The Gilmore Book Club

My favorite place is my bed, or at least that’s what I said when I was growing up. My new favorite places actually involve geographical locations, not just furniture, but I’ve always loved my sleep- and I still sleep quite a lot- so my bed is still one of my favorite places. But it’s not just because it’s where I sleep; it’s where I dream. 

Since I was young, I remember lying in bed at night flipping through the cerebral pages of stories I’d created. Some stories had blossomed from the haziness of actual dreams and others had just occurred to me as I stared into the darkness of my room. Closing my eyes, I’d envision how I would rule as Queen with a firm but compassionate hand, how I’d overcome impossible odds to defeat dangerous villains. I’d dream of how I’d dedicate my life to my country as a fierce warrior, how I’d create a safe place for all those souls who had been rejected in their own worlds.  These were all imaginary beings and fictional worlds, but was there something more to them than just bedtime inventions?

In Atonement, Briony’s tales develop in a more active capacity; each plotline unfolding with the concerto of clicks of from her typewriter. Her fantastical cast of characters are consecrated in ink and presented to her family as gifts. But all that is about to change. When Robbie’s accidentally scandalous note falls into Briony’s hands, Briony decides that Robbie is a sexual maniac and all the women of the household must be saved from his advances. So, she reports Robbie to the authorities, and never admits to anyone but herself that she’s not entirely sure that Robbie is as guilty as she says he is. Cecilia seems to believe his innocence, in fact, she seems to love him. What will become of the chaos Briony has created?

Though the incident with Robbie, the vase, and the letter forced Briony to grow up instantly, it would take years for Briony to physically mature. And that’s where the reader joins Briony as she starts her training as a nurse. With WWII in full scale, Briony follows in Cecelia’s footsteps in becoming a nurse, but the reality is that Briony and Cecilia haven’t spoken or seen each other in years. After finally working up the courage to reconcile with Cecilia, Briony journeys to Cecilia’s apartment where she comes face to face with Cecilia and Robbie. The betrayed lovers instruct Briony to recant her original statement and write down everything that happened that night and inform their parents and the authorities. Only when this atonement is complete can the family begin to reconcile. And so, we see the reason the novel was written.  However, an epilogue reveals this step to reconciliation never occurred- it was only a literary attempt at a happy ending for Cecilia and Robbie, for in fact, the lovers both died before Briony could make her apology.

It's no secret that many authors include a literary version of themselves in their works. Louisa May Alcott modeled Jo after herself. J.R.R. Tolkien and his wife, Edith, were the foundation of the Middle Earth romance of Beren and Lúthien.  The book-loving Hermione Granger was loosely based on her creator, J.K. Rowling. But even though those characters all have a foundation of their author’s traits, they all lead incredibly different lives and are often able to do what the author could not.

As for my stories, some were purely fantasies of my mind, but most contained a figment of my own truth, of a part of me that I could not reconcile with my life. My characters have often resembled myself in some way, in thoughts and actions if not in appearance, my beliefs, my fears, and my passions hidden amongst the entire cast of characters.

If I was feeling lonely after a friend moved away, stories with deep bonds of friendship emerged from my pen. When I was frustrated with the banality of going to school every day, my heroines battled villains and evil enchantments. If I had a cold that left me bed-ridden, I imagined protagonists pushing their bodies to the brink in some triumphant physical act to save their land and their people. Though I may be lying in bed for what seemed like no good reason, the ailments and injuries of my heroes would have an altruistic purpose. Their ailments were to be their battle scars, signs of their extraordinary deeds. All the things I wished so deeply for myself, I gave to my characters, believing that if I couldn’t achieve it for myself, I had a gift of being able to bestow those things upon others, to create the life I dreamed of for them. And in return, a small fragment of my heart’s longing would be appeased.

How much of themselves do authors write into their books, each page an atonement for the life unlived, the path not taken, the words unspoken? Countless hours of plotting, editing, writing, are spent in the creation of such stories, but intentionally or unintentionally, each word, each sentence holds clues to the life of its creator, our souls seeping through the pen and into the letters on the page.  How much of that is absorbed by the reader, looking for an escape from their own life or simply for the enjoyment of visiting another world?

After all, finding solace or adventures in books was what first drew me to writing. It seems natural that others would find the same comfort and new experiences that I did in books. As humans, we’re all limited to live only the life we’ve been given no matter what we make of it, but through books, we can morph into other lives of others, others who live in fictional worlds and can do things our world can only dream of, even the lives of others who many not be entirely human. We can journey through time to stand beside historical figures and ancient lands. We can travel to worlds that don’t exist and open doors that would normally bar you from entry. In a way, it’s all an atonement for the one life we’ve been given.

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