Madeleine considers some defining moments

I’m a member of a book group.  We get nine books a year to read and discuss together.  The books are always supplied with study notes containing questions at the end for discussion.

Last night we came across the following question:  “If you were writing an autobiography what books would you include to define yourself, your course in life, or your pivotal moments?”

We went ‘around the circle’ with the question.  It was too narrow for some.  We included articles and movies because they had provided powerful defining moments as well.  This is what came out…

Reading, both as a skill and as an experience, emerged as a defining moment of life in itself. One spoke of the time when she first realised she could read.  In elevated response she declared to herself that she was going to read ‘every book in the world’.

Another remembered the first book that engrossed her, transporting her to another time and place.  She’d had the overwhelming experience of complete engagement.

Then there were the defining moments emerging from the content of the book.  I can’t remember many of the books.  I don’t know many of them.  But I remember the moments…

Some books seemed to arrive at the moment of change, like an announcement on a train “We are arriving at Rosemont Station”.  The Thornbirds announced sexual awakening.  The Women’s Room announced feminist awakening.

There were books that supported and uplifted us, providing a path for the future – someone described the Shawshank Redemption.  Apparently a man was held prisoner and subjected to the most horrifying experiences until he managed to escape, all the while never surrendering hope or optimism.

There were books that said who we were – echoes of our wishes, experiences, perfect worlds – Pride and Predjudice – yes, a woman offered that one.

And then there were the books that transported.  The bigger and more engrossing the book, the more transformed we were out the other side; War and Peace, Lord of the Rings, A Fine Balance. It seems the epic masterpieces take us into an entirely new life experience and create their own pivotal moments.

So we’re going round the circle and now it has come to my turn.  Eager to share but reluctant to be the centre of attention I look to the person on my left and say “next”, but you say “you skipped someone” and draw me back.

OK then …

I was about 9 years old (say 1970), and we were at a rented beach house for two weeks in the summer holidays.  My parents were teachers, and holidays were times to Not interact.  They would lie on couches and read or sleep, while we went back and forth to the beach.  It was warm, we were sunburnt, scratchy from the sand.  Fresh cobb loaves from the Bakery wrapped in tissue paper rested half-eaten on the dark wooden table.

I see myself lying on a couch beginning The Rat-A-Tat Mystery.  In the holiday street we’d bought an Enid Blyton book each.  They were books with covers, perhaps 2cm thick – real books.  On the same day I begin, I see myself finishing.  I could read a book in a day; a small step for one man, a giant leap for mankind.  I was accomplished.

And the next pivotal book was Lord of the Rings.  Again it was summer holidays, but this time in the ‘burbs with all the blinds down to keep the house cool.  Conveniently it came in three volumes.  Second in line, I waited for the first to be finished.  Day after day I strode through the threatening darkness in Middle Earth, finding rare refuge in the protected nature of the Elven domains.  So large, it created a new and permanent experience of life through which I could respond.  I have an Elven domain to look after.

There was Cat’s Eye, a book about girl bullying which gave me closure on the teenage years a decade after the experience.

Coming into self, “Women Who Run with the Wolves”.

Becoming a Masterchef: an unnamed recipe book on Muffins.  With dedication I had meticulously followed directions in other books and had so many failures.  I think people publish the ‘bad recipes’ so no-one steals the good ones.  But the raspberry and white chocolate muffin success said it wasn’t all me.

Defining the breastfeeding years:  The Very Hungry Caterpillar – a counting book with holes in the pages that each child in turn loved to read.

Digging out the deeper traumas:  The God of Small Things.  I’d encouraged the book group to read this one so I had some people to debrief with over it.

Movies – Towering Inferno for my first suspense horror (and how that moment was extended into reality years later!), and Gallipoli – I couldn’t leave the auditorium because I couldn’t stop crying.

Well, that’s some from me.  No doubt more will come in time.  But it’s your turn.

“Books, articles or movies you’d refer to in an autobiography, and why”.  Next.