The Gift of Literature

     My mom always told me that the books a person has says a lot about them. This may seem like an obvious statement--a person with hundreds of cookbooks most likely loves to cook, for example--but in my seventeen years I have found that this statement holds true on much deeper levels. In my uncle's house, I always notice that he has a ton of bibles on display throughout every single room, including the bathrooms, which I found a little strange since he does not practice a specific religion. The more I thought about it, though, and the more attention I paid to him and his quirky habits, I came to the conclusion that he kept this collection of bibles on display to honor the memory of his youth, when he had followed blindly in his parents' footsteps as a devout Protestant. When I finally asked him about it this year, he not only confirmed my suspicions but also shared with me another deeper reason. He told me that he kept them out in memory of his devoutly Catholic fiance, who died in a car crash the week before their set wedding date. Before having this talk with him, I had no idea that this woman even existed--apparently my family likes to avoid talking about tragedy. The bibles remind my uncle of the days of his youth, when he, as with all other children, felt carefree and still harbored that pure sense of innocence. They also remind him of days before that fateful accident when nothing marred his happiness. Additionally, he told me that he bookmarked several passages in one of the bibles that described how he wanted to live the rest of his life, and every so often he would take it off of its stand on the coffee table to read and reread those particular passages. Ever since we had that talk, I always give my uncle a new bible for his birthday. As I read through Elizabeth Strout's 2008 novel, Olive Kitteridge, I considered what books I would give to the troubled characters as birthday presents. Throughout the book, Henry Kitteridge appeared as the most appealing character to me. He reminded me a little of myself in his demeanor and personality, and, despite the internal conflicts he went through, he still remained faithful to those he loved.  After much consideration, I have chosen two books that I would present to Henry for his birthday. Not even halfway through the first short story, I decided that Ethan Frome would present itself as an extraordinarily appropriate gift for Henry. As Strout chronicles Henry's complex relationships with both Olive and Denise, the way he acts toward both women reminded me almost exactly of Ethan and his relationships with Zeena and Mattie. Guilt overcomes Ethan when he realizes how he feels about Mattie, and, similarly, Henry notes that he feels "guilty about everything" (10). He subconsciously compares a disagreement that he and Denise had to a "lovers quarrel" and feels equally guilty about that (24). He constantly denies to himself that he loves Denise, but his obsession with her proves otherwise. He gets frustrated with Olive's reluctance to have Denise and her first husband over to dinner, and becomes equally disdainful and resentful toward Olive with each snide remark she makes about Denise. I found the relationship between Henry and Denise as troubling and disturbing as the one between Ethan and Mattie. The second book that I would present to Henry took a little more thought. After reading about the relationship between Henry and Olive before and immediately after Henry's stroke, I decided that the thing that would most help Henry would come from the knowledge of how Olive genuinely felt about Henry. Olive acted very abrasively toward him, and this behavior occurred with such frequency that I wondered if Henry ever knew how much Olive really cared for him. With this in mind, I would give Henry none other that the much-acclaimed novel Olive Kitteridge. Because Strout gives perspective into the lives of so many people that Henry knew, he would get a much clearer idea of the extent of Olive's well-hidden compassion and loyalty to him. After Henry's stroke, Olive visits him every day, talks to him, and "spoons food into his mouth" (147). This subtle act of intimacy not only proves Olive's love for him but also made me wish that Henry could consciously realize everything that Olive said, thought, and felt about him before his stroke rendered him helpless and distant.  So, equipped with these two brilliant works of literature, I believe that Henry will see the world with a more clear perspective and have a much different outlook on life.