Whenever one of us introduced an old favorite, we savored the other’s first delight like a shared meal eaten with a newly acquired gusto, as if we’d never truly tasted it before.
– Pamela Paul, in My Life with Bob: Flawed Heroine Keeps Books of Books, Plot Ensues
For my entire adult life I have been obsessed with the idea of being in a book club. I don’t know if it’s simply a love of reading or an imagined combination of camaraderie, community, idea sharing, mind opening, and literary exploration.
When I really think about it, my entire life has prepared me to be part of a book club. When I was a kid my parents modeled and encouraged voracious reading. From the second I was born I had a library card (on which my Mum had to sign her own name because I was too young to hold a pen). Every summer we would participate in the library’s Summer Reading Program, walking the 30 minutes there and back each week with our bags full of books. We didn’t only visit our closest library; we went all over. I remember my fascination with the second floor of the downtown branch – an old building with stone steps and heavy wooden doors – which was a quiet space reserved for “Adult Books”. I remember the day I was finally old enough to go up there and I felt like I was being initiated into a secret club. Around this time I also became obsessed with Agatha Christie and read every single one of her books in our local library. We even had a close family friend who worked at the library so, for years, my sister and I got first pick of books and CDs that were being taken out of circulation. The library was a safe and magical place that was essential to our existence.
In addition to the constant influx of library materials, our house was also full of our own books. When we moved out of my childhood home, the ratio of book-to-square footage actually shocked a group of movers. We were given books for our birthdays and for every major holiday (my Father still gives books to the neighbourhood kids on Halloween!). I fondly remember our annual ritual of visiting the local bookstore after our last day of school when we were each allowed to pick out two brand new books (even hardcover!). In our home, books were functional and books were decor; they occupied a place in every single room. To this day I get an unsettling “this is not a real house” vibe whenever I visit someone without clearly visible books (what do they put on their shelves?!). My husband and I have over a thousand between us. Everything I have read has changed me in some way as a person and I can’t imagine my life without books.
This week I participated in three different book clubs. I read three different books with three different groups of people for three different purposes. Looking back, I don’t think I could have planned this any better.
Something Old
My stepmother has belonged to the same book club for more than 20 years. If memory serves, it was formed in the 90s by a group of mothers from the same neighbourhood with kids around the same age. While some have joined, some have left, and their children have long since grown up and moved away, these women still meet up every month. Back when they first started, the person who chose the next book was also responsible for purchasing a copy for each member. As you can imagine, this resulted in some fairly impressive (and sentimental) collections. This practice has since ceased as many members have retired and “downsized” their book collections, but I have always loved the idea of identical collections existing all across the city. Each member also puts aside a set amount of money in the “kitty” each month, which is then saved up for a book club trip. They have gone to many interesting places together, all on the strength and commitment of their book club.
These women are a huge part of my stepmother’s life; they have supported each other through countless marriages, divorces, big moves, and career changes. They have watched each other become parents and grandparents; each celebrating the other down every path. With all they have been through, it’s a wonder they still manage to talk about books (which, thanks to a set of carefully crafted rules, they do)! While the book club has a closed membership, I have been extended an invitation on two recent occasions. The first time I was asked because of my relationship to the subject matter – we were reading a book about young women in their twenties. This week my sister and I were asked to take part because Book Club was being held virtually while my family was together at the camp (cabin, cottage, etc.). So, one evening (at exactly 7 o’clock), my stepmother, my sister, and I huddled together around a computer at the kitchen table and joined the call.
It is immediately clear, even as an outsider, how much these women care about each other. The first fifteen minutes or so was dedicated to catching up on the latest developments in each other’s lives and the genuine love and happiness was palpable, even through a screen. My sister and I sat there with awe and bemusement as the women laughed, shared, and comically navigated technological issues (“Can you hear me now?” “Oh, now I can’t see anyone.” “Hello?? Hello??” “Let me hang up and try again”). It was wonderful to talk about a book we all read; to have our assumptions validated, and to hear different perspectives, but the best part of that book club is the reason it was created in the first place: a group of women coming together to share each other’s lives. I would bet that every single one of them left the meeting happier than they joined it. And so did I.
Something New
In December of 2019 I was looking for ways to connect with my colleagues on a more social, less work-related level. I was slowly making some connections in the haphazard way one does when one bumps into people in the halls, but I wanted to be a little more intentional. I floated the idea by senior management and once I got their thumbs up, I sent out a message to the entire department: I would like to start a book club, who’s in?
The line between friend and colleague has always been a little fuzzy to me. How much of our authentic selves should we display at work? How much do we want to? A book club seemed like the perfect blend; you can share as much of yourself as you’re comfortable with, all protected by the pages of a book. My lifelong desire to be part of a book club and my fear of alienating my coworkers made reaching out completely nerve wracking. I spent ages trying to craft the perfect message – I even had it proof-read by a colleague down the hall. I pressed send and I waited.
Fast forward eight months and one global pandemic and the book club is still going strong! Membership has been varied given the personal and professional difficulties in people’s lives, but there are always at least three of us talking about the book of the month.
This week, as I was reading the book and preparing for our meeting, I reflected on what this book club means to me. I am proud of our little club and I am so happy that I took the chance and started it. I am amazed that we have stayed together through the remote work of the pandemic. I am grateful to my colleagues for their time, for their words, and for their book suggestions – a great many of which I likely wouldn’t have read otherwise. I hope our book club adds a little bit of happiness to their lives as it has to mine.
Something Borrowed
This summer my best friend suggested that we start our own little book club. We have been looking for ways to connect virtually and we both share the goal of reading more this year. In different ways, my friend and I have always talked about books. We lived together through part of university so we were usually kept up to date with what the other was reading. We also took many of the same classes, both in high school and university. As a result, we have a very similar academic reading list and have shared our thoughts on more than one occasion. Despite the length of our friendship, shared academic history, and similar interests, we don’t tend to stumble upon the same books. What generally happens is that one of us is visiting the other and inevitably asks: “I need a new book, have you read anything good recently?” This ends with one of us going home with a stack of borrowed books. Because of the…proximity… challenges of the pandemic, this year things are a bit different. We decided to order and read the books separately and hope that we can get together at reasonable intervals. This week, I sat on the dock at the camp and read our book, thinking about how we could make it work. Who knows, maybe we’re starting our own impressive and sentimental collections.
The Next Chapter
Each book club began in a different way to suit different needs. Each has stayed together for different reasons, and will someday break apart for different reasons. Each book club has added something to the lives (and the bookshelves) of each of its members. For me, it’s the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, another book on the shelf, and stronger relationships with the people in my life. A book club is a space for learning and growing; full of support, friendship, and joy. My mind and my heart have grown with each of these books and these book clubs. I cherish the time spent reading, thinking, and sharing. I don’t know what lies in store for the protagonists of each of these book clubs, but I do know that I am Happier for having taken part.
How to Be Happy 