"In every work of
genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a
certain alienated majesty." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
In the past few years, I’m proud to report that I have
written several quite successful books under my pen name, Anne Lamott.
Okay, I lied.
I just wish I
had written those books. Sometimes when I read them again and again, I even believe I have written them—like that
weird thing that happens when you write a word like “suppose” or “nostril” or
“petulant” over and over and over again until it becomes something unknowable,
like you’ve made up a whole new word all by your lonesome. Well, it’s sort of
like that.
The one I most wish I had written is Bird
by Bird. If the truth be told, and I guess now it will be, I carry my
beloved hardback copy of Bird by Bird around
with my own photograph pasted on the back of it, as if I myself, my little
person, this one, had written it. (And it’s an old photo, the kind that when
you use it to announce your speech in a conference program, people act puzzled
and disappointed when they finally meet you because, truthfully, you no longer
look anything like that younger version of yourself, what with the prematurely gray hair and all…)
I read Bird
by Bird several times a year, particularly in those moments when I think I
should be writing, but am doubtful that I actually can, or when I’m in need of
a reminder about what it means to write (not what it means to appear as a delightfully
witty, thin, best-selling author on Oprah with good hair and eyebrows and a
nifty bohemian chic outfit that you’ve designed and sewn yourself and that
starts a fashion stampede, but, rather, what it means to actually sit down
every morning and write, remembering Gene Fowler’s somber acknowledgment that
“writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of
paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”)
In moments of sheer identification with what she’s
saying, I guess I do believe I’ve
written Bird by Bird, the connection
between her words and my thoughts are so close. Like reading Book Three of War and Peace, that part where a soldier
looks at the man who is about to execute him and says, “but you can’t do this
because you have no idea what my life means to me.” “Yes! That’s exactly
it!” you think to yourself. Or reading that essay about having a fear of
heights where the writer finally surfaces what your own fear of heights is all about, but which you had never known or
articulated for yourself, even through all those years of watching the fourth
of July fireworks from the flat-roof-with-no-discernable-edge of your Capitol
Hill house: “it’s not a fear of falling, but a fear of flinging yourself off.”
Lest you
believe me insane, the idea of plastering your own photograph onto a book with
which you so closely identify is a fantastic and poignant image from what I
consider to be The Greatest American Novel and not just because I spent many
tortured months writing my thesis on it—The
Recognitions by William Gaddis. A head-on masterpiece, it is a complex and spectacular
work about the simple distinctions between real and authentic, between faiths
and fakes. Its theme is, shockingly, recognitions. On many levels, people and
artists in the book identify and recognize themselves in others; they hear
their story in the voice of others, the way we sometimes meet someone and know
that there is a connection there, unspoken and perhaps indefinable, but there,
as if we were standing on a balcony looking down and recognizing people on the
ground below with whom we share some indefinable something. In it, among other moments of identification and recognition, a man
carries around a book by Dostoyevsky with his own photograph pasted onto the back
of it, calling into question the very concept of real and serving as the model
for my own appropriation of Bird by Bird. Whew, that’s a mouthful.
That moment of recognition, identification. Reading
something
that so articulates what you believe and even what you
didn’t realize you believed.
It’s a magical moment, that. It’s how I feel when I read Rilke telling me that
I must change
my life, when I watch Atticus
Finch and Scout, when I first read Ellen Foster, or when I
hear someone read the hot music of Under the Volcano to me in
a slow, languid voice. Or that odd feeling I had when I saw “Slingblade,” my husband
John recognizing it immediately when the lights in the theater came up: “That
was the movie you were supposed to write, wasn’t it?” he asked magically, right
on target as usual.
But back to my book. The title of Bird by Bird is from a story that I
Anne Lamott tells about her little brother who has procrastinated for months on
a research project about birds. Sitting desperately surrounded by mountains of
books about birds, he is trying to do in one night what he has had months to
do. Paralyzed by the desperation of the situation, his father emerges and once
he realizes what is happening, offers these words of advice: “Bird by bird,
son, just take it bird by bird.”
The cover tells us that the book holds “some
instructions on writing and life.” Even if you’re not a writer,
(though-–really-–everyone is), read it for the life part. Taking it bird by bird
is one of those life parts. Sometimes when the world seems bloody overwhelming,
like right about now, it’s good advice to remember. No, I can’t solve the
world’s problems overnight—and perhaps not ever—but I can take it bird by bird.
When
we read something we identify with, articulating what has been ineffable until
then, matching the very tone of our own heart, it goes far beyond recognition. We are buoyed by that connection, what Walker Percy calls
certification or validation, the idea that a place isn't real to you, even when
you live there, until you've seen it in a movie. The idea that if other people
are aware of the place in the same way (onscreen), then you really are
Somewhere and not just Anywhere. If Anne Lamott or Carol Shields or Carlos
Fuentes or Billy Collins writes something I so identify with, then I’m not
alone here on this planet thinking these thoughts.
I Lamott ended
Bird by Bird like this: “Writing and
reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our
sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with
the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about
ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing
with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being
squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a
terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change
the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”
I can’t help but wonder if we can find that song that
will help us ride this terrible storm in New Orleans and beyond. To find it, perhaps
we have to start by writing
about what happened there, bird by little broken bird.
~*~ 37 Days:
Do it Now Challenge ~*~
First, find
your book, the one you wrote (or, okay, the one you wish you had written, that
special one in which you recognize your own thoughts coming back to you with a
certain majesty) and paste your photograph on the back of it with abandon.
Then, whatever you are facing, just take it bird by bird, my friend, bird by bird. Whatever the task—writing your own Great American
Novel, cleaning out your closets, training for the Ironman Triathalon, patching
the screen door, rebuilding New Orleans, or holding the Federal Government accountable, just take it bird by bird.
In the past few years, I’m proud to report that I have
written several quite successful books under my pen name, Anne Lamott. 
Lest you
believe me insane, the idea of plastering your own photograph onto a book with
which you so closely identify is a fantastic and poignant image from what I
consider to be The Greatest American Novel and not just because I spent many
tortured months writing my thesis on it—The
Recognitions by William Gaddis. A head-on masterpiece, it is a complex and spectacular
work about the simple distinctions between real and authentic, between faiths
and fakes. Its theme is, shockingly, recognitions. On many levels, people and
artists in the book identify and recognize themselves in others; they hear
their story in the voice of others, the way we sometimes meet someone and know
that there is a connection there, unspoken and perhaps indefinable, but there,
as if we were standing on a balcony looking down and recognizing people on the
ground below with whom we share some indefinable something. In it, among other moments of identification and recognition, a man
carries around a book by Dostoyevsky with his own photograph pasted onto the back
of it, calling into question the very concept of real and serving as the model
for my own appropriation of Bird by Bird. Whew, that’s a mouthful.
But back to my book. The title of Bird by Bird is from a story that 
First, find
your book, the one you wrote (or, okay, the one you wish you had written, that
special one in which you recognize your own thoughts coming back to you with a
certain majesty) and paste your photograph on the back of it with abandon. 
Thank you for your inspirational writings! They're written so intelligently, yet speak directly to the heart. I agree, you could've written "Bird by Bird" because you and Anne Lamott have similar writing styles.
I quoted and gave you credit for "Make your interactions with people transformational, and not just transactional" during a testimonial I gave at church yesterday. I love that quote!
Lastly, I'm writing my dissertation for my Ed.D. degree and can truly relate about the whole writing process. You've inspired me to go out and get "Bird by Bird".
Posted by: Joy | 05 September 2005 at 10:04
what a nice message to read first thing in the morning - thanks! i'm glad the messages are meaningful to you...and good luck with that dissertation!
Posted by: patti digh | 05 September 2005 at 10:46
Great post!
I think CS Lewis is quoted as saying, "we read in order to know we are not alone". Maybe the same can be true of writing?
My current "book I wish I wrote" is The Creative Habit by Twila Tharp. So good!
Posted by: Michael | 07 September 2005 at 17:42
Michael - thanks for your note - someone else just mentioned The Creative Habit to me a few days ago, so I'll definitely take a look - thanks for the recommendation!
Posted by: patti digh | 08 September 2005 at 23:12
I've owned "Bird by Bird" for years but just recently read it. Loved it, loved it, loved it. Blogged about it. Will read it again and again.
And I said, "Yes!" when I read what you wrote about "Ellen Foster." I have the same reaction to Kaye's writing!
I had a professor in college who once said (or perhaps she said it many times, but I only heard her once): "The Bible. Now *that's* the book I'd like to have written!"
Posted by: Beth | 10 April 2010 at 16:16