I was writing to a friend about Mary Gordon’s new book, Circling My Mother and I mentioned that I had trouble understanding the profound Catholocism that filled the book and which imbues almost every page. But that is not exactly true. There is much to admire in the book, as indeed there often is in Gordon’s writing, but I still cannot grow comfortable with her prose. IT is not Catholicism, as there are many overtly Catholic writers whom I greatly admire.
So what is the problem?
Admittedly I am occasionally shocked and most certainly uncomfortable with the pure vindictiveness that sometimes comes pouring out of the writer’s pen. There is no shortage of vitriol in this book. I suppose this is something I consciously try to avoid, perhaps to the extent of sometimes failing to defend things that should be defending. But this is my problem not the author’s. And although the periodic harsh outbursts bother me, I have never disliked a book solely because it made me uncomfortable. There must be more.
I suppose in reading this book, I was hoping that by reading Gordon’s attempt to reconcile herslef with her mother, I could attempt to reconcile myself with Gordon’s writings. I found that I could not. However much I may admire aspects of Gordon’s prose, I cannot connect. I still find myself wishing I could throw the books into a corner, I can read the words, but there is no communication here. I feel like I am reading something alien and foreign, and I cannot seem to bring myself to wrap my mind around it, whatever "it" may be.
And what prompted these thoughts, aside from a note to a friend? Why is the subject not forgotten?
Well, I am currently reading Julia Cameron’s Floor Sample and although Cameron’s upbringing is also profoundly Catholic, and she too spends time questioning the beliefs with which she is raised, and although are personalities are nothing alike, I am finding myself to be much more sympathetic to Cameron. The book is entertaining and thought provoking. It is easy to read whereas Gordon’s was not (but then again that could just be my personal reaction — there was nothing difficult in the prose or the story line). In reading about Julia Cameron’s life an her journey, even though we have taken profoundly different paths, I am finding much to reflect upon and much to share.
Reading a memoir is, of course, always a personal journey. One hopes to find a connection between the reader and the author, something in common, some way one can say "I am like this person". The more I read Mary Gordon, the more incomprehensible I find her. Oddly I did not find Gordon’s mother incomprehensible, it is the daughter that confounds me. The more I read Julia Cameron,the more I feel connected even though we have little in common; the more I am able to say I can understand.
I suppose to a certain extent I am attracted to Cameron’s intellectualism. I am attracted to her questioning of everything and the difficulty she has letting her mind rest. Her inclination is to make everything more complicated that it has to be. I can sympathize. Even though I am not and was not raised Catholic and the emphasis on religion or the lack of it, was different in my childhood, other things were similar.
I too grew up in a house filled with books, a house in love with literature. I went to the library daily as soon as I was old enough to cross the streets by myself. I was allowed to read anything I wanted to read and my parents stood up for my reading choices, defending them against the rules and mores of the librarian, although I was required to read all the books in the children’s and young adult sections before progressing to adult books. Once there were no more "appropriate" books for me to read, my parents defended my choices and encouraged me to read widely. By the time I was in high school I had graduated to hanging out at the local university library where I was allowed to roam free and read at will, my father arranging for me to check out books using his faculty card.
At 16 I too was reading Tielhard de Chardin and Paul Tillich. I too was struggling to find a view of God to whom I could relate and to forge a relationship to and understanding of religion. I too was struggling and questioning.
That I did not end up as an alcoholic is not because of moral superiority but probably the luck of the draw. Cameron became an alcoholic with her first drink. My chemistry is of a different sort. My personality as well. Had I ever experienced a black-out I would have run for the hills — I fear loss of control almost more than anything else. This is probably because I am the child of an alcoholic. It is not always a blessing. Trust and love also require a willingness to relinquish control and I have at times lost out because I was unwilling or unable to make that leap. I have work hard to learn to let go….it is something I will always have to work at.
I am not far in this book. But I am being pulled in.
Life is amazing, simple and hard at the same time. This person’s life is sad and strange and compelling at the same time. I am beginning to think she is very strong.