The Blackout Book Club

by Amy Lynn Green

He held the volumes to his chest, breathing in the scent of them like they were one of his bouquets, and for a moment, Louise felt a tug of longing.

not some college man who’d swallow a whole stack at once.

Somehow, hearing what others loved about the story made me want to read it again.

We also talked at length about what it meant to be Real, especially the Skin Horse’s idea that “when you’re Real you don’t mind being hurt.” Quite touching.

But the way Ginny saw it, you could let the storm dash you on the rocks, or you could roll with the tide.

Funerals had a way of dampening a person’s rah-rah for the USA.

Anthony had loved the readers as much as the books they’d read.

When you get to where folks will rib you, you know you’ve found real friends.

“Are you afraid of dying, Father?” He looked up in surprise. “Well, I don’t exactly like the idea. Too many good books left unread.”

“When you think about it, we’re all passing through, in and out of this world quick as a passenger boarding a train, on the way to something that lasts. Until then, you might as well make friends with your fellow travelers. Because, like it or not, you need us, Ginny. And we need you.”

When you’re Real, you don’t mind being hurt.’”

All of it made sense now. Not just the bits about Freddy, but Louise, the way she hated romances and was always doing good deeds, like she was making up for something.

“We’re starting ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ by Edgar Allan Poe. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t all right upstairs, if you know what I mean. You’d like it.”

Short was good. Shakespeare ought to learn a lesson.

When Delphie dished the chowder into the bowl, swimming with cream and vegetables and shrimp, she couldn’t keep her mouth from watering. And as Mrs. Whitson said grace over the impromptu feast, it felt like God was listening after all.

She still wasn’t sure anyone here needed her, like Freddy had said. But, well . . . maybe she did need them. At least a little.

“That’s the trouble with you Americans. We learned back in ’39 that self-reliance isn’t a virtue. Not at sea.”

So that’s what I’m here for, to remind you not to let something you love slip away without a fight.

People will find the stories they need right when they need them. They always do—you included.

That was what they didn’t tell you in the novels about heroines and their fine speeches: that the most difficult moment of all was still to come, full of the fears that collected in the silence after a declaration of true honesty.

walked to a cart of books, taking a stack that nearly reached her chin.

Maybe, despite her flaws and failings as a mother, he would grow to be the right sort of man after all.

she was going to lobby for The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as their next read.

“in here I mostly see folks at their worst. Desperate, lonely, in some kind of trouble. You’ve got to look a little harder to see the good in them when they’re beaten down like that.”

“He’s the boss, Ginny. He makes the rules. We follow them.” “Rules are for people who don’t have good reasons to break them.”

Martina stopped as soon as she realized the point of the story and hid it from Gio. I made sure to note the nightmares I’d had two nights in a row after finishing, and how I’d had to move the clock to the closet to keep from hearing the ticking.

There was something comforting about being surrounded by shelves, the way the tall windows let in morning light, the smell of the old tomes mingling with whatever baked good Avis had set out for them to enjoy.

It was in that moment that Louise realized why characters in silly Hollywood movies were forever dropping telephones as an indication of surprise. It wasn’t so much a clumsy fumble as the fact that one’s mind was so occupied it couldn’t spare the effort for gripping things.

“People will hurt us. The ones we love most often and deepest of all, because we’ve let them in.” “Then perhaps we shouldn’t be foolish enough to do that.” “It’s not foolishness. It’s courage.”

“Giving and receiving love is the greatest risk and the greatest joy.”

They were young, but they were trying. That was more than Patrick had ever done, choosing instead to run away whenever times got hard.

“We break our backs for her, punch the clock over and over, say our pledges and our prayers. And what do we get? A kick in the rear out the door, taxes, and rules that don’t look out for people like us. They tell us ‘Uncle Sam Wants You.’ Wants you to line up to die, that’s what. Not me. No, sir, not me.”

She was not alone and defenseless anymore. And she never would be again. “Understand?” Freddy pressed. He was

“Why did you come here?” Martina asked. “Besides being an answer to my prayer.”

Wasn’t that one purpose of stories? The best ones might be about good and evil in fictional lands, but they were meant to help people recognize them in the real world. And maybe even teach them how to respond with wisdom and courage.

Of course. That’s why the sound of the sirens had changed. Strange, so strange, to be thankful for someone else’s misfortune, but a blocked chimney or a brush fire that had caught a storage shed was a disaster so much smaller than the buckled sidewalks and destroyed buildings she had pictured. Avis nearly collapsed on the couch in relief, until Freddy added, “Avis, they’re headed toward the library.”

Right then, Martina knew that Louise should not have worried, warning her not to put a love of reading before family. Nothing, nothing was more important than making sure Gio was safe. She’d torch a hundred books, a thousand, before risking her son.

They were all here, and more—longtime members of the association library, newcomers to the book club, fellow church members, even strangers. Ready to do all they could.

“Just so you know,” Delphie said, jerking her head toward the building, “everyone hates those old chairs you put in there. Fine to look at, but they make your backside ache if you sit in them for longer than fifteen minutes.”

For I have found that books make fine friends—but fellow readers even better.

town did need books. Oh, so did soldiers overseas and children at a nursery school. But she’d find other ways to get them reading material. “I’m not closing the library.”

Russell and I are expecting. He was a little startled by the long list of literary names I’ve picked out for us to choose from. (Hercule and Hester, it seems, are already out, but Arthur and Elinor are still in the running.)