I'm Just Sayin'

A couple of months ago, my friend Ken and I were having a conversation about literature...about writing literature to be more precise. I remember little about the specifics of our talk...coffee house chit chat...but basically we were discussing the craft of the wordsmith. For some writers, the task of putting pen to paper and successfully describing the thoughts and feelings rattling around in one's head is very difficult and for some, Ken and I suppose, this task falls outside of the bounds of what is considered work.  But for all writers, the end result, the finished product, the written story must seem to the reader to have flowed from memory or imagination to paper without hesitation or  struggle. 

So Ken says to me, "what's your favorite book, Slim?"     "I ...err..it's..I don't know Ken...I guess I don't really have a favorite book. Maybe you could define 'favorite book'? I said..."Are you talking about the pure entertainment  favorite, or informational writing favorite...special insight factor...inspirational....what do you mean?" "I mean", he replied, "in your opinion, what is the best damn thing you have ever read...all categories considered...bar none." I started to get a little nervous...a little sweaty...my breathing became a little shallow and labored. This only happens to me when I feel cornered and I rarely feel cornered, but I don't have a favorite book. What can I say? I just don't. I've several books of which I am very fond, and a couple of which I am very, very fond...none stands out as my ultimate favorite. That has changed now. I do have a favorite. My conversation with Ken continues as he says...."I want to suggest a book for you to read." "Oh crap...more anxiety...now I am going to have to read a book, the book, that Ken thinks is "the best"...or near the top. What if I don't like the book?" Ken continues..."the name of the book is West with the Night. It was written by Beryl Markham...she was the first aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west and the book is her account  of her life in Africa, as a child, in the early 1900's and stories of her later life as a female aviator in Africa. It's the best book I have ever read."  "Fair enough Ken...I'll read it."

Ken probably thought that was the end of that, but he was wrong. I came home, went to Amazon.com, found a used paperback of the book for $4 delivered, and bought it.  It lay around for a week or so. I had flipped through it, read the endorsement on the back cover by Hemingway who said the book was so well written that "I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer"... and then, one morning, I started reading the book. I was immediately hypnotized by Beryl Markham's beautifully descriptive style. The stories she had decided to share were told as if she had written them just for me. I was completely taken in. As I turned the pages, I marveled at her wit and humor and wrapped myself in her insight and understanding. I ate the book...like a starved prisoner who had been given a gourmet meal. I had to make myself slow down and chew thoroughly. I forced myself to taste every word, to savor every sentence. I wanted to make the book last forever. I read and reread. At times, I laughed and at times I had to wipe my eyes. Sometimes I read out loud...just so I could hear the words. 

This book is a one time effort on the part of Beryl Markham. While this is amazing to me, the more I think about  her stories and her life, the more I understand how she was able to present such a powerful, beautifully written book. I believe she wrote and rewrote her stories a thousand times...in her mind... as she flew the continent of Africa, alone in her small airplane and as she spent hours and hours talking to her friends and fellow adventurers. Every white person in Africa was an adventurer or at least an adventure seeker. She exchanged her tales for the stories of travel and adventure those folks had to share. This was an era before television. Meaningful conversation with friends and strangers was more important than it is now, particularly if you happened to live on a huge continent with few inhabitants and even fewer opportunities to visit with one another. And so Beru...her African friends called her Beru...gave us her stories. I am very grateful for those stories.