I think it’s quite fun to find books left behind by previous guests when visiting cottages and inns or the like. I read these dog-eared editions during our stays and imagine who left them behind. Improvised bookmarks hint at the previous reader’s characteristics or lifestyle. A grocery list, a store receipt, the glossy corner of a magazine page.
The ultimate discovery is a book with notes in the margins. It’s like passing secret messages in class.
Such a book recently entered my life, not while travelling, but rather via a used bookstore in my community. Their copy of The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence caught my attention. Over the years, I’d seen her name listed among the literary greats and The Stone Angel was a title highly spoken of. So, I bought it.
I’m so darned happy! Today, I came across a 2021 article I wrote about our Little Free Library experience and the pleasures of reading. The piece was picked up by The Globe and Mail and an expanded version was later published by Reader’s Digest Canada.
I recently had a conversation with a friend’s young grandsons, while visiting an independent bookstore to celebrate the launch of a fellow writer’s novel. One of the boys commented that, except for Chapters-Indigo, he’d never been in a bookshop. The children were impressed by the variety of available books and the general ambience of the space.
Their wonderment took me back to remembrances of my childhood book encounters. I recall my family owning a small selection of Dr. Zeus books, Green Eggs and Ham being my favourite, and a few Golden Story Books. As was common then, my parents, on their modest income, didn’t own adult fiction books.
A recent movie version of Cyrano de Bergerac has me thinking about fiction authors releasing their thoughts into the world. Through love letters Cyrano writes to the lovely Roxane, on behalf of a young soldier wooing her, he expresses love for her that he’s too bashful to share directly.
Most writers, safe to say, are introverts with rich interior lives. We quietly curate personal experiences and observe human interactions and reactions. We compost, in our subconscious, scenarios both jarring and tender, impulsive and conservative. When we then write the interiority of a character or their response to crisis or great love, some of ‘us’ muddles in there too.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “I am trying to make, before I get through, a picture of the whole world—or as much of it as I have seen. Boiling it down always, rather than spreading it thin.” As a writer, his sentiment about rich story content is at the forefront of my mind. I strive to bring something of value to the page hoping to engage readers, if only to evoke their own introspection on the heels of my own.
In my book collection, there are so many pages with phrases underlined in pen and keywords contained inside pencilled rectangles or scallop-edged clouds. When ideas resonate, I draw hearts in the margin to later remind myself how intense the connection felt upon first reading. A single heart, two hearts, three hearts. Sometimes I colour them in to make my point.
In large part, my reading is tied to research and personal evolution. Next to certain paragraphs I’ll write notes to myself. This is huge! Or maybe I’ll jot an action to take in light of what I’ve read. A few years ago, I installed a cork board that spans most of one wall in my office. There hangs an envelope marked Quotes/Inspiration. Only the phrases that really hit home are recorded on index cards and stashed there.
We booklovers read for entertainment, but also to see a whisper of ourselves and to feel heard. Stories show us how other people avert disaster, conquer sorrows or live to the fullest. So, what’s in it for the writer? Continue reading “Necessary Voices”→
Travel causes my writer’s mind to twirl around the possibilities of new stories and characters. My visit to St. Augustine, Florida was no exception. This beautiful historic town swells with cultural narrative, stunning architecture, and beautiful vistas. My camera clicked again and again, documenting settings and references that impacted me. During that week, two unexpected characters pushed their way into my imagination. One of them has a connection to the cigars.
Photo credit: Gwen Tuinman, Flagler College, St. Augustine, Florida
Upon returning home, I read Karen Harvey’s America’s First City: St. Augustine’s Historic Neighbourhoods and discovered that the town was once home to two different cigar manufacturers: The Carcaba Cigar Company and Martinez, Solla and Carcaba Cigar Mfg. This Cuban/Spanish influence intrigued me. The local library had a copy of the Pulitzer Prize winning Anna In The Tropics, by Nilo Cruz. Thisstory follows the rise and fall of a lector who reads Anna Karenina to the workers in a cigar factory located in an area in Ybor City, an area of Tampa, Florida . This furthered my curiosity and the search for information continued.
The concept of lectors originated in Cuba. A worker, usually a man, would volunteer to read for up to thirty minutes to entertain and inform their colleagues about local issues and political news. Fellow workers would contribute a few coins to compensate the reader, known as a lector, as the time spent reading aloud was unpaid. The factory owners noted that productivity often increased during the reading period, so they encouraged the practice. As the length of reading increased to four hour sessions, external candidates were invited to serve as lectors and the position evolved into a respected career.
Left Photo (Historic Martinez, Solla, and Carcaba Cigar Mfg, St. Augustine, Florida Photo by Gwen Tuinman) Right Photo: (Joacquita de la Llana, Lector, 1929, Ybor, Photo courtesy of USF-Tampa Special Collections)
In the early days of the lector, many cigar factory employees, both male and female, were illiterate. There was a great thirst for knowledge. Lectors read novels determined by consensus. They also read poetry, nonfiction works, and newspapers. The people enjoyed hearing about the parallel universe of Les Miserable. They also favoured books by Zola, Dickens, and Tolstoy. Anarchist materials gained popularity as well.
Lectors were gifted orators; some readings might be best characterized as dramatic performances. The men and women sat shoulder to shoulder in large open rooms, rolling cigars by hand. The lectors’ voices needed to project to all corners of these spaces, so they read from atop a specially constructed tribuna or platforms as seen the photographs below.
Labour organization and political topics were of special interest to audiences. In fact, some lectors began writing their own material to rally the workers’ fervour for change and found themselves transformed into workplace leaders. Such activities led factory owners to sever ties with their lectors. Many workers arrived at work to find the platform removed; their lector never returned. Tempers ran hot. These abrupt changes contributed to strike actions that typically ended in favour of the factory owners.
The story of the lector ended around 1930 with the introduction of mechanized cigar production. Without amplification, the human voice could not be heard above the clamour of the machinery. As a note of interest, the Great Depression and increasing popularity of cigarettes adversely affected the cigar industry and pushed the lector into obsolescence.
Another piece of history gone up in smoke.
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While I was growing up, my hometown continued to shift and alter as well. The historical building that once housed our library is long gone, and in its place, stands a modern structure.
Visiting the original building felt like stepping onto a page of history. Beautiful architectural features welcomed patrons: columns, a hardwood foyer, oak bannisters, arched doorways and ornate trim work. I still remember, with great fondness, the old book smell, sagging shelves, and card catalogue system. Before setting out on summer vacations to northern Ontario cottages, I would sign out an armful of books to read on splintery docks.
My first elementary school was called the Goshen Side Road Elementary. Cow pastures surrounded our playground on three sides. With only three classrooms, you can well imagine, there was no room for a library in our building. Visits by the bookmobile brought us no end of joy. This travelling library was a big purple transport truck; bookcases lined the inside of the trailer. Each child was allowed to sign out two books, then the truck was off to visit the next school.
Today, waiting for a book to arrive means I am waiting for my Chapters/Indigo order to come through the mail slot. I’ve resisted the move to e-books, so far. There is a tactile experience to holding a book that can’t be satisfied by holding a Kindle.
I must confess that technology is adding to my book experience in an unexpected way.
Through the magic of Pinterest, I am curating a world where I am surrounded by books. When I need to reconnect with that old book smell or surround myself with a gallery of books that could never fit within my house, I log on, and walk slowly through my collection of nostalgic library and bookshop photos.
