Recently a friend gave me an excellent read by Pat Conroy, My Reading Life. The book is a celebration of literature, language and the magic of storytelling. Conroy talks about the significance of some important books in his life, including Gone With the Wind, Look Homeward, Angel and War and Peace. He pays tribute to some influential people in his life, mentioning his mother,Frances, a mentor named Gene Norris and a bookstore owner named Cliff Graubart.
Conroy tells of being a student at The Citadel and taking an English class with Colonel Harrison. He writes of the day when Colonel Harrison read Walt Whitman’s poem, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” This early excerpt describes the power of the spoken word and of fiction to transform a life. It reminds me of something Yann Martel once said: “the great thing about books is that they give you more lives.”
Here’s the selection:
“With the softest of voices, he read to his class the poet’s moving elegy on the death of Abraham Lincoln. Halfway through his recitation, he confessed to us that he always wept whenever he read that particular poem. He apologized to the class for his lack of professionalism. He wiped his glass and, with tears streaming down his face, he dismissed the class and headed toward his office. The grandson of a Confederate office had been moved to tears by a poem commemorating the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. For me that day will last forever. I had no idea that poetry could bring a grown man to his knees until Colonel Harrison proved it. It ratified a theory of mine that great writing could sneak up on you, master of a thousand disguises: prodigal kinsman, messenger boy, class clown, commander of artillery, altar boy, lace maker, exiled king, peacemaker, or moon goddess. I had witnessed with my own eyes that a poem made a colonel cry. Though it was not part of a lesson plan, it imparted a truth that left me spellbound. Great words, arranged with cunning and artistry, could change the perceived world for some readers. From the beginning I’ve searched out those writers unafraid to stir up the emotions, who entrust me with their darkest passions, their most indestructible yearnings, and their most soul-killing doubts. I trust the great novelists to teach me how to live, how to feel, how to love and hate. I trust them to show me the dangers I will encounter on the road as I stagger on my own trouble passage through a complicated life of books that try to teach me how to die.”
