"New Voices" Book Group

Back in January, when the fervor of ambition for the new year was upon me, I saw on Facebook a link to a list of "11 incredible books by writers from s---hole countries" - that is, countries denigrated by our president as producing immigrants that shouldn't be welcomed here. The writers on the list were all women writers, and all but two writers I had never heard of. Politics aside, wouldn't it be a lovely project to read these books through the course of 2018? And what if I formed a little book group to read them with me?

That day I ordered up as many titles as were available through the Boulder Bookstore, our premiere indie bookseller. Then I put out an invitation on Facebook asking who wanted to join me for this reading adventure. After a day or two, I had a dozen participants here in Boulder/Denver/Longmont, as well as several from around the country who wanted to join in, too. This was really going to happen!

I was a bit nervous before our first meeting, as the only connection among the participants was that they were my Facebook friends, and friends from so many different parts of my life: former philosophy students from CU, fellow children's book authors, a mom whose kids knew mine in their elementary school days, a "pew mate" from church and her Brazilian friend. It all felt a bit - random, I guess. But it turned out to be wonderful. When most of the people in a book group don't know each other, when they share only a commitment to challenge themselves as readers, they come ready to spend 90 minutes actually talking about the book, enriched by their diverse experiences, and eager to fill their lives with more diversity still.

At our first meeting, last night, our chosen title was Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi, born in Ghana, but raised and educated in the U.S. Her book is an ambitious interwoven narrative that traces the stories of the descendants of two sisters over half a dozen generations, one side of the family engaged in the slave industry in Ghana, the other enslaved, and then free but burdened by oppression, in America. We talked about whether we found the structure of the book satisfying or constraining, whether we found the stories unbearably depressing or celebratory of resilience in tragedy, and what the book was trying to tell readers about the way that knowledge of our own stories, even the darkest ones, can set us free.

It was exhilarating.

In March we'll be reading Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue of Cameroon. For April we'll switch it up by turning to a slim volume of poetry, Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire, a Kenyan-born Somali poet now based in London. Then we'll decide what to read next, perhaps something by Haitian author Edwidge Danticat, some of whose books I read in a reading group at DePauw University during my time there.

My world will be bigger at the end of 2018 than it is now. Hooray for the chance to hear new voices, and to listen to them together with new friends.