful. I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn years ago, but now I want to read all those others.
Because it’s freshly reprinted by HarperCollins, Tomorrow Will Be Better is probably the easiest one for you to find, and it and Joy in the Morning (which is more bookish) are both good. Maggie-Now treads a little closer to family saga territory, which is satisfying in a different way (and it’s the least bookish).
I must be unusual in never having read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; it’s a classic that most American bookworms would have read as children, I would imagine. I love all the bookish quotes here — I can see why Smith is a kindred spirit of yours.
I dunno how uncommon it is, actually. I was a kid who read a lot of books from the shelves of older women in the family, and it was on those shelves because they read the book as adults (there are some surprisingly mature themes in this book which are fleetingly referred to, along with alcoholism and poverty). There are SO many bookish bits…you’d love them too.
I only started keeping a journal in the late 1990s, and for most entries, I’ve jotted my thoughts about the book after I’ve finished reading it. The exception is some NF books, where I’ve made notes as I go so that I can write a review without making mistakes, and a very small number of novels that involve fractured narratives where I’ve needed to take notes so that I can follow what’s going on. There are more of these over time, simply because I’ve read more of these as my tastes have changed.
One disadvantage in having split the listing and logging from my journal is that I don’t write about every book that I read in my journal. It bothered me when I started to rely more on the electronic records, but, on the other hand, it wouldn’t be possible to track the statistics and patterns that I find both interesting and helpful about reading habits. It’s curious that you enjoy more complex fiction now; I think it’s like exercising any other muscle and if one isn’t doing it very often, it strains the muscle (and annoys the reader!) grins, but like many other things one can grow into new habits. And it’s one of the pleasures of getting older (and we should talk more about the pleasures, right? :)).
I’ve never got into the notebook habit – I did try a few years ago but it didn’t last very long.
When do you make your notes – as you are reading or the day after?
If you want the habit, just try again: habits can take multiple tries, in sticking them down. But if you don’t, you can save some trees! 🙂
With handwriting, I make them in the moment. But much more often, I flag passages with reusable stickies and after I have an hour’s worth of typing, I put on a podcast or a show or a movie and type them up.