Political conventions, especially the DNC, are like sports events in our house: if the DNC or a Pirates game is going on, it’s on the tv. Hubby stays up for all of it. I’ve been going to bed early for most of the DNC this week. I can watch speeches in the morning, after I’ve had a full night’s sleep, and in most cases I didn’t need to watch and interact live. Last night was an exception. I fully intended to go to bed. I was tired! It was late! It was way past my bedtime on a school night!
But then Chelsea Clinton walked on stage, and I was glued to the sofa. There were several moments last night that were deeply memorable, and I wasn’t expecting yet another. But oh, my gosh, the warmth and emotion I felt. I was a hot mess of feels, for a number of reasons.
First, she told the story of her childhood and her adulthood through books, the books that connect her to her parents, and to her children.
It was a reading list of, “Oh, yeah, I remember that book,” and one sentimental Good Book Noise after another. More than one person in my social media feeds wants to join Chelsea’s book club. Each moment of her story was marked by a book, from Goodnight, Moon to Pride & Prejudice.
Holy smoke, ALL THE FEELS.
We connect here in this space daily, across all the things that divide us, from the physical to the ideological, because of books. I value that connection more than I can describe. I also value how much I’ve learned about empathy and humanity through the books I’ve read, how much I’ve experienced through books that gives me a connection to other people who have read the same story. As Lisa Kleypas said in a recent podcast interview, it’s like you know the same people, because in a way, you do.
And in a political climate that is so divisive and so divided and so freaking incredibly holy shit scary to me, being reminded of the connections that happen through books was the most comforting and wonderful thing. It kept me on the couch, for sure.
But in addition, I wasn’t prepared for the number of feels I had seeing Chelsea Clinton on stage, looking confident and composed. Not only was she five weeks post-partum (GO ON WITH YOUR MAJESTIC SELF MA’AM) but she was resilient.
I said this on Twitter, as did many others, but I remember so clearly how cruel and unacceptably mean people – including people in the media, journalists and pundits alike – were to Chelsea, starting in 1992. I was 16; she was a month shy of 13. She had curly hair and braces, and the comments about her looks were unconscionable. The cruelty was constant, and the remarks about her were merciless, and I remember them, remember how horrified and hurt I felt every time I heard or read one, and how there were no consequences for those who said them.
Before that, and afterward, and this morning, and two seconds ago, there have been and will be egregious comments about every woman’s appearance that are allowed to masquerade as valid discourse. It’s not a solved problem. But seeing Chelsea and the comments about her when I was younger had an effect on me that I didn’t fully appreciate until I saw her again last night. My inarticulate thoughts were a mess of, “I remember you,” “You look so happy right now,” and “HELL YEAH you should be happy.” It wasn’t quite vindication, but it was close. To quote Nicole Peeler, Chelsea has “grown into a fabulous human bean and that is triumphant.” YES. That.
Happiness is a victory, one that, as a romance reader, I will celebrate and appreciate every time.
To layer that awe and appreciation over the warm fuzzy memories of books that connect us to one another, atop the jaw dropping, unexpected astonishment of my watching a woman become a presidential nominee… I was a complete mess of feels and sniffling. My nose is stinging right now.
Spaces for women where we are safe and appreciated are, I believe, more frequently found, but still rare, and every one of them is valuable and essential. I have said many times that I don’t take myself seriously at all, but I take this community and the protection of it very, very seriously. That we connect here every day over feelings, emotions, vulnerability, fear, triumph, and empathy is something I value immeasurably. I didn’t expect to be so emotional last night or this morning. And I certainly didn’t expect to find so much comfort and emotion in the experience of listening to Chelsea Clinton talk about books. But as tired as I am today, it was worth it.
[NB: if possible, may I please make a request of you: please have a look to find out how to register to vote.]
So, what’s your family reading list? What books connect you to your family?
Wizard of Oz! I can still see my mother’s hands holding the book as she read to us on our side porch in the less than hot evenings of Mississippi! And her legacy was a love of reading that all eight of her children revel in. My sisters and in-laws are constantly recommending or sharing books.
My mother had such an amazing collection of Nancy Drew! Nancy was such a smart, capable, and curious woman who was way too good for the insipid, milquetoast Ned.
The Little House books. Anne of Avonlea. Reading Emma aloud to my mother when she was ill and I was 19. The Wheel of Time series my then-boyfriend/now-dh read aloud to me in its entirety through our courtship, marriage and pregnancy. Reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn over the whoosh and hiss of the ventilator in iCU by my grandfather’s side as he slipped away. Jump, Pup–the first book my four year old read by herself. There are so many titles I hang my life on.
Sarah, Chelsea Clinton’s grace struck me too. She is just a little older than me, so when her father took office, I was at the same awkward stage she was. When grown men insulted her, I hurt for her, because the contempt was so connected to her girlhood. Regardless of one’s political views, personal attacks on a child are wrong.
Goodnight Moon and Hop on Pop were favorites of my siblings and I when we were kids, and my daughter loved them too. When she gets a little older, I’ll try to get her hooked on the Black Stallion and Anne of Green Gables books I read as a kid.
Charlotte’s Web, first and always. All the Anne books, with a special nod to Rilla of Ingleside. Jacob Two-Two and the Hooded Fang by Mordecai Richler (another Canadian classic). Swallows and Amazons because we love to sail. Harry Potter (only the first three so far). Beauty by Robin McKinley (wonderful book to read aloud to children and tweens). And now I’m feeling a little weepy, because my two are growing up much too quickly and would rather read themselves to sleep than cuddle up in the big bed for bedtime reading with me.
The Lord of the Rings. My mom read it to me when I was little. (She also read me The Hobbit, but that didn’t stick with me the same way.) It was also one of those books we’d all read, I have 2 brothers, so it was really a shared experience. (Even today, there aren’t that many books we’ve all read.)
Georgette Heyer’s romances, Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Charlotte MacLeod and Dick Francis mysteries all connect me to my mother to this day. We both read and reread all those books. Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein connected me to my dad as did American history books.
Randall Munroe in all his forms connect me with my husband. We don’t actually read the same types of books at all because he’s all about Useful Books and doesn’t read for fun.
Sadly, my son is not a reader of books. But we constantly send each other articles on almost any subject under the sun. Which also works because we both read blogs and news sites with the other one in mind.
Love this. Thank you.
I knew I would be a mess last night watching. I’ve been tearing up all week and seeing both Chelsea and Hillary on stage last night was so emotional. I’m a year younger than Chelsea and remember how both she and her mother were contantly made fun of for their looks and style. It was actually an early reality check for preteen me – women will always be judged for their looks. But seeing how both women pretty much ignored the haters and stayed true to themselves was damn inspiring and still is.
My mom reading us Richard Scarry books was a huge part of our childhood. And Little Golden Brown books were fought over between us three kids. My parents had to get a copy of There’s a Monster At The End Of This Book for each of us. Mom introduced me to Shel Silverstein and Roald Dahl. Grandma gave me Nancy Drew and Babysitter’s Club. Later on she gifted me a box full of her old Harlequin paperbacks and my love for romance began.
This is a really lovely post, Sarah.
Dennis Lee’s Alligator Pie and Garbage Delight, which are beautiful, Canadiana-inspired children’s poetry collections, are the books that give me the warm and fuzzies. My mom read them to me as a child and now she and I read them with my kids. My preschooler who can’t yet read but has some of the poems memorized, likes to ‘read’ them to her newborn sister.
My husband, who doesn’t read much fiction, started reading Harry Potter to my preschooler. Completely age-inappropriate, but it was very sweet to see them curled up in a big chair reading the Philosopher’s Stone.
My mother was a librarian. We always had books in the house. We had a difficult relationship, but one of the positive things I got from her was a love of books & reading, from all over the spectrum. She was a big SF&F reader, & there were boxes of books in the basement that revealed many a treasure on a rainy day. Whenever I see The Lord of the Rings mentioned anywhere, I think of her, as she was a big Tolkein fan. I didn’t realize when I was growing up in the ’60s that it was considered unusual for a girl to be a fan of fantasy & science fiction, because my mother was. Many boys told me I shouldn’t read those kinds of books, because they weren’t for girls, but my mother told me all books were for everybody.
GREAT article. thanks for writing!
Sarah, first of all, what a beautiful, heart-touching essay. Thanks for distilling my feelings so elegantly. I’m a fair bit older than you, and I fully expected to be emotional last night. I did not expect to be crying so hard that the cats were startled, or to be whooping and dancing when she formally accepted the nomination (thus frightening the dog, who even at 90 pounds is a big sissy). My daughters (college and high school) get it, but not with the punch that it hits us older women. This is truly life-changing.
This type of insightful, intelligent and thought provoking blog are why I love following you. Thank you for sharing. I’m off to YouTube her speech so I can enjoy it for myself.
Y’all are going to make me sniffly again. Thank you.
I loved it too! And that her mother left her notes to read when she was away on business, melt my heart! Obviously reading was a big part of their family life, and that makes me jealous!
My dad didn’t read much of anything, and didn’t exactly discourage it, but definitely didn’t encourage it. But my mother, she was an avid reader – I read my first romances from stealing from her pile. She was not big on reading together, her nose always being stuck in her own book, but she definitely encouraged it. Whatever it took, she was willing to do to help me read. I still have The Pokey Little Puppy which is the first book I remember being allowed to actually buy (one thing my dad did discourage, buying of the books – library was a LIFESAVER!). When my elementary school started the Pizza Hut ‘Book It!’ program, every time I filled up my card with stars and got a free personal pizza, she made my dad take us so I could have my pizza! It got to be almost every week for a time, lol – and of course he protested. But she would argue, no – she EARNED it! So grateful for her encouraging my love of books, lo AND pizza!
@Marci- I had 2 copies of ‘Theres a Monster..’ all to myself. I am the oldest cousin on both my mom’s and dad’s sides of the family and I read that book to ALL the younger ones. Along with the Berenstein Bears ‘B’ book, several pages of which I can still recite from memory.
RE women and their looks: I had to snicker at the ‘articles’ online describing Bill Clinton’s pantsuit and tie Tuesday night. A direct poke at the time spent talking about candidates’ wives’ fashions. I’m curious to see if it continues!
@Jennifer, I adore Jacob Two-Two! I special ordered that book years ago and read it to my second graders each year! It’s a delight.
Heh. Right before I came here I was on Slate and read an article about how Chelsea’s speech is selling some books. Both Goodnight Moon and A Wrinkle in Time surged and are now outselling Trump’s bio. Perfect.
http://www.slate.com/blogs/moneybox/2016/07/29/chelsea_clinton_s_speech_made_people_buy_a_wrinkle_in_time_and_other_books.html
My mother was not much of a reader, but my stepfather, a truck mechanic, read everything he could get his hands on. Mostly our house had a subscription to Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, and I read them as soon as they came into the house. My introduction to Mary Stewart, Helen MacInnes, Alistair MacLean, and many others then sent me to the library to read more, others’ writing, anything at all, it seems. Ah, sweet memories. Thank you, Sarah, for the remembrance nudge.
So many books, my Mum taught us all to read and I still remember some of the old book she used – ‘the ball is in the pit’ accompanied by a picture of a child looking over a fence into the pit at the ball – though I have no idea what it was and didn’t find it when we cleared the house out. I shared a bedroom with my little brother and we were read to every night by someone, Mum or Dad or Auntie Helen or one of my older brothers. The Hobbit would be one important book from that time, which lead on to the Lord of the Rings later for me and all the boys (I have five brothers), also Dune and some of it’s sequels, Asimov’s Foundation books, Ursula le Guin, starting with the first three Earthsea books and going on to her adult books. With my Mum I shared the Little House books, then Elizabeth Goudge, but she died when I was quite young so she never got to read Harry Potter which the rest of a us all read or His Dark Materials which fascinated my Dad.
Sarah, Thank you for your post. Your blog usually makes me laugh, often makes me think, makes me feel understood and today makes me really proud and inspired. To find common ground in romance books was just a starting place, and I’ve since found SmartBitches to be a place of cultural wisdom and rapier insight.
I am so grateful that in spite of all the hateful rhetoric, my twelve year old daughter has before her a history she takes for granted, one in which a person of color or a woman can be President. In spite of the negativism, she knows love prevails and the world is full of possibilities. Women know this; author’s know this. History plays catch-up. Great posting. Thank you.
I’m with @Meg. I know this nomination is sweeter for those of us who grew up in a time when no one expected more of us than to get married and reproduce. If you had college aspirations, it was assyuumed you wanted to be a teacher or nurse, or just meet a higher earning potential husband. I am so excited, and yet filled with dread for what may come next. That the cult of personality will prevail over intelligence and ability just because it comes attached to a vagina.
Also, huge Chelsea fan. What was it Jackie O said about not being a success if you fail your children? Obviously theClintons did something right because they raised an intelligent grounded woman.
My dad was never a big reader, other than the newspaper, but he would read to me whenever I wanted. Mom was a big reader.
When I was 5 she gave me a beautiful copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses. I know I was 5 because she wrote in the cover. I loved that book. Still do. No matter where I have moved or what I’ve done, I’ve always been able to put my hands on it in a moment. Right now I know exactly where in the other room it is. I can’t find my digital camera, but I know where that book is.
I can still recite some of them. Like Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day…
The Moon always creeped me out a little.
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall
She shines on thieves on the garden wall…
And when my mom died 4 years ago, I used her favorite poem Travel in her memorial program. She was born in India and lived there for the first 11 years of her life and always longed a little bit to go back.
And when kindly falls the night,
In all the town no spark of light.
There I’ll come when I’m a man
With a camel caravan;
Light a fire in the gloom
Of some dusty dining-room;
See the pictures on the walls,
Heroes, fights and festivals;
And in a corner find the toys
Of the old Egyptian boys.
Last night was great. Thank you for saying it so eloquently.
My dad was the reader and my mom made sure the library was like a second home to us. Dad and I shared a love of mysteries and thrillers; his copy of THE GEMINI CONTENDERS and a complete set of Golden Age mysteries are things of his I will keep forever.
We all read independently as we got older but we shared the picture books and easy readers. I remember Ezra Jack Keats’ The Snowy Day and Jenny’s Hat; the Little Bear series; Maurice Sendak’s The Nutshell Library (Chicken Soup with Rice, Pierre, Alligators All Around, One was Johnny); Crosby Bonsall’s Who’s a Pest.
“Beans said Homer. I’m not a pest. Oh yes you are said Lolly, Molly, Polly, and Dolly. You’re a pest.”
We were never big readers when I was young. This is something that came alive in me later in life after a few trying life events. Books became a great escape. I now share them with everyone I can
My mom was an avid reader, made sure I could read at an early age, got me my own library card at three. The first book I read by myself? THE CAT IN THE HAT. We’ve always bonded over books–especially anything in the mystery genre, most especially Agatha Christie. Because for much of my daughters’ childhoods, I was a stay-at-home mom, my husband would carve out evening reading as Daddy-daughter time. He read the girls everything from old myths and legends to Shakespeare to classics to anything that caught their fancy (I can still remember all of us sobbing at the end of WHERE THE RED FERN GROWS). The Harry Potter series essentially led them into young adulthood. They were really too old for bedtime stories anymore, but they demanded Dad read the last one to them when it was published as he’d read the previous six. Even our oldest, who was already in high school then, would go into her sisters’ room to hear each night’s installments. Wonderful memories. Yes, I’m crying now.
By the way, I don’t like to get political, but it was that bloviating gasbag Rush Limbaugh who called Chelsea Clinton “the White House dog”. What the hell is wrong with him? She was a 13-year- old girl. THAT should have been a “finally sir, have you no shame” moment, but he’s still here and making millions over 20 years later. Sigh.
And finally, I saw there were some tweets from men telling Hillary she should have smiled more. I have told all three of my daughters that if a man ever tells them to smile they have my complete blessing to reply, “I would, but I just found out my mother died.” If nothing else, that should shut them up!
So many books connect me to my family.
My mom read The Wizard of Oz out loud to my brother and I and my dad read us his battered and beloved Pogo comic strip collections by Walt Kelly (just aa my brother reads his Calvin and Hobbes books to his kids).
Dick Francis was the only author that my mom, my brother and I agreed on when he and I were teens. My mom and I bonded over mysteries and suspense – Mrs. Pollifax, Nero Wolfe, Robert Ludlum. My brother and I bonded over sf/f – Narnia, Douglas Adams and many, many terrible books that I will not mention now but we still laugh over them). My dad didn’t read much fiction, but he and I bonded over James Thurber – not that I really got all of the humor, but I still liked it. And I believe that all 4 of us read The Mysterious Case of Leon I Mean Noel and discussed it at the dinner table.
My maternal grandmother had The Little Col. books from her childhood and vintage Nancy Drews and a huge set of the Bobbsey Twin books from my mother’s childhood which I read on visits. My paternal grandmother and I both read the James Herriot books.
My dad shows his love through non-fiction books. When my grandmother (his mother) was diagnosed with dementia, he bought copies of a book about caring for someone with dementia for all the adults in the family, with highlighted passages. 26 yo me was pretty angry about my dad giving me assigned reading instead of DOING SOMETHING but 46 yo me gets choked up just thinking about it.
He gave my brother and I copies of the book The Rise of the Creative Class when we were both in our late 20s as a way of saying that he finally understood / accepted our respective career choices of writer / designer / whatever the hell it is that you do with computers all day (instead of being engineers like him). I never bothered to read the book but I still have it and i kind of cherish it.
Harry Potter connects me to my niece and nephews and younger cousins (and SILs). Jane Austen connects me to one SIL and Georgette Heyer connects me to anther SIL.
Jazzlet:
“The ball is in the pit” is from Stop That Ball! by Mick McClintock. https://www.amazon.com/Stop-that-Ball-Beginner-Books/dp/0394800109/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1469827164&sr=8-2&keywords=stop+that+ball
I am not an emotional person, but last night was something special. I think it was the first time I’ve seen the Clintons as a family and that really got to me. There was one point in which Chelsea was talking about how she and her mother loved “Pride and Prejudice” and Bill just cracked up. I loved it. I was a kid for most of Bill’s presidency (I graduated 8th grade in 2000), so I don’t have pre-Impeachment Trial memories of them (for the most part). What got to me the most was the look on Bill’s face when both Chelsea and then Hillary spoke. He looked so proud of both of them. When he spoke the other night, it was the first time I saw how much he loved Hillary. So much of the discourse surrounding them and their marriage was about his affairs and I’d never seen that side of them. If there was one thing the DNC did, it was humanize her, which is something that was sorely needed, imho.
When I was really young, my grandfather would read “The Pokey Little Puppy” and “Pussy Willow” to me. He died just before my 4th birthday, so I don’t have memories of this, but I do have pictures of him reading to me.
I’m the one that pushes my cousins to read. I bought “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” for one cousin when she was 12 or 13. My youngest cousin and I have read the first 3 Harry Potter books together (the rest he read on his own).
My Mom would read me chapter books when I was little. My favorites where The Princess and the Goblins and A Wrinkle in Time. Yeah female driven plots! As I grew older she would act as my librarian and dole out barely age appropriate sci-fi and fantasy. Growing up for me was getting my Mom to read the books I love and even reading to her. When she was revering from surgery a few years back I played private duty nurse and read her the Kate Daniels series. Now I’m thinking about what a deep shared history I have with my Mom centered around the characters we both now and love. All the feels.
I don’t recall being read aloud to…but I read to my own kids and “Goodnight, Moon” was one of their favorites.
I was an avid reader when I was younger to the point where I was reading a book a day and had to have a note from my mom saying, yes, she’s reading them all can she please check out more than 3 books, thanks.
Family favorites these days include Harry Potter, LOTR and Percy Jackson. And I am indoctrinating my grandsons into those books, too.
My mother made me a reader. She was always an avid reader, and read to me until I was about 3 years old and insisted on knowing what those marks on the page meant. Now, she is 94 years old and has macular degeneration and is legally blind, but she still reads using a huge reader and recorded books from the Library of Congress (support their books for the blind program! They supply not only the recordings but the player for free!) She reads the NY Times and a local paper every day and belongs to 2 book clubs. She’s my hero.
A picture dictionary. I am first gen Canadian and in my home we spoke Greek which means when I got to school my English skills were almost non-existant. In grade 1 my teacher told my mother I would fail because I didn’t meet the basic language skills. Needless to say my determined mom who only had a grade 6 education was moved to action – no daughter of hers was to be denied a proper education because she couldn’t speak English. She bought a thick scholastic picture dictionary and she and I would sit down and “read” it and translate it together every night after dinner. She would write the Greek word next to the picture so she could also learn English. We “translated” that whole dictionary together and I passed grade 1. The following year my younger sister went into kindergarten the next year knowing how to read both English AND Greek.
Later, no matter how tight money was, my mom would always order books from Scholastic as they were cheaper than retail. My parents never once said no to books – its a rule my sister and I instilled in our own homes many years later. We devoured Amelia Bedelia, Little House on the Prairie, Curious George, Anne of Green Gables, and Encyclopedia Brown. My favourite thing to read was actually the World Book Encyclopedia my parents bought 2nd hand – it opened up a whole world to me I didn’t know existed.
My mom read me Sandra Boynton’s books as a kid and I would have her read the same book over, and over, and over and she was so patient about it. Boynton’s books have a wonderful rhythm to them when read aloud.
When I got a little older we read her Trixie Belden books together and The Babysitter’s Club.
My mother was a reader and she taught me to be a reader. It was through her that I learned to find comfort in books, but also to be curious and use books as a resource. She’s a voracious reader to this day and it’s something I’m so grateful she passed to me.
Our family read Sam Campbell books aloud.
@DiscoDollyDeb – this is for you: In October of 2004 I was standing outside the Co-op in Ukiah,CA, and apparently was not cheerful enough for a late 40ish man in a sweater and jeans. “Come on, smile,” he said. “it can’t be that bad.” So I told him (and it was the truth), “In the last six weeks, I have lost a car, a job, and a child.” His face crumbled and he then attempted to physically assault me, aka, give me an unwanted hug. Really, what do these men think!
The speech brought out some emotions for me, but I can’t say I liked it or thought much of it. Sorry.
My mom is an avid reader and instilled a love of reading in me from infancy, literally. I was born three months premature and was in an incubator for a long while and so, because she couldn’t touch me, my mom would read me Horse and Pony books (my mom also loves horses).
When I was a young kid, my mom would read the Frog and Toad books with me, which I loved (and was the first thing I bought for my best friend’s first baby). We would also read from a large book of poetry together, so often that I still have “The Highwayman” by Aflred Noyes memorized. Love that poem.
As soon as I was reading on my own, my mom let me read whatever and our tastes immediately diverged. I devoured all the classics (except the L.M. Montgomery books, which I’d like to remedy but I’m scared I’ve missed my window), and later, all those hefty, sexy books, and only ever reached for my mom’s Stephen Kings, Michael Crichtons, or Anne Rivers Siddons if I was desperate.
But my mom always supported my reading choices, picking up the newest “Thoroughbred” book or Wuthering Heights for me as a surprise, and when I was 12, gave me a copy of The Thorn Birds because, as she said, “I read it in college and I bet you’d love it.” I did, of course, but I laugh now, wondering if she remembered all the sexytimes.
Oh! And I still have her copy of The Island of Blue Dolphins she gave me to read years and years ago. Oh! Oh! And, when my brother was in a motorcycle accident a few years ago and was in a coma for a week and half, my mom and I took turns reading Hatchet to him, so that’s still a special book to me.
Lovely essay, Sarah.
@Emily – yeah, I’m really enjoying this thread, but Chelsea’s speech itself didn’t have much emotional impact on my. I felt like it was pretty flat compared to a lot of the other speeches that night, especially Khizr Khan’s. And also Hillary Clinton, who looked more comfortable giving a big speech than I’ve ever seen her. And I’m enough older than Chelsea that I didn’t have the some visceral connection to her that a lot of 30 somethings have.