"I finally found my people"

Some of you know of my love for Anne Fadiman, a contemporary author and editor. The first book of hers I ever read was Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader. This collection of essays awoke a part of my literary soul, and I quickly dubbed it my favorite book without really knowing why. That was about 5 years ago. I originally determined my "favoriteness" based on subject matter--I realized (with a mixture of relief and delight) I was not alone in my literary quirks. I remember also loving her writing style, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what made her so different from other essayists I had read.

I soon discovered she was the same Anne Fadiman who was the editor of a magazine of which I had just taken a subscription, The American Scholar. Again, it was a magazine with content I loved but couldn't quite put my finger on why, or at least why I loved it so much more than other literary magazines. In my frenzied grad-school state, I simply attributed it to the talent of Anne Fadiman and moved on. I had Tolkien to dissect, after all. Then grad school ended and my quest for finding books on my own began. It has been an interesting process of discovery, learning to articulate my likes and dislikes with 6 years of education behind me. You'd think I would be better at it than I am, but school mostly taught me theory and dissection, not so much enjoyment and identification. Add in there the recovery from burn-out and you have a very eclectic reading list and one confused reader.

In my search, I discovered a book Anne wrote about 10 years ago called The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. Odd name for a book, I thought, but I was excited to read it. It had been recommended to me by a friend and was by an author who, up until that time, I had only known and loved as an essayist/journalist. I could write an entire posting on why I loved this book, but I will spare you the book review (for now). Suffice it to say for this discussion that it was during this book that I began to (i) discover why I liked Anne and (ii) identify her genre.

Anne is a creative journalist--I don't know if that's a real term, but that's how I like to define her. She takes a story, a subject, gives you really interesting information - succinctly - and then personalizes it. I got to the end of the book and found myself crying with this beautiful, loving Hmong family. Anne had me the entire way along, but she did not emotionally manipulate me. She simply told me a story that mattered in a way that captured me. The book went on my shelf next to my copy of Ex Libris.

Which brings us to yesterday. Almost. Two or three weeks ago I attended a book exchange. Of course I brought out Ex Libris (both copies, one recently given to me by my best friend who read it and knew I would love it. It's comforting to have friends who know me so well...). It has been a while since I've read these essays, and as I explained the contents of this book I found myself getting excited; I decided it was time to reread them myself. As I have revisited this book in the last week or so, I have felt almost giddy inside. With a little bit more experience behind me, some of these essays have taken on new meaning and give me new reasons for delight. Inspired, I went to Borders yesterday in search of another collection of essays recommended to me, hoping they might be in the "Anne" category. I was planning on just perusing the essays, not buying, but Borders didn't have the book. Plan foiled. I decided while I was there to enter Anne Fadiman's name into the computer, just to see if I had by chance missed any books she had recently written or edited. Turns out she put out another collection of essays last year. I walked straight to the shelf, breathed a sigh of relief to find a copy there, and went straight to the register. (Thank you again Millie for the gift card.) I had a feeling Anne wasn't going to let me down.

When I purchased the book, I expected to glean inspiration from her essays (which I have). I was surprised to find that (at least so far) her preface is what has impacted me the most. In fact, I can say that I experienced a revelatory moment as I read, one of the most profound I've ever had in my search for my authorial identity. In her preface, Anne gave her genre a name--the familiar essay--and began to outline its form and structure. It sounded so much like what I was trying to construct but have always felt just off the mark. She identified her inspiration, Charles Lamb (people, we have a predecessor!), and the time period when it had its heyday (early nineteenth century). (Mom, I finally have something we can put on my Christmas wish list.) I kept thinking, why have I never heard of this genre before? Well, Anne goes on to explain that while it is considered a dying genre, it is clearly one people still enjoy reading because the small amount out there is still being devoured.

What is the familiar essay? Quoting from Anne's preface in At Large and At Small:

The familiar essayist didn't speak to the millions; he spoke to one reader, as if the two of them were sitting side by side in front of a crackling fire with their cravats loosened, their favorite stimulants at hand, and a long evening of conversation stretching before them. His viewpoint was subjective, his frame of reference concrete, his style digressive, his eccentricities conspicuous, and his laughter usually at his own expense. And though he wrote about himself, he also wrote about a subject, something with which was so familiar, and about which he was often so enthusiastic, that his words were suffused with a lover's intimacy. [...] in other words, about the author but also about the world. (x-xi)

I found myself grasping for a pencil to underline this paragraph and in the margin the words spilled out: "I have found my people." The flow of thoughts that came after that and the understanding that began to overwhelm me felt as beautiful and delicious and smooth as mint being covered in dark chocolate.

Maybe this excitement seems disproportionate to the discovery, but for me it has opened up a new world. I now have examples to study, to emulate, to perfect and then from which to digress, to make the style my own, to innovate, and, maybe even one day, to improve. In her first essay in this new book, Anne quotes her brother Kim as saying, "When you collect nature, there are two moments of discovery. The first comes when you find the thing. The second comes when you find the name." She continues the thought: "Without classification, collection is just a hodgepodge." For this writer who has been floundering, viewing her jump drive of files as "just a hodgepodge," finding "classification" has suddenly made those files take on new meaning.

The thoughts which followed that revelation are for another discussion another time, but they are worth addressing at some point: why do I need classification to validate my style's existence? Part of it is because I needed something to focus it, a mentor and a teacher; I have now found a great source for that. But why the psychological relief? It is something worth thinking about. More on that later...