The first time I attended a book club was last summer, months before the publication of my debut novel, Bound South. One of the club members (who knows my mother) had read a short story of mine that was published in Atlanta magazine. She asked if I might visit her club to discuss it. Of course I said yes.When the day arrived I showed up at a stately brick house in Atlanta's tony Buckhead neighborhood, where I was warmly greeted by a cadre of tastefully dressed women in Talbot's sweater sets, blazers, and smart little silk scarves. They served chicken salad and iced tea and later, after we finished eating lunch, they asked questions about my writing.
I love the way that older southern women listen. They look straight at you while you talk, nodding along, leaning forward in their seats. As interested as they seemed to be in me, in all reality I was probably more interested in them. Several of them reminded me of the main character in Bound South, Louise Parker. Same as these ladies, Louise looks every bit the southern matron. But deep down she has a somewhat subversive nature that belies her polished appearance.
Surely the women in the Buckhead book club have their own secret natures, and surely they have revealed at least some of their hidden selves to each other. After all, this particular book club has been around for more than thirty years. Most of the current members are also the founding members, which means that these same women have been getting together since the time that they were new brides.
Imagine: They knew each other when their faces were entirely free of wrinkles, their diamond engagement rings sparkly, their children just babies. Now most of these women are grandmothers. Just from spending one meeting with them I learned that some have lost husbands to death, some to divorce. Some have found new love late in life. Some have surprised themselves by liking their careers, careers they didn't expect to need or to have. Others have stayed on a more traditional course, remaining homemakers and helpmates.
Since that first book club visit, I have become a regular book clubber. Not because I've been visiting clubs to discuss Bound South (though I'm looking forward to doing that this spring), but because I joined a book club myself. The club has been meeting for years and is called, for reasons I don't quite understand, the Bed Pillers. We meet once a month, rotating from home to home, unless someone who is supposed to host is overworked or pregnant, in which case we go out for Mexican food.
Most of the Bed Pillers have spouses and young children. Some are stay-at-home mommies, some work outside the home. One is a corporate lawyer whose husband is a stay-at-home dad. As a group our look --- in general --- is put together though a little offbeat. Take Kim, who dyed the tips of her short, spiky hair pink after leaving her job to stay home with her kids.
We get together to talk about books, but we also talk about our lives. We organize meal drop-offs after someone has had a baby. We exchange gifts at Christmas. We take a weekend trip once or twice a year. This spring we are going to a vacation home in the mountains where there will be a hot tub. Those who are still breastfeeding will bring along their pumps.
As a writer, perhaps the fact that we Bed Pillers don't spend our entire meetings discussing the book should bother me. It doesn't. To read a book is to take an interest in a life, or lives, outside your own. And we are interested in the lives found within the pages of a novel. But we are also interested in each other's lives, in the plot twists, the unexpected joys, and the inevitable heartbreaks that --- as humans --- we are destined to encounter.
We Bed Pillers may look a little different from the women in the Buckhead book club, but we actually share a lot in common. All that really separates us is age and the era in which we were born. But in thirty years, if we are lucky enough to still be alive, we too will have grandchildren and more wrinkles. We too will have lost loved ones, perhaps to divorce, or to death. And maybe we will find new love later in life.
One thing is certain: Change is inevitable.
Throughout the change and upheaval that life will bring, we will read books and we will get together to talk about them and to talk about us.
And why shouldn't we? Our lives are the stuff of novels.
---Susan Rebecca White
