Tolstoy and the Purple Chair: My Year of Magical Reading – Nina Sankovitch
Harper Perennial, July 2012
Review copy from the publisher
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“I was ready – ready to sit down in my purple chair and read. For years, books had offered to me a window into how other people deal with life, its sorrows and joys and monotonies and frustrations. I would look there again for empathy, guidance, fellowship, and experience. Books would give me all that, and more. After three years of carrying the truth of my sister’s death around with me, I knew I would never be relieved of my sorrow. I was not hoping for relief. I was hoping for answers. I was trusting in books to answer the relentless question of why I deserved to live. And of how I should live. My year of reading would be my escape back into life.”
Tolstoy and the Purple Chair took the book blogging world by storm last year. I remember being particularly taken with Allie’s review, which instantly put it on my wish list. A little over a year later, this memoir about reading a book a day, about finding meaning in literature and making meaning through reading, about learning to live with the loss of a sister, has been released in paperback. And I jumped at the chance to read it.
It was satisfactory, but I am afraid I have to admit that it wasn’t perfect either. I think the idea of the book spoke to me more than did its execution.
True, there is something fascinating about watching another person read, about seeing another life unfold through the images supplied by books, about reading the contemplations on why certain books speak to you – and why others do not. I am a book blogger for a reason and I read the blogs of others for that very same reason.
Also true, Sankovitch writing style is beautiful. At times perhaps a little too poetic for the tastes of some, but it mostly felt like she lifted me up and made me smile a lot.
And I enjoyed contemplating reading, and loss, along with Sankovitch. But I have to admit that it were often my own associations and thoughts that had me intrigued, and not so much Sankovitch’s own ideas. She offers some interesting perspectives, and some nice memories of her own family, but for me she offered a framework to contemplate how reading relates to my life more than she provided any new insights. I hope that makes sense? I think the book is meaningful in that way, and I appreciated how it made me think about my own reading life, and yet.. I can’t help but feel that that was perhaps not exactly it’s goal (as it’s a memoir about loss and reading), or that something was missing to make it work on a higher level.
More than anything, I felt that the combination of loss and reading could be beautiful. In my head, it offered such opportunity for beauty and meaning. But then, on the page, it didn’t always translate to that. There were quite a few repetitions in the book and they got on my nerves a little, the feeling that “I had read this before”, that this had been said repeatedly in different chapters in different ways. And often, Sankovitch reflections ended in what I can only call “life truths”, that felt a little too all-encompassingly-profound to me. I’m not saying reading cannot be about that, I love it when it is, but I also know that not every book is like that – nor should it, or does it have to, be. Reading is more than a self-help and “finding yourself” activity. In mentioning those words I feel I am selling Sankovitch short, because she does seem to want to offer something different than a finding-yourself-memoir. But on the other hand, these “life truths” tended to be a little too dominant not to read it in this manner, at times.
All in all, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair was an interesting and enjoyable read, but it wasn’t perfect. Or maybe it just wasn’t for me. Who knows?
Side note: When going over the reading list of the 365 books read at the end of the book, I couldn’t help but smile at the relatively large number of Dutch books in translation I found there (for I had expected none). I know, I always say I have no national pride, but then these little things make me smile.
Other Opinions: So Many Books, Leeswammes, Books Distilled, Estella’s Revenge, The Bluestocking Society, The Blue Bookcase, A Room of One’s Own, 1330v, Reader for Life, A Literary Odyssey, Devourer of Books, Chocolate and Croissants, Chicken Spaghetti, Beauty is a Sleeping Cat, The 3 R’s Blog, A Patchwork of Books, Read Around the World, Capricious Reader, Therapy Through Tolstoy.
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I want to read this. I appreciate that such memoirs do usually give one the opportunity to think about how the reader would react to such experiences.
I think I had a similar reaction. I enjoyed the idea more than the execution. there was an interesting discussion on my blog about whether people would want to do the same, reading one bok per day or not.
I used to do that once for a while and so, I must say, the idea has lost its charm.
I liked reading the book but when it comes to memoirs about reading I liked Susan Hill’s Howard’s End is on the landing much better. That’s not only a reader but a writer writing.
“I think the idea of the book spoke to me more than did its execution.” I felt exactly the same. It was fun to read, but not as good as I had expected. And as I found out for myself, reading a book a day isn’t actually that much fun anyway.
I like the premise of this book but based on your review and Judith’s review it sounds a bit of a letdown. I might pick it up from the library one day but I won’t go out of my way to read it.
I really responded to this book. But I think for me, books ARE a way to find myself. I’m not sure what else they are supposed to be for.
Besides imagination, and joy, and exploration. But maybe that’s a naive viewpoint. I tend to think it is not, though. Maybe I’ll learn more as classes on literature make their way into my life.
I’m fascinated by the sheer force of will and dedication in reading a book a day. I know many days I would love to read a book but after the business of the day, there’s NO WAY I’d make it through.
This one was not perfect, but it did open a lot of doors for contemplation for me. Sounds like it did much the same for you.
My reaction to this book (when I read it last year) was similar to yours: high expectations going into it, a bit of disappointment as I made my way through it. And the notion of reading a book every day? The opposite of inspiring (whatever the opposite is.) In any case, like Caroline, I thought Hill’s HOWARD’S END IS ON THE LANDING was superior. Still, whenever the next book-about-books materializes, you’ll find me reading it: I love it when anyone loves reading so much that they try to organize their feelings and thoughts about it into a book-length report! (In fact, there are many such books other than Sankovitch’s, Hill’s, Fadiman’s, etc. – I’m trying to complile a comprehensive list of them at the “Books about Books” page at my rah-rah reading blog (www.atlantareader.wordpress.com) – please let me know if you know of some I’ve overlooked!
I can totally understand what you are saying. Books can be profound and meaningful to their readers, but to say that each and every one will deliver a life lesson and a passionate response is a little much. I wonder how I would react to this book. One thing I find really interesting about your review is that while you were reading about how the author was relating to the books, you yourself were analyzing your reading and reading habits. That’s pretty cool, and what I am wondering is how many out there would have the same experience. Would I? Fantastic and very thought-provoking review. I have some meta books, but haven’t yet had the time to read them. Now might be the perfect time
The premise sounds great, but then books about books always do. But at least you took something profound from the book, learning about your own reading life, even if it wasn’t the author’s life-lessons
I loved her blog at the time ,I wish I could do what see did and read all those books in a year who knows maybe one day ,all the best stu
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Ok, YEAH, the profound truths didn’t really work for me either. I kept thinking, the experience of reading something and figuring out these little truths and how they all come together in a book can be a beautiful and even life-changing experience, but I don’t think her writing captured that. I don’t think anything really can, except the reading experience itself.