“All stories are true, and some of them actually happened.” - Italian proverb

This quote appears in the wonderful book The Doorbells of Florence, which I knew I would buy for my Aunt Catherine as soon as I saw it.

Aunt Catherine lived in Florence for many years and loves the city dearly. She is an artist and creative explorer herself, and I’m sure she roamed the streets observing doorbells and other everyday details of the fabulous city. I knew that Andrew Lowosky’s creative blend of Florentine fact (real doorbell photographs he took) and fiction (short stories he wrote to go along with the photos) would appeal to my aunt. So I bought it for her as a birthday gift right away.

But when I saw the book (published earlier this year by Chronicle), what I thought of immediately was a photograph of another doorbell (the one shown here), taken in the southern town of Sant’ Arsenio, in Campania. My aunt and I were traveling there together in the summer of 2006, seeking connections to our family heritage and history. It was easy to do – our family names were scribbled all over town – and I snapped several shots of doorbells, tombstones and other signs with evidence. I had no clue when I took this doorbell photo (that features one of our family names), that I was capturing my aunt’s reflection. It was taken on a narrow street, off Via Cafaro, near the very house where my paternal great-grandmother was born and raised. What a wonderful surprise to see Aunt Catherine’s gaze shining back so beautifully. This picture perfectly expresses the joy, excitement and mystery that surrounded our journey to the home of our ancestors. A picture does indeed capture a thousand words, and more. And it seems that doorbells are good storytellers too.

Learn more about the book here.

And you still have two days to enter a contest to win a free copy of the book here!

All the rest of my photos from the Sant’Arsenio trip are here. (Still being labeled and organized as this post is published.)

Earlier this week I posted a fresh round of staff picks on the WORD website, and figured it made sense to post them here as well, since I have not done any sort of personal reading roundup in awhile. I’ve actually added two additional books to the list here, one more title each in fiction & non-fiction, that I did not yet put on the bookstore website. I love all of these books, and would suggest any of them as perfect summer reading selections (although they’d make great reads in any season – I read all of them this spring!) Here’s the list:

Fiction:

Richard Flanagan, Wanting
Australian writer Flanagan has crafted a historical novel that is terrifically engaging, a definite page-turner. He weaves a passionate tale about desire that links Charles Dickens’ London and Aboriginal settlements in faraway Tasmania. It was a pleasure to get caught up in the drama, a gripping story packaged in a small hardcover format with wonderful tattered pages, which certainly added to the reading experience. (The fact that I spent ten breathtaking days in Tassie a few years ago was also on the brain while I read this, although in this novel the characters certainly take front billing over sense of place.)

Margot Berwin, Hothouse Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire
Who knew that a city girl could get swept away by an adventurous tale about tropical plant magic? But that’s exactly what happened – I loved it! Hothouse Flower is enchanting and exotic, a perfect summer read. Escape to the Yucatan with Lila in this fast-moving mystical debut novel, a story that is sure to inspire passion for all kinds of journeys. Read some further thoughts about this book here. (We’re doing an event at WORD w/ Margot on July 21, paired with Amy Stewart, author of Wicked Plants – it will be a night of botanical book magic at its finest! More details on the WORD website soon.)

Kate Christensen, Trouble
Kate’s latest will be a popular title all summer long, I’m sure. Similar to Hothouse, it tells the story of a successful New York City career woman who heads to Mexico for a much needed separation from life at home. What unfolds is dark and sultry, a story about relationships with friends, partners and lovers. Short and sweet? This book has sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll — check it out. If you want to hear Kate read from the book TODAY, stop by WORD at 7:30 pm this evening – in addition to selling copies of this sexy summer book, we’ll be serving up sangria, sorbet and salsa (all locally made!)

Non-Fiction:

David Farley, An Irreverent Curiosity: In Search of the Church’s Strangest Relic in Italy’s Oddest Town
You don’t have to take my word on this one, the reviews for Farley’s unique “genre-bending” book are terrific. But here’s my two-second take: It’s a well researched history of religious relic “mania” with special attention given to one particular ancient oddity — the foreskin of Jesus Christ. It’s also a humorous travelogue about an extended sojourn in an Italian hill town, and the eccentric cast of characters that inhabits it. Irreverent Curiosity has history, mystery and a lot of strange and curious facts, which made it a quick, fascinating and fun read. (This one is not out just yet – look for it soon though, on July 9th!)

Alain De Botton, The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work
An examination of “ordinary” jobs that is both compassionate and critical of the modern work world. Good food for thought during these economically trying times, whether you are currently employed or not. The photos that guide the meditative essays are an understated artistic element that add a clever dimension to the book. Overall, and as usual, another well done philosophical perspective on society from the author of The Art of Travel, The Architecture of Happiness and Essays in Love.

Gordon Hempton, One Square Inch of Silence: One Man’s Search for Natural Silence in a Noisy World
I haven’t even finished reading this book yet, but I’m sure I want to recommend it to everyone I know. It’s a travelogue for your ear, and if the journey doesn’t spark you to examine your listening attentiveness and sense of hearing, I’m not sure what will. Hempton’s passion for preserving natural space and its’ soundscape is deeply touching, and inspiring. Fans of Edward Abbey & John Muir should pick this up right away, but anyone with sensitivity to all the extra noise in our lives will find this book a powerful read.

“…it seems that happiness, like peace or passion, comes most freely when it isn’t pursued.” – from Pico Iyer’s recent NYT essay, The Joy of Less. His essay reminds me of a meditation by Sister Stan I read recently, in which she describes joy to be found “in the overflow” – as we live smaller, minimizing needs, the joys naturally become more abundant.

These are my favorite photos from a short trip I recently took to the Catskills. There is certainly lots more I could say, but I’ll keep it simple this time — and let the rest of the photos speak for themselves. Book lovers: be sure to check out the special set I created for the Bibliobarn, a beautiful secluded treasure in the rolling hills of central New York.

Great piece by Allison Arieff on NYT design blog about the inventions of Steven M. Johnson:

“He writes of avoiding his desk when inventing, avoiding the connotations of serious endeavor, of earning a living. “I wish instead,” he writes, “to be irresponsible, rash, associative, dreamy, impish, brainy, intuitive, and stupid.” Which seems, to me, about the right strategy for our times.”

The Vest Library, Hitchhiker’s Suitcase, Trampoluggage & Multiple Choice Sunglasses are just some of the fun items he has dreamed up. See them and more here: What the World Needs Now. And visit his website here.

I’ve read two novels recently that both center on the story of a woman who leaves her native Ireland to immigrate to America. In both cases, the women settle in New York City – one on the Upper East Side, the other in Brooklyn. I thoroughly enjoyed each book, and since they both release soon, now is a good time to mention them:

Brooklyn (Release date: May 5; Scribner, $25)

Brooklyn is simply beautiful. It’s the story of Ellis Lacey, who leaves Ireland for NYC in the 1950s, traveling alone, but with a job and lodgings waiting for her upon her arrival in the US. There are reasons she leaves, and reasons she eventually returns to her native Ireland — the reader is vividly invited into both these worlds, and left to contemplate the meaning of home, as today’s NYT Sunday Magazine article about Colm Toibin explores. The book was also reviewed in Friday’s NYT. My first introduction to Toibin leaves me wanting more of this excellent writer. And it leaves me yearning for all the romance of Friday night dances, nylons and pretty dresses, Ebbets Field & Coney Island in the summertime!

(Toibin will be at The Tenement Museum on May 12, I’ll be there!)

The Walking People (Release date: May 20; Houghton Mifflin, $25)

This wonderful debut novel by Mary Beth Keane shares similarities with Brooklyn – it is also a a coming-of-age Irish immigrant story about a woman who leaves her homeland to come to America. In this case, Greta Cahill travels to the US with her sister, Joanna, and family friend, Michael Ward. The journey we learn about the most is Greta’s, but the perspectives of Joanna and Michael are layers that add to the richness and complexity of the story. As are the details about the lives of tinkers in Ireland and sandhogs in NYC. Again, the theme of home plays a central role, and the reader is invited to explore them both, described with warmth and depth – from the rolling hills of a rural Irish village to the counters of Bloomingdale’s and the tunnels beneath Manhattan. It’s a lovely, touching story from a great new novelist.

(Mary Beth’s launch will be at Book Culture tomorrow night, May 5 – I’ll be there too!)

When I head out to this later on, I’ll have a copy of this in my pocket:

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

- William Henry Davies (thanks Writer’s Almanac)

What’s in your pocket today? Pick a poem.

Who’s in a bad mood, who’s in a taxi?
Turning the clock back, avoiding a fight with this man he is meeting
Stands in the lobby, counting his questions in the neon light
Sinking under the river, sewer line touches the edge of the suburbs
back to the beach where a family is waiting on rumors of summer
lay out a blanket, bring something to feed the birds

With all the luck you’ve had
Why are your songs so sad?
Sing from a book you’re reading in bed
and took to heart
All of your lives unled, reading in bed

- Emily Haines

I’ll never forget the day I stumbled upon the unexpected beauty of Sakura Park. My first visit was during the peak of the cherry blossom bloom. What a pleasant surprise to find this magical flowering green spot tucked away along Riverside Drive. My gut reaction: “I don’t want anyone else to know about this place!”

But it is too special not to share. So for NYCers who don’t know about it, consider this my spring gift! And when the weather turns good again later this week, go for a visit. Sakura Park is semi-secluded by a tall rock wall on one side, and bordered by Riverside Church, Grant’s Tomb and International House on the other three – way up at the tip of Morningside Heights. It’s a wonderful little open space all year long, but something extra spectacular to see on a sunny day during the spring blossom.

Photos from my recent visit to Sakura Park can be found here, Ephemeral New York has a brief explanation of how the park came to be, and Rachel Wetzsteon wrote a poem about it, from a collection with the same name.

The wonderful new picture book A Walk in New York was released earlier this week, a debut by author/illustrator Salvatore Rubbino. It’s a colorful engaging child’s-eye view of NYC full of facts about city landmarks and history. Of course, one of the stops on this father/son tour about town is the main branch of the New York Public Library:

A librarian stops to talk to us. She says 10,000 new books come in every week, and there are 88 miles of bookshelves inside!

Since I never got around to posting about National Library Week, consider that quote my last-minute nod to the weeklong celebration. (And no mom, I did not make it to visit a library this week.)

But I did visit a new neighborhood — took a walk around Sunnyside, Queens with a friend. And I have another walk in New York planned for a little later today – I’ll be heading over to the new Yankee Stadium to watch this afternoon’s game!

Hope you can make some time to take a walk in New York, or wherever you are, on this lovely spring day.

Last night at the Restless Legs Reading Series, I listened to Elizabeth Eaves read her story Wanderlust, originally published at World Hum and an excerpt from her forthcoming book of the same name.

Then tonight, while walking to the subway after work, I noticed the full moon, and instantly recalled this passage from Eaves story:

I finally called Stu from a phone booth in Yeppoon, a sleepy Australian beach town near the Tropic of Capricorn. I had to cut my ties, I explained, adding that I did not want to get married and was not coming home. It was agonizing to hurt him, and frightening to think that this was it between us. When, after an hour, I stepped out of the phone box, night had fallen and a full moon was on the rise. For a long time thereafter, the sight of a full moon would remind me how many months it had been since that phone call.

As Eaves read the passage aloud, I recalled my own vivid memory of a full moon night in Australia, aboard a paddlesteamer on the Murray River with a long ago love. Throughout her piece, I related to the themes of rootlessness and the “irresistible impulse to travel.” And then again this evening, after spotting the full moon over NYC, I reflected on her story once more, this time noting the distinct power that place holds over our memories. It’s not hard to notice how often location plays a part in what moments we remember.

After my moonlit walk, I hopped on the subway and continued my commute home, reading the next chapter of a book I’m currently in love with: Hot House Flower and the Nine Plants of Desire by Margot Berwin. (Another forthcoming title, this one out in June.)

Fittingly, the chapter I opened to right after my full moon moment was titled “The Luna Maria” and began with this passage*:

The moon has two distinct terrains, the very old highlands, and the younger, smoother maria. The maria are lunar seas formed by impact craters striking the surface of the moon, but that’s not their most interesting feature. Even more fascinating are the names that astronauts and physicists have given to the Maria. These include: Sea of Tranquility, Sea of Fertility, Sea of Storms, Sea of Peace, and Sea of Clouds. Why is it that, with such romantic and imaginative names for the seas of the moon, the seas on earth get stuck with Black Sea, Red Sea, North Sea, and Baltic Sea?

The rest of this chapter (which takes place in Mexico, and not on the moon) contains a beautiful description of place, and then leads further into the landscape and plot, where a moonflower plays an important role.

So…it seems that full moon serendipity has struck: As the stories of Eaves & Berwin connect dots between their words, my memories and the present moment, it’s as if I’m drawing lines between my own little solar system of thought. A similar notion, I think, to what Gabriel Zaid refers to as a reader’s “personal constellation” in So Many Books.

Certainly, we don’t need a full moon to make connections by listening to and reading stories. But I’m pleased that somehow this lunar moment inspired me to reflect on recent reads in real-time, and share a bit about two upcoming books that I’m very excited about. More to come on both titles when they release, but enough for now. Goodnight Moon.

(*I’m quoting from an advanced reader edition, so things could change in the final version of the book.)