reading to escape and to cope

The phones in our bookstore rang off the hook all week.  Everybody wanted a copy of Fire and Fury and when we ran out, and couldn't tell customers when the next shipment would arrive, some people became quite agitated.

I won't be reading Fire and Fury because I've been taking a break from Donald Trump. Instead of listening to the news on my way to and from work, I've been listening (for the second time) to Michael Sheen reading The Book of Dust by Phillip Pullman.  This recording is a balm in Gilead.  It has accompanied me, stimulated, delighted and nourished me as no other book has for years.

The main character is Malcolm Polstead, an eleven year old boy who owns a canoe called La Belle Sauvage. He works at The Trout in Wolvercote across Port Meadow in Oxford.  But when epic floods threaten to destroy the world, Malcolm must take baby Lyra into his custody, and protect her from those who want to thwart her destiny.  Readers familiar with The Golden Compass already know Lyra. But in this novel, she's just a baby.

The three volumes of His Dark Materials which came out at the turn of the 21st century, enthralled readers of all ages. I read them with my children, at my father-in-law's recommendation - and afterwards found myself going back to Milton's Paradise Lost - a work I'd found excruciatingly boring when assigned it as an undergrad.  But after Phillip Pullman,  reading Milton seemed newly relevant.

The Book of Dust is extraordinary. Like all good allegories, it lifts you up and informs you, while you are mostly aware of nothing so much as the marvelous story.  Also, perhaps because of the times we're living through now, this book feels more poignant than the previous ones.

As I listen to Michael Sheen's narration,  I'm reminded of the restorative properties of language. Pullman's command of language, his sensitive use of light and shade, his tender domestic details offsetting his grand sweeps, the rhythm of his sentences, the ways he balances commonplace with  profound, is nothing short of transporting.  And Michael Sheen makes charming and extraordinary choices with Pullman's characters, which elucidate the narrative.

I should also add that the cozy old fashioned feeling of the alternate Oxford Pullman has created, makes the entire experience of reading, or listening to this book, enormously reassuring.  But since in the alternate Oxford, everybody has a daemon, in the form of a bird or an animal, this Oxford is also otherworldly. Additionally, there are alethiometers - beautiful compass like instruments kept in libraries round the world. The ability to read these instruments can change everything.

Listening to this book has been a beautiful escape.  But on another level, it's also been a way of grappling with existential threats,  with the imperative to challenge those who speak against truth, with the ultimate power that truth has over falsehood.

We've been so worn down by the mucky, inarticulate tone set by Donald Trump. It seems to have contaminated society at its core.   But The Book of Dust reminds me that language can restore us, and that a wide vocabulary, not to mention the ability to put things into cultural and classical context, is important. If we can articulate ideas in nuanced ways, we can understand them in their complexity. Allegory is an important way of articulating universal truths.  The Book of Dust tunes us in to a higher frequency.  It might even help us ride this whole thing out.  I suggest that instead of Fire and Fury, get yourself a copy of The Book of Dust!