The Books That Changed My Life edited by Bethanne Patrick

The books I have read on books that influenced or deeply affected or changed a life in some way have all featured writers. What makes The Books That Changed My Life different is that these short essays are penned not only by authors, but musicians, business folks, actors, and others. It makes for a nice mix of titles and some that I was not familiar with.

Here is a sampling:

Al Roker, television weatherman, writes about learning to look for the small clues by reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. This makes sense as weather is quite mysterious and small clues often lead to an accurate forecast...or not.

Tim Gunn, Project Runway star and fashionista, fell in love with words by reading James Agee's Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and A Death in the Family.

Eric Idle, of Monty Python, asserts that his life has not been changed by only one book. "My life is changed by books. On a daily basis."

Dan Hesse, former CEO of Sprint, learned to think about how to live from reading Plato's The Republic.

Jack Kingston, attorney and former U.S. Representative, was helped along in his career by reading and following the advice given by Frank Bettger in How I Raised Myself from Failure to Success in Selling.

Andrew Soloman, professor of clinical psychology, credits his "tolerance for what's strange or different" from having been introduced as a child to the imaginative Rootabaga Stories by Carl Sandburg.

And who knew that Alexander McCall Smith found a satisfying philosophy of life in the Collected Shorter Poems of W.H. Auden?

I have just been picking and choosing from the one hundred essays that make up this book edited by Bethanne Patrick.  The Table of Contents lists the name of the essayist along with the book that changed his or her life. At the end of each chapter there is a short bio of the writer which is helpful because some of these folks I had not heard of.

I started with the ones written by individuals I knew weren't authors, then I read a few based on the books that I had read and that others chose, and I still have many to go.

If you can scrunch out a tiny bit more room on your bookshelves, or if you have freed up a slot or two on your TBR list, this book would be a fine addition.

And, if you had been asked to contribute an essay for The Books That Changed My Life, what book would you choose?

"The author must be Carl Sandburg."

The National Park Handbook to the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site contains a lively, concise (90 pages) look at Sandburg and his work written by his granddaughter Paula Steichen. Included as well are her reminiscences of her own early childhood growing up at Connemara, the Sandburg's home in Flat Rock, North Carolina.

Ms. Steichen recalls that her grandfather wrote in his second floor writing room at home; he wrote on the front porch overlooking the lake below; he wrote on street cars, in trains and depots. And he wrote, under a warm sun, sitting on the flat outcropping of granite behind their home.

Sandburg penned poems of America - about the harshness of life for the poor working man along with ones celebrating the simple beauties of the prairie, the moon, love, cities, and children.

Here his granddaughter gives a glimpse into the creative world of Carl Sandburg, the poet. 

There are boxes, files, envelopes at Connemara - even coat and shirt pockets - containing the poems of my grandfather. After his death, in the process of the family's move from the farm, I found in the small hallway between his bedroom and workroom a cardboard box that appeared to be filled with the brightly colored magazine photos he so often ripped out and saved. Riffling through them, I saw, sleeping beneath the colors, a sheaf of unpublished poems, some of the loveliest ones he ever wrote. 

Occasionally there are differing versions of one of his poems, but not often. My grandfather's poetry was generally written with little revision. The poems were sometimes typed on newsprint paper, but there are many that were handwritten in his round, strong, readable script, and these were often on smaller pieces of paper - on half sheets or on leaves torn from the pocket-sized notebooks that he generally carried with him. 

Any of these unpublished poems could be picked up and read by anyone familiar with American poetry and the reader could say with conviction, "The author must be Carl Sandburg." His style was not the product of scholarly pursuit and intention; it was an extension of the man and the man's life, coming more from instinct than design.

A bit further on, she writes:

It is perhaps equally difficult and futile to try to define a poet. In Carl Sandburg's case, the man and his poetry stand as one. You meet the man when you meet his work.

The Road and the End by Carl Sandburg

I promise I will eventually stop posting about Carl Sandburg, but for today, here is a selection from his Chicago Poems (1916) that seems appropriate for the ending of the Grand Southern Literary Tour 2013:

The Road and the End

I shall foot it

Down the roadway in the dusk,

Where shapes of hunger wander

And the fugitives of pain go by.

I shall foot it

In the silence of the morning,

See the night slur into dawn,

Hear the slow great winds arise

Where tall trees flank the way

And shoulder toward the sky.

The broken boulders by the road

Shall not commemorate my ruin.

Regret shall be the gravel under foot.

I shall watch for

Slim birds swift of wing

That go where wind and ranks of thunder

Drive the wild processionals of rain.

The dust of the traveled road

Shall touch my hands and face.

Random Notes on Carl Sandburg's Life and Home

Carl Sandburg, wife Paula, and a champion goat

Here are some random notes from the Carl Sandburg home tour at Flat Rock, North Carolina:

>>The Sandburgs were the fourth family to own the home built in 1839. It was originally called 'Rock Hill' but the third owner, a fellow of Irish ancestry, changed it to 'Connemara'.

>>The Sandburgs bought the house and its 246 acres in 1945. At the time of the move, Sandburg and wife Paula were living in Michigan; he was writing and she was raising goats. She wanted a warmer climate; he wanted peace and quiet.

>>Paula found the house, decided it was perfect, and remodeled and modernized it. She had bookshelves built in every room. She had the home completely finished and furnished and organized before Carl moved in. All he had to do was sit down at his typewriter!

The lake at the bottom of the hill - you can just see the house through the square opening in the branches at the top right

>>They lived in the house with their three daughters, Margaret, Janet, and Helga, and Helga's two children. 

>>The first floor has a front parlor/reading/music room; a dining room that looks out of the back of the house; a kitchen; Paula's office from which she ran the goat farm and kept her extensive breeding records; another office that Carl used; and a large bedroom with bath where Paula slept.

>>At the top of the stairs is a landing with shelves filled with more books; Carl's writing room and his bedroom; a guestroom that Paula originally set up as Carl's writing room but he thought the view was too glorious so he moved his typewriter to the room in the back; two bedrooms used by the daughters and the grandchildren; and a small bathroom. 

>>Carl wrote by night and slept by day. Paula and the family kept the opposite hours as there was milking to do and farm chores to take care of. Sometimes, in the morning, he would wave to them from his upstairs window as he was preparing for bed and they were just starting the day and heading out to the goat barns.

One of Sandburg's daughters usually took his breakfast to him on this tray

>>The family always gathered together for dinner to discuss the events of the day. Sometimes, Carl would read from the writing he had been working on.

His seat at the dining table - newspapers and his mail at hand. There was a television in this room given to Sandburg by Phillips Electronics. Notice the remote on the arm of the chair!

>>There was singing in the evening - Carl loved American folk songs. He hated the television and rarely watched it calling it 'a waste of time'.

>>It was at Connemara that Sandburg completed his one-volume biography of Lincoln which he whittled down from his Pulitzer Prize-winning, six-volume biography Abraham Lincoln: the Prairie Years and Abraham Lincoln: the War Years.

>>After Sandburg died in 1967 (at the age of 89 at Connemara) Paula sold the house and farm to the National Park Service and donated the contents of the house as a memorial to her husband. It took almost seven years for the NPS to catalog the contents: index card records of the goat farm; Kleenex boxes; chairs and footstools; bedspreads; kitchen utensils; magazines and newspapers; photographs; busts of Sandburg and Lincoln; and all the ephemera related to his writings.

A stack of magazines by the staircase - this cover showing a young Elizabeth Taylor

>>The goat farm is still a working farm with a herd of maybe 20-25 goats. 

>>There is a wonderful video presentation shown to visitors. One is of Carl Sandburg (in his 70s) being interviewed at the house by Edward R. Murrow. Sandburg sings (badly but enthusiastically), reads aloud from his poetry, and tells the four things he needs to be happy: to not be in jail, to have his work published, to eat good food, and to love and be loved. (I think I got that right!)

>>There is also a video interview with wife Paula and one with granddaughter Paula Steichen about her life growing up at Connemara.

The home and the tour guide information really piqued my interest about Sandburg. I bought a book about the house with many photos, his granddaughter's book about growing up at Connemara, and Sandburg's Chicago poems. Surely these will help to satisfy my curiosity!

Carl Sandburg National Historic Site - Flat Rock, North Carolina - October 26, 2013

Connemara, Flat Rock, North Carolina

Today we visited Carl Sandburg's home, Connemara, in Flat Rock, North Carolina. Our tour guide Ginger was truly a fan of the poet and it showed in the stories she told about him, his family, and his work. We were lucky to have her lead us through the house which contains all his books, his typewriters, and stacks of magazines and newspapers. The original furniture is all here from the orange crate he used as a typewriter stand to his bed with its green chenille bedspread to the dining room table set for family supper. 

After his death in 1967, his wife Paula, who was as brilliant as her Pulitzer Prize-winning husband, sold the house and land to the National Park Service. She donated all the contents of the house to the park service. The home is so natural looking I felt as if Mr. Sandburg could come walking in from the front porch at any time.

I will write more about the experience and our trip to The Joy of Books in Hendersonville in the next day or two. Lots to tell!

Until then, here are photos I took for your pleasure.




You get a wonderful view from the home's front porch

A reading chair and just a few of the 10,000 books in the house.

A typewriter and table in his downstairs office

 

The family always ate dinner together

Mr. Sandburg's bedroom
Notice the house slippers at the foot of his bed

 

The author's upstairs writing room

He balanced his typewriter (far right) on a orange crate

 

 

Carl Sandburg and wife Paula

The photo was taken by Edward Steichen, Paula's brother

 

 

Announcing Another Literary Tour

Another Literary Tour!

I am making plans for another literary tour next month. In The Grand Southern Literary Tour of 2012, I headed to the south and a bit west. This time, I am heading south and to the east. I haven't actually named this tour yet, but the itinerary is in the works. 

First Stop:
St. Augustine, Florida

My first ever visit to America's oldest city founded in 1565. It hosts a book festival but, unfortunately, I will miss it by a few weeks. The town seems to be quite bookish and boasts the grave in Evergreen Cemetery of the British writer and illustrator Randolph Caldecott (1846-1886). He only lived in St. Augustine a few months before he died. The Caldecott Medal is given annually to the most distinguished children's picture book of the year. St. Augustine's main library dedicated its children's room to him. 

As a bonus, there is a chocolate factory in the town. Ah, bonbons and books!

Second Stop:
Savannah, Georgia

I have visited Savannah twice but have never actually been to any of its literary sites. It is Flannery O'Connor's (1925-1964) childhood home. American poet and novelist Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) was born in Savannah and is buried in Bonaventure Cemetery. Perhaps most famous is the Mercer Williams House featured in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt. I plan on watching the movie tonight as part of my research.

Third Stop:
Chimney Rock, North Carolina

I am going to take in down a notch and stay in this little town nestled in the Smoky Mountains. Close by is Asheville, home to Thomas Wolfe (1900-1938). A little bit south is Flat Rock, the location of Connemara, Carl Sandburg's (1878-1967) home. Both are places I have visited and I especially liked the Sandburg house which sits on top of a great hill. Inside, it looks as if the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet has just stepped out to the yard and will be back in a minute. His wife Lillian donated the home and its contents to the National Park Service. Piles of papers and magazines are everywhere. And his book collection. Wow!

En route, there will definitely be stops in bookstores and libraries. And, I am sure there will be surprise finds along the way.

Eudora Welty

Eudora Welty's memoir of growing up in Jackson, Mississippi is full of charm and the quiet sense of life at the beginning of the twentieth century. She was growing up in the South while E.B. White was enjoying his childhood in the North.

I wonder if I will get to see the clocks that Welty writes about so fondly. I have a photo of her sitting at her big wooden desk. It graces the cover of my copy of The Writer's Desk by Jill Krementz. There sits Ms. Welty in profile with the soft light of morning shining in the three windows behind her. Her bed, which sits in the foreground, has rumpled white sheets as if she just rolled out of it. The floor lamp is on and she is at work.

I can't wait to see this room. To smell this room. To absorb this room. I hope it looks as if the writer has just stepped out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and will be back at any minute. By that I mean I hope whatever institution runs the house as a museum has not fussed too much with furniture and belongings. The website assures me that the house is just as she lived in it.

When I visited Carl Sandburg's home, Connemara, in Flat Rock, North Carolina, I was struck by the fact that it looked as if he had just gone out for a walk. Books were piled on shelves, papers were stacked, I think there was even a coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter. (I may be imagining that.) It was so much more of an experience than seeing rooms filled with "furniture that is from the period when so-and-so lived." A re-creation only, not the real thing.