Posted on by Kirsten T. Saxton

Senior Book Chat

Tille Olsen’s Tell Me a Riddle, Requa I, and other stories

Our September 9, 2024 Book Group discussed Tillie Olsen’s Tell Me A Riddle, a collection of four short stories first published in a slim book in 1927. All four stories were featured in Best American Short Stories, in the year each was first published in a literary magazine. The title story was awarded the O. Henry Award in 1961 for best American short story. The group had read Tillie Olsen’s short story “I Stand Here Ironing,” before, and were excited that a member suggested this collection as a chance to read more of her work.

Let me digress a bit here to describe how the book list selection process has evolved. I chose the selections initially, drawing on stories assembled in my Book of Old Ladies that had been favorites in my courses at Mills College. We maintained the theme, focusing on “women of a certain age” as the main characters. 

Eventually the entire group participated  in proposing books, pitching them and then taking a vote. We considered broadening the theme, and read several books by men, opening the genre to include essay collections by Ursula LeGuin and Ann Patchett, and then returned to our initial theme of old women but maintained the inclusion of essays and memoirs. 

We now limit recommendations to two per member and then vote, trying to select one from each pairing. Sometimes several members agree on a single book, and reduce the list prior to a final vote. Then I create the order of books, taking into consideration length and topic. We read or listen to the longest books over the lengthy break between series. 

We have also changed our discussion format. Initially I assembled a list of open-ended questions and led discussion. Later, various members took turns creating the questions and leading the discussions. Now we each show up with an observation or a question, usually sharing a few sentences from the text that either delighted or confused us.

Back to Tell Me a Riddle. In advance of the discussion, I wrote a bit about my responses to the stories, and my connections to and responses to Tillie Olsen. Tille Olsen’s writing introduced me to many writers of what we began to call Working Class Literature;  the Feminist Press began to publish some of the then out of print works she brought to light. When I was a student in UC Berkeley’s graduate program.  I invited her to a graduate course on California Women Writers, where her work was not included.  Later, I  invited her to read aloud “I Stand Here Ironing” at Mills. Olsen reminded me a little of my mother, also an Olsen, also a working class woman, a maid, raised to be a wife and mother, writing poetry on the backs of envelopes and grocery receipts. In Silences, Olsen accounts for the years between her literary outputs: “She did not write for a very simple reason: A day has 24 hours. For 20 years she had no time, no energy and none of the money that would have bought both.” Both Tillie Olsen’s life and my mother’s contrasted starkly with university culture, and after meeting Tillie Olsen I wanted my Mills students, especially those first generation students like me, to be encouraged to write their untold stories. 

In our group, everyone had much to offer about their own connections to Olsen’s work. A librarian in the group considered the implications of  the subject headings under which the collection is listed  in library’s catalogs. Another member who was familiar with the names Jack and Tillie Olsen from her family’s connections with the Longshoremen Union  told us about the housing cooperative Tillie Olsen and her husband helped establish in the Western Addition. Our discussion included close analysis of the prose and general discussions of class and race, of mothers and daughters, of the “sorting” that occurs among children as they move into middle school. We all learned something beyond our own initial reading, and it was one of the richest discussions we have had.

Several people read the most recently published version from the University of Nebraska  Press that includes not only the 4 stories but also a longer piece of writing, Requa, perhaps her most experimental work, some of her political articles, and several wonderful critical essays by family members, daughters Laurie Olsen and Julie Olsen Edwards and a stellar introduction by her granddaughter, Dr. Rebekah Edwards, a long time visiting professor at Mills as well as an alum and a dear friend of my daughter, Kirsten. I highly recommend reading Tillie Olsen’s work, and if you can, reading this edition.

Posted on by Kirsten T. Saxton

Senior Book Chat

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

Our second August discussion focused on a book I recommended because it is my favorite novel by Virginia Woolf: To the Lighthouse (1927). 

While it is less than half the length of The Stone Diaries, it is a lyric and non linear novel, an early example of a stream of consciousness narrative. After completing  Carol Shield’s fictional account of the multiple decades of Daisy Goodwill’s life, we read Virginia Woolf’s fictional account of the Ramsays based closely on her parents, particularly Julia Stephens, in which the life is squeezed into an account of a single day, a death recorded in parentheses, and a rendering of the ways in which Mrs. Ramsay’s legacy lingers in Lily’s mind. Both novels confront the reader with those not so simple questions:  What is the meaning of a life? And what does it mean to “know” another person?

To the Lighthouse is a book in three parts, in three movements. All of it is laid at the Summer home of an English family named Ramsay in the Hebrides, the first portion occupying an afternoon and evening, the second portion constituting an interlude of ten years during which the house remains unoccupied, the third portion occupying a morning at the end of these ten years. The Ramsays are a middle-aged couple, when the book opens, with eight children, who have with them at their Summer place about half a dozen friends including the young unmarried artist Lily Briscoe. Woolf uses the figures of Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay as the archetypal marriage, and the eccentric unmarried artist, Lily Briscoe, to engage ideas about gender relations, marriage, war, home, meaning, truth. Woolf uses stream of consciousness—a style of writing meant to mimic the way thoughts flow through people’s minds.

Most of the books we choose are plot driven, moving through time in a linear fashion, chapter by chapter, often with one point of view, or sometimes a sequence of chapters is narrated by separate characters. In contrast, Woolf’s stream of consciousness moves inside and outside characters’ heads, forward and backward in time, and the vivid prose and imagery is similar to that of poetry. 

I began receiving emails from members who were struggling to finish the novel. I shared notes from my teaching days, introducing stream of consciousness and some critical reflections on  the novel, hoping to convince everyone to love one of my favorite books. While I did not convert everyone to Woolf, the discussion was animated, and we all appreciated hearing each person’s remarks. 

Coming away from the novel, we were left with its essential question:  What is the meaning of life? Mrs. Ramsay repeatedly asks the question in Part I, and in Part III, trying to finish her painting of Mrs. Ramsay, Lily echoes it:  

What is the meaning of life? ‘That was all–a  simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark;…Mrs. Ramsay saying, “Life stand still here”….In the midst of chaos there was hope; this eternal passing and flowing.

As Lily ponders the impossibility of ever really knowing another person, she thinks of the habit we all have of making up scenes about others based on bits and pieces  “what we call knowing people,” and realizes there are no guides to answer the question about life’s meaning, but rather that “so much depends upon distance: whether people are near us or far from us….” 

As Lily continues and eventually completes her painting, her vision of Mrs. Ramsay, she thinks:  “One wanted fifty pairs of eyes to see with…Fifty pairs of eyes were not enough to get round that one woman with” and as Lily finishes her canvas with a single brush stroke, Woolf ends the novel with Lily’s words “I have had my vision.”

Posted on by Kirsten T. Saxton

Senior Book Chat

The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields

Just before the pandemic, I first discussed a selection from my Book of Old Ladies with seniors at the Downtown Oakland Senior Center, meeting in person in a large ballroom where over 70 seniors met with my small Mills seminar of 15 students to discuss Toni Cade Bambara’s short story, “My Man Bovanne .” We intended to meet monthly at the center, but after our second meeting to discuss “They May Not Mean To, But They Do,” the pandemic precluded meeting in person and we turned to Zoom, then a startling new technology for most of us.  

Going forward, I intend to use this blog  to update you on our current readings in the hopes that you may find the books and discussions of interest!

Since we have already met twice (life does show up in the way of good intentions as we all know!), we have had two sessions already this season, and so I will start with a brief account of of these and give you a heads up on what follows in case you want to read along with us.

On August 11, we discussed Carol Shield’s 1993 novel, The Stone Diaries. We selected this novel because of its importance to the member who originally recommended it and said she found it a good companion during the long days she sat by her dying father’s hospital bed

The novel is a fictional autobiography which follows the life of Daisy Goodwill from her unusual birth to her quiet death, drawing on diaries, letters, newspaper articles, and other  “real life” materials to document the life of an ordinary woman. While I need to listen to books because of my vision, I purchased a second hand copy of the novel so I could see the photographs included in this facsimile of a biography, and I was interested to learn Shields used photographs of her own children to represent Daisy’s three children and drew on vintage  photographs purchased in thrift shops to represent the other characters. 

Shields commented that with this novel, she finally wrote the book she wanted to read: one in which an ordinary woman, with no astonishing or heroic accomplishments, lives day to day, primarily in family and domestic settings. Daisy Goodwill Flett’s life  is marked by death and loss from the beginning, when her mother dies during childbirth. Through marriage and motherhood, Daisy “struggles to understand the paradoxes of her life” (The New York Public Library), and the book is divided into ten chapters detailing each epoch of Daisy’s life.The Stone Diaries won the 1993 Governor General’s Award for English language fiction in Canada and the 1995 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in the United States.. It also received the National Book Critics Circle Award. 

Our discussion of Stone Diaries was unusual in that readers had no questions about difficult passages. And few had marked favorite lines to share with the group, although we agreed that the writing was excellent. Perhaps because Daisy’s life felt familiar with its domestic every day focus, despite some of the tragic details of her experience. The narrator’s descriptions of Daisy are  always from the outside, never probing her interior. The arc of the novel did not lead to dramatic lows and highs; rather it, like life, echoed the rhythms of ordinary life–its intended purpose. By the end of our discussion, nearly everyone mentioned intending to read the novel again with an altered sense of expectations,, and commented on how the novel mirrors most lives, one incident follows another without building up to a crisis or tying up loose ends with a bow.

Tune in next week for Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse.

Posted on by Kirsten T. Saxton

A few thoughts

 Like many authors who published books in 2020 and as a professor for over 42 years, I’m particularly looking forward to sharing my work and connecting with readers in person next Saturday (you can RSVP here). The video above is from one of the first in-person readings I gave in November 2023 since The Book of Old Ladies was published.

Posted on by joshzun

An Update

As I printed the reading list for my upcoming Book Group for the Downtown Oakland Senior Center, I reflected on our beginning as a collaboration between the DOSC and my final post-retirement English Department course at Mills College, “Coming to Age.” What began as monthly in-person sessions between undergraduate Mills students and members of the DOSC transitioned to Zoom sessions due to the Covid pandemic. No longer a collaboration after the end of the spring semester 2020, the DOSC readers decided to continue meetings on Zoom, taking summer and mid-winter breaks between sessions. We discussed 37 books between 2020 and 2021, chosen by me as an extension of my book, The Book of Old Ladies, in which the protagonists are all women over sixty. Currently, the selections are chosen together with members of the group.

I took a break from social media this summer and fall, and I have recently been asked for an update on the books we read in our summer/fall 2022 session. They included short stories, novels, and essays. Here they are:

We enjoyed “Olive Kitteridge” and returned to Elizabeth Strout with “Olive, Again.” The collection of stories follows Olive into her old age and home into assisted living with the lively characterization and detailed sense of small towns in Maine we had earlier enjoyed.

We then reached back to the nineteenth-century portrayals of elderly widows by Sarah Orne Jewett. “The Country of the Pointed Firs” is also set in Maine.

Two short stories by Katherine Mansfield featuring three generations in an Australian setting rewarded us next: “Prelude” and “At the Bay.”

We then read Charlotte Wood’s 2022 novel, “The Weekend,” also set in Australia, in which three elderly women friends meet at the ocean cottage of the deceased friend to clean out her belongings and face their future without their beloved friend, who often was the glue that held them together—also discovering long-held secrets.

Louise Erdrich’s much-celebrated novel, “Love Medicine,” was a tough read. However, her prose is lovely, exposing the anger, desire, and healing power that is love medicine within this first novel in her Native American series.

Ursula Le Guin’s late-in-life collection of essays, “No Spare Time,” was our first non-fiction reading. It brought laughter of recognition in her short essay that gives the book its title and awe for her wisdom, and we determined to include one of her novels in our first 2023 session.

We concluded with Julie Otsuka’s short contemporary novel, “The Swimmers,” written in a “we” voice and moving from an underground community swimming pool to life in an assisted living residence. And we just decided to include one of her earlier historical novels in the next session.

When we first adjusted to Zoom sessions in 2020, we had no idea we would continue in my retirement, using zoom and appreciating the chance to see each other’s unmasked faces on the screen.

Posted on by joshzun

Ageist Harm

Stella Fosse’s most recent blog posting, “First Do No Ageist Harm,”  examines the underlying assumptions of a study on brain health in which she participated because she wanted to contribute to research that would help develop treatments for brain disorders.  In her lucid account, she reports that many of the questions came from underlying assumptions she considers ageist–assuming decline, for example. There were no questions about the positive aspects of aging, suggesting there was no financial incentive similar to that of drug companies seeking cures. I had recently revisited Ursula K. Le Guin’s collection of short blog-like pieces written in her eighties and nineties, entitled No Time to Spare in which she begins by referencing a questionnaire she received from Harvard, sent in advance of the sixtieth reunion of her 1951 graduating class. Her response to a question about what she does in her spare time, like the questions Fosse mentions, reveals the underlying ageism of the questions.  I suggest you read all four entries in the opening section, “Going Over Eighty.” I love her response that she has no spare time because her time has always “been occupied by living.”

Next, I plan to follow up on Fosse’s recommendation of Becca Levy’s book,  Breaking the Age Code:  How Your Beliefs About Aging Determine How Long and How Well You Live.  Like LeGuin, I bristle when someone claims I don’t look my age, sharing her sense that we earned our wrinkles and age spots in over eighty years and we don’t want them to deny our experience of living.