My neighbor, Michelle, is an avid reader. Last summer she shared a novel with me, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I remember that Michelle gave it to me on a Friday and needed it back for her Monday night Book Club. This brief "reading window" might be a good way to measure a great book.
The setting: Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960's. As I read and engaged in the lives of The Help's characters, I reflected on my life in the 60's. Was my home, San Francisco, on another planet? I was 13 then and I already knew plenty about ethnic diversity, but civil non-rights, maybe not so much. That decade was one continuous history lesson that I read about each morning in the newspaper and heard about when the family watched the evening news on television. But did I live it? Not as deeply as many, I believe, at least not until High School. I think that was when I grew up. Think about it: Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King, John F. Kennedy, Watts, Malcolm X, Vietnam. How could I not live history?
Anyways, back to the book. As aware as one might be of "The South" and racial lines, Ms. Stockett's book brings it home in an intriguing weave of story lines. Lots of truth and stark, unbelievable realities. This was one of those books that I just didn't want to put down once I started reading it.
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