Editorial: What we're reading and loving lately

Time to write about books again. I haven't focused on books since Dec. 6 of last year, and I have several I'd like to mention. Plus, the morning of writing this, I learned Lawrence Ferlinghetti died last Monday at 101. Readers of a certain age will understand how I feel: It's odd to continue in a world that doesn't include him. As cofounder of City Lights Books in San Francisco, he and the company promoted a vast variety of titles, philosophies, attitudes and poetry. I confess I never set foot in the store, but I knew about it and admired it. I have a copy of the second book the company published – "Howl," by Allen Ginsberg – but I confess I could never get past the first line: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked …" But I don't have to understand everything. Ferlinghetti, his bookstore and publishing company made a difference and survived and thrived through a time when the idea of brick-and-mortar bookstores seemed odd. Not to me, but to some. I thank him and the store's supporters. OK: I heard from two people after my Dec. 6 book column. Auburn artist Betty England recommends "The Stationery Shop," by Marjan Kamali. "It made me cry," Betty said. Two lovers are separated by war, 60 years, distance and misunderstanding. Finally, they meet again (we know this from the moment the book starts) and we and they discover what happened so long ago. Judy Jenness exults over "The Nightingale," by Kristin Hannah. "It was one of the best books I have ever read! It held my attention from page 1 to the end." It focuses on two sisters in France in WWII. "I shed more than a few tears as I got so involved in the story." Larry LaVerne is in the middle of two books: "Mekong Mud Dogs: The Story of Sgt. Ed Eaton," by Ed Eaton. "This is the true story of his life as an Army infantryman while serving in the Mekong Delta, Vietnam … (He makes clear) the anguish and misery of having to do battle while slogging thru leech and ringworm infested rivers and ankle-thick mud." He's also reading "The Lou Conter Story," by Louis A. Conter, Annette C. Hull and Warren R. Hull. "Lou was a crew member of the battleship USS Arizona, and one of the few survivors of the bombing. Yes, he was a hero, braving fire and death to help the wounded get to safety. And of course every veteran in our area knows Lou, as he is a member of several Auburn organizations." Recognizing my enthusiastic interest in reading, writing and books, Foresthill author Debbie Garneau Griffin emailed me, offering a copy of her book, "The Eternal Conductor." It's a tale of the Underground Railroad in Vermont, and a deadly spirit that insists on haunting a stop on the railroad into the present day. This yarn sounds fascinating. If you want to learn more, investigate: theeternalconductor.com. Thank you, Debbie. My friend Barbara gave me a welcome – yet vexing – page-a-day calendar for Christmas: "1,000 Books to Read Before You Die." I thank her every morning, but I also mutter under my breath every morning. This book. Oh wait, this one … no, this one. Drat. I can't submit to all of them. But after learning how wonderful Anton Chekhov's stories were, I got my hands on a collection. It's ready and waiting, yet I recently bought a frivolous yarn about a young widow who is thrilled her husband died (but won't tell anyone) and who agrees to rent the small apartment behind her house to a young New York Yankees pitcher who can't pitch anymore. "Evvie Drake Starts Over," it's called, by Linda Holmes. Plus, I found a book that I remember my mother reading, choking with laughter: "Let the Crabgrass Grow," by H. Allen Smith, writer of short light pieces – yes, for god's sake, I admit it, a COLUMNIST – found all over the place in the mid-20th century. Mother also had several books by Peg Bracken – most famous for "The I Hate to Cook Book," but she wrote about other stuff as well. I have been haunted for years by a line in one of those books. Peg recalled cleaning out the home of her solitary Aunt Liz, who died alone and too soon. Peg was distracted by a book by Liz's bed. The book, a translation of Columbus' diary of his first longer-than-he-expected exploration, fell open to a page Liz clearly found powerful. She highlighted the only words describing one of these endless days on the ocean: "Sailed on." Nothing else they could do. Hopeless and hopeful at the same time. I've made it my goal to find that Peg Bracken book again. I've run out of space. OK – now it's your turn. What are you reading and loving lately? Email me at the address below. I thank those who have shared titles with me. Susan Rushton's opinion column appears regularly in the Auburn Journal. Her email address: goldcountrydenizens@gmail.com.