Book Nostalgia

The imaginary places we go that might be real

Memory is like patches of sunlight in an overcast valley, shifting with the movement of the clouds. Now and then the light will fall on a particular point in time, illuminating it for a moment before the wind seals up the gap, and the world is in shadows again.
~ Tan Twan Eng, The Garden of Evening Mists

I was talking with a friend the other day about change and how we accept it or not, what we miss from other times, other places, what we hold onto. And I got to thinking about how we view the past and therefore, how we view the present. From there I leapt to something I will call Book Nostalgia. 

A story:

For a year in the early 90s, I had the gift of living in a townhouse that had a view of Monterey Bay. I had gotten a special deal on it, one of those offers you can’t refuse. One summer night I was sitting at my desk reading student papers, listening to screams and laughter coming from the Big Dipper roller coaster at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk, and I thought to myself, “Don’t forget this moment right here. I will one day feel nostalgia for this moment.” Most days I walked on the beach, just a half block away, or I headed down the street to the harbor. This was my dream life, to live this close to the ocean. I do, now, feel nostalgia for those days and nights, and I can go there in my memory and not only appreciate what I had but also appreciate my insight that summer night that this life here in Santa Cruz would not last forever.

For what is a person without memories? A ghost, trapped between worlds, without an identity, with no future, no past.
~ Tan Twan Eng, The Garden of Evening Mists

This morning I am sitting on my patio in a condo/apartment in a small town in the Denver Metro area. I can hear traffic, and my view is of my little street and parking spaces.  We are having such a perfect fall! The weather has been warm, the trees are slowly turning from green to yellow or red. Fallen leaves clatter on the sidewalk when a breeze comes up. I remember Santa Cruz and everything it offered at that time, and I am better able to appreciate what this time here in my little apartment has to offer me. I watch my neighbor get out of her car with her small children, and they walk over to the railing of my patio to say hi. I will, one day, feel nostalgia for this, I’m sure of it.

Back to Book Nostalgia

The other day I bought the latest novel by Tan Twan Eng: The House of Doors. I bought it for one reason: I’ve read his other two novels (The Gift of Rain and The Garden of Evening Mists) and loved them, and I wanted to enter the world he creates. I remember how it felt to read those first two books, the softness of that experience, the beauty of the place. Will Eng give me that in this new book? I don’t know, but it was Book Nostalgia that made me buy it in hardback. I could deal with this book nostalgia by rereading the first two books (they are not in a series, by the way), but that could affect the original joy I had in reading them, and I don’t want to risk that. I want to enter his world by another door into other lives. He’s that kind of writer: Come in, be comfortable, let me tell you a story.

The mind forgets, but the heart will always remember. And what is the heart's memory but love itself?
~Twan Eng Tan, The Gift of Rain

I do reread certain books to satisfy my need to enter a certain world. I listen to The Lord of the Rings Trilogy while I exercise every afternoon, books I’ve reread or listened to many times over the years, and given my age, that’s a lot of rereading. I want to go Tolkien’s Shire and follow Frodo on his quest for world peace. I am comforted, even through the most difficult parts of Frodo’s journey.

Have you had an experience of Book Nostalgia? How did it work for you? Rereading? Reading new books by a favorite author?

I’ve even had a form of Book Nostalgia for stories I’ve written: I want to enter that imaginary world peopled by characters I created. One time when I was in Santa Cruz for a visit, I said to myself, I should stop by and see Madison. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, and wham! Madison does not exist in this world. She is a character I created who lived in a house I imagined on a real street in Santa Cruz, and she was/is so real to me that I felt disappointed I would not be able to see her. What kind of nostalgia should I call that?! Go ahead, do that little swirling finger thing next to your ear, but if you write fiction, I’m betting you know what I mean, and no, we are not crazy (says the woman who wanted to visit an imaginary character).

What are you reading? Tell me. I’m always happy to add another book to one of my growing stacks of unread books. 

One of several stacks around my house