Here you go again, writing in the second person. It’s interesting, sometimes this is easier for you to do than writing in the first person. It must be either, “I’m sure to miss you at the distance,” or “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

I remember when I was in graduate school, there were many forms of literary criticism, this being differing ways of reading a book. There was psychoanalytic theory, and structural, and postmodern criticism. There was also my favorite, reader response criticism. I liked the latter because one of the key tenants of the other forms of criticism was that there was no self because the author was dead. And being dead, the author had no voice. It seemed to me to be a draconian way of thinking – I pictured Jack Webb of Dragnet fame saying, “Just give me the facts ma’am.”

This made no sense to me because I, as a reader, was in my prime and very much alive. And I had a voice. And when I read a book, I heard the voice of the author.

Bill

I had a book by Jane Tompkins entitled Reader Response Criticism. The cover was the best part of the book. The black and white illustration was of a man on a subway, standing, reading a book. He had a very emotive expression, as did the other readers on the subway. (They were all sitting down.)

The essays in the book did not live up to the cover. They were poorly written. I kept telling everyone that I liked this book because I liked the cover. And I liked the concept of reader response, which was that what the reader had to say about the book was what was most relevant.

So the use of you – It’s a nifty distancing technique.

. . . Today you salvaged books, a lot of books, again at midday, when you were done, you felt anxious, wondering just how much work it was going to take to find appreciative readers for your finds. This is a question that you’ve now been asking everyday now, for three years. And every time, the answer has been, some work. But the books, they will go.

You next went with Pete to the Meeting House, and there watched as Bill and Pete put up shelving on a downstairs basement wall. In fact, you cheered them on. You said to Bill that it seems like for the past three years you’ve fought for every single inch of space you’ve gotten. However, you’ve never turned away any books worth saving, which is pretty admirable considering that at times, space has been tight.

Lastly, you tromped upstairs, leaving Bill to finish his handiwork. The board members who’d gathered also went upstairs with you. It was a good meeting, with the promise of good things to come. You smirked when you were told you had to come up with a job description by board members. “No narrative,” you were told, which meant that you’ll have to rely on exposition.

Your readerly response was (unspoken), “put it where the sun don’t shine.”

Next: 15. 1/15/23: My Winter Vacation