A Book of Delights: Essays by Ross Gay 2020
Since this is not a book that I would likely have picked off a library or bookstore shelf, it must have been given to me by my sister, someone who always knows exactly what I will enjoy reading.
Gay, an African-American, gay poet who is a professor at Indiana University, sat down one day and as he says in the Preface “decided that it might feel nice, even useful, to write a daily essay about something delightful…I came up with a handful of rules: write a delight every day for a year; begin and end on my birthday; draft them quickly; and write them by hand.”
The result is this charming and engaging book. The title might indicate a ‘touchy-feely, fey’ collection, but it isn’t. The major themes in Gay’s words are “travel, cafes, my mother, racism, kindness, politics, pop music, books, dreams, public spaces, and my garden.”
This is a book to keep on your night table and dip into for the final few moments of wakefulness at the end of the day. One can read it straight through, but you’ll lose some of the charm which is apparent when you consume the essays in small bites. Here’s one snippet which appealed to me in particular because I’m the chairman of the library board of trustees in our Vermont town (population 1300 souls): “Books are lovely. I love books. And libraries are among my favorite places on earth….And the libraries in small towns that only open two and a half days a week, and odd hours at that, where the knotty pine boards creak and the book-stuffed shelves of the old house wobble as you pass through. Where you have to duck walking beneath the sagging doorframe into the sci-fi, gardening, erotica, and children’s lit room.” Who knew that Ross Gay had visited our own Mary L. Blood Memorial Library in West Windsor, Vermont!!!!
Gay didn’t quite achieve his goal of a daily essay, but among the 102 he did write there are some jewels, many demonstrating the beauty of word-smithing that a poet brings to essays. A good book to keep in your guest room for overnight visitors.
