I love your reflection on her having that developmental realization of discovering her own mortality. As I listened to that bit, I thought "this must have a significance I can't quite grasp at the moment".
The idea of Memento Mori through a child's lens (and as I think about one of my young nephew's recent preoccupation with death) is interesting to think about as well. I can't see that it would be a comforting or encouraging thing to dwell on as a child (I believe I was tormented by it quite a bit myself), but only through the lens of adulthood is it something I return to again and again as a reminder to live the fullest life.
OTHERS
I hadn't thought about attachment theory in that light--childhood innocence being a privelege. OOF.
How heartbreaking and true to life that Francie does cherish her relationship to her father--the one that may not ever really be able to meet her needs--over that of her mother, whose skin breaks and cracks while she does everything she can to provide for her kiddos and still make them feel their whole humanity (the privilege of the coffee). Haha, I might have been a bit resentful of that moment.
ENVIRONMENT + TRANSCENDANT
Something I noticed was how at home she is in this big bustling neighborhood. There is a strong sense of place and where she fits in it.
A sacred place where I'm able to connect with my senses is in nature. In everyday life, my garden. I have great comfort to know that I can walk outside and feel the sunshine on my skin, squat down and inspect the beetles and burgeoning petals. Growing seeds and plants connects me to an innate creativity that is life-giving.
As a child, that space for me was a little bit of land we had out in the country with an adjacent creek. But on the daily, it was the room under the stairs (very much like Harry Potter's cupboard) where I made of grand and dramatic stories with my Barbies.
The bowl at the library--yes! I had the same thought as I listened to that experience (I did a hybrid of listening and reading the first 6 chapters, which I found really helped in setting up the world for me). Even how she spoke about how it marked the seasons, it makes me think about how I noticed (especially in this last year) how important it is for me to be able to mark the seasons--not just as a way to pass time, but as a way to bring me to the present moment and drink it in fully.
The marking of seasons as a way to be present to the moment and perhaps to measure our own progress as pilgrims is important. I was recently walking on our path (along a nearby river) thinking about how our favorite tree that has just dropped all its burnt orange needles, the flowers that will bloom, the trees that will bud out, the fluctuation of the river height all mark the seasons and the passage of time as we travel this path multiple times a week. For these signs, I am grateful. Even a simple bowl does that so well for Francie.
I can think of conversations we've had in which you describe some disorientation experiencing opposite seasons from your family/your past experiences now that you live in New Zealand. No pressure to answer this now or here... but as a bit of reflection, I wonder how this impact your sense of belonging (to where you are, your family, etc)?
I hadn't meant to make a direct connection between Francie and Momento Mori though I can see how it reads that way! I definitely don't advocate for reminding children of their mortality. 😂 However there are really helpful ways we *can* talk to children about death when they begin to notice this themselves.
The coffee scene was so good and gave me a stab-wound feeling. I can't comprehend that level of poverty.
I loved reading about the land and creek of your childhood and how you orient yourself now in your garden. I think our pedestrian lifestyle in England has helped me to notice seasonal change more than I ever had before, which definitely 'brings me into the present moment' as you said.
Oh, I didn't think you were advocating for that! :) I think I was trying to say that it's difficult (but inevitable) to process those things as a child, and how odd it is that something that was once terrifying is actually a way to center myself as an adult.
I mentioned last week that this is my first time to read this book. I like Francie. She’s smart, saavy, and has so much love to give. I also feel protective of her, though I definitely don’t have the street smarts she does. My first impression is that Francie likes who she is, though she is poor and often hungry, I didn’t detect self-loathing… at least not yet. I want to protect Francie from that.
OTHERS
Most of the people around Francie seemed turned in on their own pain or their own journey. I’m not being critical. We’re prone to this, especially when things are hard. However, if people like the librarian, her father, and the old man had looked Francie in the eye, seen her for who she is, and offered her a genuine smile, I’m convinced she would have fairly blossomed in front of their very eyes. What’s more, I think the love that Francie has to offer would have filled their cup in ways that they couldn’t have imagined. I imagine it would have repaid the effort of looking up for just a moment 10-fold or more.
PLACE
In last week’s comments, Jonathan mentioned that he wanted to explore the sense of place in this story. I’m wondering how our theology of place is reflected in what’s shaping Francie? Certainly, there are sacred spaces… the library, the fire escape (when the neighbor is away), the living room on a Saturday night.
There are also smells, which I am quite sure I would find revolting, but which speak of home and hope to Francie. And markers, like the tree of heaven, which is an invasive tree, yet serves as an important signpost of sorts (even if it is the first to arrive in neighborhoods that are becoming poor). Places press in on us and shape us in profound ways. Francie strikes me as the kind of girl who, if growing up in a different environment, would like to make fairy gardens, read, and daydream in the orchard or lay on her stomach and watch tadpoles in the pond. Instead, she’s doing her best to outwit the butcher, collecting rubbish, and standing in line for stale bread.
Side note: I also think Francie would be very good friends with Anne Shirley if their live paths allowed them the luxury of friendship.
I really appreciate these reflections. You are right - Francie is so smart and I appreciate that she still has such a hopeful imagination for her future despite her circumstances. I felt so sad when she described how Francie desired a friendly comment from the librarian. There are so many missed opportunities for affirming children, and it really doesn't take a lot. I remember one of my supervisor's at my first hospital saying that he makes a point of saying hello or waving to every single child he passes. These things matter.
Your wonderings about what sort of girl Francie would be in a different environment feel so poignant. And, there is something really beautiful about how she holds onto that core identity she has and finds ways to express that wonder and curiosity where she is. A real example of 'blooming where you're planted.'
Is this a bad time to admit I've never read Anne of Green Gables?
I agree with @Hannah and @Corinne!! I'm shocked. Just shocked.
I add another vote to Anne of Green Gables being somewhere in the Viriditas book club schedule. So many themes and characters that would make for a great discussion.
I hope our next book will be one by a BIPOC author, but I will definitely keep Anne Shirley on the short list for another later down the road! The enthusiasm of this group will get me to read it once and for all 🙂
"turned in on their own pain or their own journey"--yes!! I think the tendency is to look at a child as a reflection of ourselves instead of truly seeing them, and sometimes this reflection is too painful (the reminder of innocence lost) or jarring (as it doesn't match the viewer's preconceptions or sense of self). True observation--a mindful listening--and reflecting the own child's experience is what's necessary. (And I've learned this knowledge from my sisters becoming mothers themselves ;) .) Like your note about all of those people looking her in the eye and seeing who she was. Mm, that's some powerful stuff!
It is really challenging to set our own selves aside, isn't it? It's interesting to notice how often our family members' reflections of my kids is to say things like, 'He got that from _____!' There is something lovely and endearing, and even true, about this. And, I find the frequency of the reflection leaves little room for the child to simply be.... themselves!
As I read the second-to-last paragraph, I was actually thinking the same thing about Anne Shirley. It was funny to get to the end and see you mention her!
Now that we’ve established that Francie is similar to Anne Shirley, this Canadian over here is all distracted, and I’m picturing Francie AS Anne. Oi.
I loved reading about Francie’s experience in the “fine” nickel-and-dime store. There was something about the way that she carried herself there that struck me. Poor as she was, having just enough money to purchase something but to also enjoy that experience as she did was striking. To me it points me back to her family. Her dad barely worked, her mom worked super hard, her and her brother joined the other neighborhood kids in earning some money too, and their family made a practice of saving. Poor as they were, Francie seems to feel safe and confident in their lifestyle. I’m curious to watch this part develop.
I love that image of her carrying herself with confidence at the nickel-and-dime store. In a couple of chapters, the author will reflect on Francie's qualities. She says she's only half of her mother's invisible steel, but Francie strikes me as strong and confident. I'm curious to watch this unfold too.
I wonder if this speaks to something of Katie's hard work on Francie and Neeley's behalf. Even with all they've been through, Francie's outward confidence seems to be pretty secure. Perhaps this is a reflection of the security she feels at home?
There’s so much I loved from this week’s reading, but I was particularly interested in the way Smith explores the passage of time, particularly the way one marks the passage of time in sacred spaces. Besides resonating deeply with her descriptions of the library and the fire-escape, I was really struck by chapter 6, where Smith describes Francie sleeping in the front room: 'On Saturday nights Francie was allowed to sleep in the front room. She made a bed by pushing two chairs together in front of the window where she could watch the people on the street. Lying there, she was aware of the nighttime noises in the house.’
I loved the idea that coming to sleep in the front room is a Saturday-night ritual, marking the passage to Sunday and treasuring the day that has passed (‘she fixed the memory of this Saturday in her mind’). As I was reading, I kept seeing patterns of vigil.
Francie watches over her tenement through the night, attending to the sights and sounds as her neighbours return home. Meanwhile, the voices of her parents drift through from the kitchen, their sacred space. Katie and Johnny talk through the night until daybreak in their own weekly vigil of sharing stories, which Francie takes to be a celebration of life itself. Francie’s vigil witnesses to that same vibrancy of life in her quiet but faithful presence at the window, taking in both the narrow view of her tenement and the breadth of the night sky.
But there’s also a real sense of fear and foreboding in chapter 6. Every other night of the week, Francie lies and listens to noises coming through the airshaft, hearing the tearful vigil of the young bride: ‘the wife would cry piteously until nearly morning’. Smith has an amazing way of documenting these beautiful moments of wonder in Francie’s life, whilst giving us that creeping sense that pain and fear lie somewhere on the horizon of that wonder.
I’m definitely going to add Brooklyn to my watch-list! And in answer to your question about the newsletter, I’d love to read more about awareness of mortality and childhood development.
Smith has a real gift for foreboding, doesn't she? There are so many sentences I read and think, 'Ooof... something is coming.' I love how you've captured some of Francie's view of the world as captured by her 'narrow view of her tenement and the breadth of the night sky.' Francie seems to hold something of these in tension together, which actually is very hard to do.
Wow. We're off the a great start.. I thoroughly enjoyed chapters 1-6. I loved your thoughts on them as well, many things I hadn't picked up myself.
The moments that jumped out at me were:
-The library description (with the bowl), aside from being a well-written paragraph placing the reader right there in the room, it also gave me a sense of time. As a child, I remember seasons, months, days going by without noticing how fast (or how slow). But she notes that she always knows when Spring is coming despite the snow on the ground. She has a dependable 'clock' of sorts in the seasonal changing of the bowl's contents.
-The scene with her father. She clearly loves him the most (and says as much). However, I feel a bit of injustice for her mother who works hard, encourages them to save in the 'tin-can bank', and is clearly the better role model. A part of me (maybe a malicious part) wants some drama between her and her father that will create a better, stronger connection to her mother. So she shifts her role models.
-Talking about someday buying all the books she wants. It's hard for me to imagine 1912 Brooklyn, children earning pennies through 'junk' and living off what you buy for the week. The way she dreamed about one day never hesitating to buy the books she wants and to own them all.. it was heart-breaking. Thankfully, today we tend to prioritize education (books) right alongside other necessities like food and shelter. I have never felt a *longing* to own a book, I simply owned books... usually whichever book I wanted because my parents were much happier buying a book than a toy. ;) But when people have a right to something, some people forget to maintain that right as a *priority*. The things that come easily to us are easily forgotten about.
This is a really powerful reflection, Amanda. About how most of us haven't ever thought about owning books, and that we just.... own books. "The things that come easily to us are easily forgotten about." I'm going to chew on that for a while! I wonder if this means the opposite is also true: The things we work hard for are hard to forget?
SELF
I love your reflection on her having that developmental realization of discovering her own mortality. As I listened to that bit, I thought "this must have a significance I can't quite grasp at the moment".
The idea of Memento Mori through a child's lens (and as I think about one of my young nephew's recent preoccupation with death) is interesting to think about as well. I can't see that it would be a comforting or encouraging thing to dwell on as a child (I believe I was tormented by it quite a bit myself), but only through the lens of adulthood is it something I return to again and again as a reminder to live the fullest life.
OTHERS
I hadn't thought about attachment theory in that light--childhood innocence being a privelege. OOF.
How heartbreaking and true to life that Francie does cherish her relationship to her father--the one that may not ever really be able to meet her needs--over that of her mother, whose skin breaks and cracks while she does everything she can to provide for her kiddos and still make them feel their whole humanity (the privilege of the coffee). Haha, I might have been a bit resentful of that moment.
ENVIRONMENT + TRANSCENDANT
Something I noticed was how at home she is in this big bustling neighborhood. There is a strong sense of place and where she fits in it.
A sacred place where I'm able to connect with my senses is in nature. In everyday life, my garden. I have great comfort to know that I can walk outside and feel the sunshine on my skin, squat down and inspect the beetles and burgeoning petals. Growing seeds and plants connects me to an innate creativity that is life-giving.
As a child, that space for me was a little bit of land we had out in the country with an adjacent creek. But on the daily, it was the room under the stairs (very much like Harry Potter's cupboard) where I made of grand and dramatic stories with my Barbies.
The bowl at the library--yes! I had the same thought as I listened to that experience (I did a hybrid of listening and reading the first 6 chapters, which I found really helped in setting up the world for me). Even how she spoke about how it marked the seasons, it makes me think about how I noticed (especially in this last year) how important it is for me to be able to mark the seasons--not just as a way to pass time, but as a way to bring me to the present moment and drink it in fully.
The marking of seasons as a way to be present to the moment and perhaps to measure our own progress as pilgrims is important. I was recently walking on our path (along a nearby river) thinking about how our favorite tree that has just dropped all its burnt orange needles, the flowers that will bloom, the trees that will bud out, the fluctuation of the river height all mark the seasons and the passage of time as we travel this path multiple times a week. For these signs, I am grateful. Even a simple bowl does that so well for Francie.
I can think of conversations we've had in which you describe some disorientation experiencing opposite seasons from your family/your past experiences now that you live in New Zealand. No pressure to answer this now or here... but as a bit of reflection, I wonder how this impact your sense of belonging (to where you are, your family, etc)?
I hadn't meant to make a direct connection between Francie and Momento Mori though I can see how it reads that way! I definitely don't advocate for reminding children of their mortality. 😂 However there are really helpful ways we *can* talk to children about death when they begin to notice this themselves.
The coffee scene was so good and gave me a stab-wound feeling. I can't comprehend that level of poverty.
I loved reading about the land and creek of your childhood and how you orient yourself now in your garden. I think our pedestrian lifestyle in England has helped me to notice seasonal change more than I ever had before, which definitely 'brings me into the present moment' as you said.
Thanks for sharing Hannah!
Oh, I didn't think you were advocating for that! :) I think I was trying to say that it's difficult (but inevitable) to process those things as a child, and how odd it is that something that was once terrifying is actually a way to center myself as an adult.
SELF
I mentioned last week that this is my first time to read this book. I like Francie. She’s smart, saavy, and has so much love to give. I also feel protective of her, though I definitely don’t have the street smarts she does. My first impression is that Francie likes who she is, though she is poor and often hungry, I didn’t detect self-loathing… at least not yet. I want to protect Francie from that.
OTHERS
Most of the people around Francie seemed turned in on their own pain or their own journey. I’m not being critical. We’re prone to this, especially when things are hard. However, if people like the librarian, her father, and the old man had looked Francie in the eye, seen her for who she is, and offered her a genuine smile, I’m convinced she would have fairly blossomed in front of their very eyes. What’s more, I think the love that Francie has to offer would have filled their cup in ways that they couldn’t have imagined. I imagine it would have repaid the effort of looking up for just a moment 10-fold or more.
PLACE
In last week’s comments, Jonathan mentioned that he wanted to explore the sense of place in this story. I’m wondering how our theology of place is reflected in what’s shaping Francie? Certainly, there are sacred spaces… the library, the fire escape (when the neighbor is away), the living room on a Saturday night.
There are also smells, which I am quite sure I would find revolting, but which speak of home and hope to Francie. And markers, like the tree of heaven, which is an invasive tree, yet serves as an important signpost of sorts (even if it is the first to arrive in neighborhoods that are becoming poor). Places press in on us and shape us in profound ways. Francie strikes me as the kind of girl who, if growing up in a different environment, would like to make fairy gardens, read, and daydream in the orchard or lay on her stomach and watch tadpoles in the pond. Instead, she’s doing her best to outwit the butcher, collecting rubbish, and standing in line for stale bread.
Side note: I also think Francie would be very good friends with Anne Shirley if their live paths allowed them the luxury of friendship.
I really appreciate these reflections. You are right - Francie is so smart and I appreciate that she still has such a hopeful imagination for her future despite her circumstances. I felt so sad when she described how Francie desired a friendly comment from the librarian. There are so many missed opportunities for affirming children, and it really doesn't take a lot. I remember one of my supervisor's at my first hospital saying that he makes a point of saying hello or waving to every single child he passes. These things matter.
Your wonderings about what sort of girl Francie would be in a different environment feel so poignant. And, there is something really beautiful about how she holds onto that core identity she has and finds ways to express that wonder and curiosity where she is. A real example of 'blooming where you're planted.'
Is this a bad time to admit I've never read Anne of Green Gables?
Next book club! I'm shocked, because you seem like a kindred spirit of Anne's!
Also shocked, ha! Would be a fantastic book club, because there are a couple of screen adaptations in the mix as well.
Fully in support of an Anne of Green Gables book club - one of my all time favorite series, and so full of amazing insights into spirituality!
It's not bad if you quickly remedy it. ;) Please report back and tell us what you think.
I agree with @Hannah and @Corinne!! I'm shocked. Just shocked.
I add another vote to Anne of Green Gables being somewhere in the Viriditas book club schedule. So many themes and characters that would make for a great discussion.
I hope our next book will be one by a BIPOC author, but I will definitely keep Anne Shirley on the short list for another later down the road! The enthusiasm of this group will get me to read it once and for all 🙂
"turned in on their own pain or their own journey"--yes!! I think the tendency is to look at a child as a reflection of ourselves instead of truly seeing them, and sometimes this reflection is too painful (the reminder of innocence lost) or jarring (as it doesn't match the viewer's preconceptions or sense of self). True observation--a mindful listening--and reflecting the own child's experience is what's necessary. (And I've learned this knowledge from my sisters becoming mothers themselves ;) .) Like your note about all of those people looking her in the eye and seeing who she was. Mm, that's some powerful stuff!
It is really challenging to set our own selves aside, isn't it? It's interesting to notice how often our family members' reflections of my kids is to say things like, 'He got that from _____!' There is something lovely and endearing, and even true, about this. And, I find the frequency of the reflection leaves little room for the child to simply be.... themselves!
As I read the second-to-last paragraph, I was actually thinking the same thing about Anne Shirley. It was funny to get to the end and see you mention her!
Now that we’ve established that Francie is similar to Anne Shirley, this Canadian over here is all distracted, and I’m picturing Francie AS Anne. Oi.
I loved reading about Francie’s experience in the “fine” nickel-and-dime store. There was something about the way that she carried herself there that struck me. Poor as she was, having just enough money to purchase something but to also enjoy that experience as she did was striking. To me it points me back to her family. Her dad barely worked, her mom worked super hard, her and her brother joined the other neighborhood kids in earning some money too, and their family made a practice of saving. Poor as they were, Francie seems to feel safe and confident in their lifestyle. I’m curious to watch this part develop.
I love that image of her carrying herself with confidence at the nickel-and-dime store. In a couple of chapters, the author will reflect on Francie's qualities. She says she's only half of her mother's invisible steel, but Francie strikes me as strong and confident. I'm curious to watch this unfold too.
Ooooo, isn't chapter 8 just amazing? It's the stuff I dreamt of discussing when I first imagined Viriditas as a project!
I wonder if this speaks to something of Katie's hard work on Francie and Neeley's behalf. Even with all they've been through, Francie's outward confidence seems to be pretty secure. Perhaps this is a reflection of the security she feels at home?
There’s so much I loved from this week’s reading, but I was particularly interested in the way Smith explores the passage of time, particularly the way one marks the passage of time in sacred spaces. Besides resonating deeply with her descriptions of the library and the fire-escape, I was really struck by chapter 6, where Smith describes Francie sleeping in the front room: 'On Saturday nights Francie was allowed to sleep in the front room. She made a bed by pushing two chairs together in front of the window where she could watch the people on the street. Lying there, she was aware of the nighttime noises in the house.’
I loved the idea that coming to sleep in the front room is a Saturday-night ritual, marking the passage to Sunday and treasuring the day that has passed (‘she fixed the memory of this Saturday in her mind’). As I was reading, I kept seeing patterns of vigil.
Francie watches over her tenement through the night, attending to the sights and sounds as her neighbours return home. Meanwhile, the voices of her parents drift through from the kitchen, their sacred space. Katie and Johnny talk through the night until daybreak in their own weekly vigil of sharing stories, which Francie takes to be a celebration of life itself. Francie’s vigil witnesses to that same vibrancy of life in her quiet but faithful presence at the window, taking in both the narrow view of her tenement and the breadth of the night sky.
But there’s also a real sense of fear and foreboding in chapter 6. Every other night of the week, Francie lies and listens to noises coming through the airshaft, hearing the tearful vigil of the young bride: ‘the wife would cry piteously until nearly morning’. Smith has an amazing way of documenting these beautiful moments of wonder in Francie’s life, whilst giving us that creeping sense that pain and fear lie somewhere on the horizon of that wonder.
I’m definitely going to add Brooklyn to my watch-list! And in answer to your question about the newsletter, I’d love to read more about awareness of mortality and childhood development.
Smith has a real gift for foreboding, doesn't she? There are so many sentences I read and think, 'Ooof... something is coming.' I love how you've captured some of Francie's view of the world as captured by her 'narrow view of her tenement and the breadth of the night sky.' Francie seems to hold something of these in tension together, which actually is very hard to do.
Wow. We're off the a great start.. I thoroughly enjoyed chapters 1-6. I loved your thoughts on them as well, many things I hadn't picked up myself.
The moments that jumped out at me were:
-The library description (with the bowl), aside from being a well-written paragraph placing the reader right there in the room, it also gave me a sense of time. As a child, I remember seasons, months, days going by without noticing how fast (or how slow). But she notes that she always knows when Spring is coming despite the snow on the ground. She has a dependable 'clock' of sorts in the seasonal changing of the bowl's contents.
-The scene with her father. She clearly loves him the most (and says as much). However, I feel a bit of injustice for her mother who works hard, encourages them to save in the 'tin-can bank', and is clearly the better role model. A part of me (maybe a malicious part) wants some drama between her and her father that will create a better, stronger connection to her mother. So she shifts her role models.
-Talking about someday buying all the books she wants. It's hard for me to imagine 1912 Brooklyn, children earning pennies through 'junk' and living off what you buy for the week. The way she dreamed about one day never hesitating to buy the books she wants and to own them all.. it was heart-breaking. Thankfully, today we tend to prioritize education (books) right alongside other necessities like food and shelter. I have never felt a *longing* to own a book, I simply owned books... usually whichever book I wanted because my parents were much happier buying a book than a toy. ;) But when people have a right to something, some people forget to maintain that right as a *priority*. The things that come easily to us are easily forgotten about.
This is a really powerful reflection, Amanda. About how most of us haven't ever thought about owning books, and that we just.... own books. "The things that come easily to us are easily forgotten about." I'm going to chew on that for a while! I wonder if this means the opposite is also true: The things we work hard for are hard to forget?
Oh well now you've given me something to chew on.. "The things we work hard for are hard to forget.." I do think there's some logic there as well.