Book Club

There has been a lot of bustle going on in the dark of night.  Scurrying about to the pre-designated meeting spot; the plotting of food and drink relayed in cryptic code and passed on in whispers; a silent trail of where to be reached only in a dire emergency.  I can only be speaking of the one phenomenon that has captivated the strong willed, held spellbound the modern world as we know it, and challenged the psychic of the bravest of mankind… it is… the “book club”.

The observable fact that book clubs have grown tremendously in past years is a credit to the women behind the scenes who have single-handedly built this credible diversion for others to legitimately leave hearth and home to join in robust dialogue with other like-minded women.  In years gone by, women clamored to Tupperware parties, indulged in Pampered Chefs and empowered one another in mom’s groups.  The contemporary woman of the 2000’s wants, needs and has been known to demand more (or so I have heard).

Enter the “book club”; on the surface a mild-mannered approach to the stimulation of the brain, deeper down it liberates the soul.  The premise is an easy one – choose the book, read the book, discuss the book.  This routine should be repeated monthly in the company of others who have passed the requisite “are they interesting, fun, open minded and willing to keep the deep, dark secrets of the ‘book club’ ”? 

Before I go any further I am going out on a limb, trusting you, my faithful reader, not to divulge to others what I am about to tell you.  Being an eager and earnest collaborator of a rather exquisite book club myself and not willing to lose my good standing, I do this with great risk and will vehemently deny I have ever said a word.

In the approximately 50 hours of designated book club time (this does not include the actual reading of the book) in the last year, my book club group (which shall remain nameless, to protect the innocent) has discussed the selected monthly literary giant of a book for approximately (dare I say) 2 hours.  That’s it – 2 hours total – that equals approximately 16.6 minutes per book per month, and that may be on the high side.  It isn’t that we don’t like the chosen books, we do, it’s just that discussing the book cuts into the other imperative topics that must be thrashed about and world problems that need our immediate attention.  It also reduces our drinking-of-wine-and-indulging-in-luscious-foods time.  We discuss politics, husbands (shhhh), children, schools, weight loss/gain, vacations and the latest hairstyles.  If it can’t be said in front of your book club it isn’t worth revealing.  You might say that book clubs represent reserved time for its members to spoil themselves in the company of agreeable acquaintances. 

I highly recommend this exceedingly refined version of girl-talk, oops; I mean stimulus of ones intellect and mental powers.  In my current mode of soul searching, I have found “book club” to be an effective approach to constructive betterment of my well being and you never know, next time we may even get around to talking about the book.  What was the name of it again?

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life. Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-