Really Good Books That Happen to Be My Mom’s Favorites

Happy (early) Mother’s Day*, everyone! My mother is extremely high-quality, and, like many other young women of my generation (paging Lena Dunham!), I call her about…six times a day, so it was very easy to obtain a list of her favourite books. You may recognize some of them from previous reading lists, because she has excellent taste.

The Hobbit / The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien — See? She’s totally my mother. Now, my dad actually did the different voices and memorized a chunk of Elvish, which I think gives him a minor edge, but my mom read each book aloud to my brother and me on three different occasions, so we’re calling it even. I read The Hobbit during early labour, and can attest to its soothing and familiar qualities. And, if you can still read it during transition, I’m sure you’ll finally appreciate how uncomfortable it must be to float down river in a leaky barrel half-filled with wine.

A Girl of the Limberlost, Gene Stratton Porter — We talked about it a little during our Free Kindle Books extravaganza, and it remains completely necessary. I always describe it as a weird, rural A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which is everyone’s favourite book ever, even when Francie marries that aggravating guy at the end. Why does she do that? On the plus side, her mother gets to have that amiable marriage-of-convenience to the really nice cop. I loved him! He was so nice. Wasn’t he nice? And then Kate finally has money. Okay, maybe we should all re-read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn now.

Emily of New Moon, Lucy Maud Montgomery — Those of us who prefer Emily to Anne are usually pretty militant about it. Anne is great, don’t get me wrong, but she’s all UNICORNS AND GLITTER, whereas Emily has a freaking EDGE, you know? Emily seems like she menstruates, and has a clitoris, and stuff. How does everyone feel about “the flash,” though? Did it sound a little bit like a migraine aura to anyone else? I think we’ll have to do an entire Emily discussion thread at some point.

A Song of Ice and Fire, George RR Martin — Okay, so, my mother was visiting us, and we started watching Season One of “Game of Thrones,” and AT THE TIME, the only thing I knew about “Game of Thrones” was that Sean Bean was in it (rowr) and that there were horses. So, obviously, we sit down and literally twenty seconds later, there are four naked ladies crawling on Peter Dinklage’s penis, and it COULD have been awkward, but my mother was all (poker face): “They’re being remarkably true to the book.”

The Washing of the Spears: The Rise and Fall of the Zulu Nation, Donald R. Morris — Oh, good choice, Mom! One should generally be skeptical of books about pan-African history written by white men in the 1960s, but it’s remarkably undated, and DEFINITELY a great read. There’s tremendous stuff about Shaka, and then you can read Carolyn Hamilton’s stuff (it’s expensive, go to a library!) and try to figure out how Shaka scholarship has become an actual lifeform/mirror. Do it!

Montcalm and Wolfe, Francis Parkman — If there’s one thing Hairpinners want, it’s books about the French and Indian War, am I right, ladies? It’s also free for the Kindle, so what are you waiting for? It really is entertaining and edifying, I promise.

The Little House in the Big Wood, Laura Ingalls Wilder — My mother’s editorial note: “Lame, I know.” No! Not lame! I was absolutely a Wilder obsessive. Mom, happily, would say things like: “Why do you think the Indians were unhappy? Could it be because random white people were taking their land?” She also edited all my Noddy books to excise the golliwoggs. Which is particularly interesting to me, because she and my dad let me read any and all books they owned, resulting in extremely awkward yet ultimately useful conversations about The Color Purple with their eight-year-old daughter. Side note — click on that last link and tell me that isn’t the least appropriate faux-chick-lit cover art you’ve ever seen.

*Not to be a total downer, but there are people for whom this day is actually kind of a drag, because they no longer have a mother, or because their mother is a total juicebox (it happens!) and I’m very sorry, and I hope you have a stiff drink and a good book and a warm community of friends and loved ones to distract you.