Chapter 1

The Birth of Well-Read Mom

Stumbling Upon a Need

In the spring of 2012, three different mothers’ groups asked me to come and give a talk. Since I had already spoken to some of these women about children’s literature, I thought it would be interesting to speak about personal reading and get a feel for what books women were reading for themselves. I titled the talk “Well-Read Mom.”

Turns out I hit a nerve.

For most of the mothers I talked to, personal reading was a luxury they had sacrificed in the name of family. In fact, not one woman in any of those groups was reading quality literature for her own enjoyment and growth.

Many of them weren’t happy about it. Some felt embarrassed, others felt guilty. Most just accepted it as normal.

When I asked the women why they weren’t reading, hands crept up hesitantly. One by one, they explained, lamented, and justified why reading was impossible, given the demands of daily life. “I don’t have time,” of course, was the main reason these women weren’t reading. But I also heard comments like these:

● “I sometimes read a self-help book or a spiritual bestseller because I can justify that. But at this time in my life, reading literature feels selfish.”

● “I was never a good reader in high school.”

● “I’d like to read, but I wouldn’t have a clue where to start.”

● “My family watches TV at night because that is something we can do together. If I get a book out, I feel like I’m isolating myself from my kids, so we watch TV instead. At least we can do that together.”

● “In my family, we’re all on our own devices, even during dinner. We fill our plates in the kitchen and then go to our own rooms to eat in front of our TVs and phones.” This comment was shared by a woman with tears in her eyes.

Of the women attending the talks, only one said she regularly read fiction, but she felt bad because she knew the quality of books she was reading was sub-par: “I know there are better books out there, but I have no idea where to start, so I pick up whatever bestseller looks good at the grocery store.”

Each time, as I drove home from one of these events, the faces of the women who had shared came to mind. Jean, Sarah, Sally, Jen—all these women cared deeply about mothering. They wanted to nurture their children. They were trying their best to stay afloat in family life. They had come to the talk looking for support and encouragement. Then I waltzed in, spouting off statistics about the importance of personal reading. I’m sure to them I may as well have been saying, “Hi, I’m here to show you one more way you are not measuring up as a mom!”

How is this little talk I just gave going to make a bit of difference in anyone’s life? I pondered. It won’t! The only thing it will do is make the women feel like there’s one more thing they might be failing at.

Women, including me, wanted to read more, but none of us knew how to take a step toward that goal. I started thinking about my own life, and I realized that I was actually in the same boat. While I could talk about the importance of good books, in all honesty I wasn’t reading literature on a regular basis either. We were all missing out on something beautiful. I drove home sad.

Searching for a Solution

I thought back to my own experience. I had a foundation in reading because I had had the good fortune to be in a reading group in years past. For over 10 years, I faithfully attended a book club with a small group of friends. We read the classics and other good books. When we first started the book club, I was barely treading water as a mom. With four little ones clamoring for attention, I needed an activity to call my own. I needed to get out of the house and have some intelligent adult conversation. I needed a reading challenge and accountability. Book club provided a way to meet with friends on a consistent basis. I looked forward to it. Although I knew almost nothing about the classic literature we were reading, I persevered. These were the books my friends wanted to read, and I wanted to be with these people.

I was scared at first because I didn’t know how to “analyze” literature. But once I started reading, I found that I didn’t need to analyze the books. I could just listen as the books spoke to me. I let myself get caught up in the story and the lives of the characters. I found that this type of receptive reading was having a good effect on my heart. I felt inspired to live like Jean Valjean from Les Misérables, Father Zosima from The Brothers Karamazov, and Kitty from Anna Karenina. Reading about their lives awoke in me a desire for greatness of soul!

The conversations at book club were also helping me. Because of our in-depth discussions, I came to understand myself in new ways. I enjoyed the surprising twists and turns that took place as we talked about the books and the new ideas the books had birthed in us.

My experience in this book club taught me three things.

First, I discovered I could read more than I thought I could.

Second, even if I didn’t understand everything that was going on in the book (I didn’t), and even if I wasn’t able to finish the book (often the case), I learned that reading great books was a positive experience for me, an experience different from reading self-help books or bestseller fiction.

Third, reading with a group was different from—and better than—reading on my own.

After 10 years in this book club, we moved to another town, and I was not able to continue participating. Almost without realizing it, I left reading great literature behind. I was engaged in reading, but I wasn’t having moments of connecting with literature in a profound way.

In addition to feeling sad about stirring up guilt in the women who attended my talks, I also felt like a hypocrite. I was giving presentations that I called “Well-Read Mom” when that title did not describe me at the time.

And then it hit me—I had used the phrase “Well-Read Mom” because that’s what I wanted to be. I wanted to be well-read. And I was looking for help.

Driving home from speaking to these groups of young moms, I understood I needed to change. Reading literature was life-giving; I was missing out. And now it was clear to me that many other women were missing out, too.

I Wasn’t Alone

Several days later, my daughter Beth, a new mom at the time, called me almost in tears. “Mom, I’ve had it with these mother’s groups. I’ve been to this group three times, and all they talk about is what kind of diapers to buy. It’s all about the kids. Mom, isn’t there a place after college where women get together and actually talk about the real questions of life?” I heard a cry in Beth’s voice.

Her longing for more merged with my own, and the idea for Well-Read Mom was born.

The concept was simple. I offered to put together a list of books for us to read together over the next few years. She agreed to gather some friends in St. Paul, where she was living, and I would invite some of my friends in Crosby to join with me. Our two little book groups would stay together. We’d help each other be accountable.

This new avenue for friendship ignited a passion in me. Putting a plan together became a work of joy. I went to my bookshelves and pulled all the books I thought might be interesting to women. Spreading them out on the floor, I counted over 150 books. Hmm. Where to start?

I was pumped about this idea; I hoped it would be a long-term reading adventure. Maybe we could read all the great classics of the Western tradition—books by Homer, Virgil, St. Augustine, and Dante—in chronological order. But that idea was so overwhelming that now I had a problem: I didn’t want to be in this club! The thought of tackling those difficult works one after the other made me feel like giving up before I started. Could I really ask my friends to join a book club whose first selection was The Iliad? This idea would be over before it started. It would be like asking the women to run a marathon when we needed to start jogging to the stop sign and back.

The Rule of St. Benedict came to mind. In the sixth century, when St. Benedict wrote his famous Rule, he intended that an abbot should govern his monastery in such a way so that “the strong have something to yearn for and the weak have nothing to run from.”

That’s what I wanted for myself and my daughter and our friends—a hospitable place where one woman might experience the great classics for the first time, and another, perhaps already a voracious reader, could continue to grow. The idea would be to raise the bar without crushing anyone. A tall order, but possible.

Choosing the Selections

Still, the problem was how to order the selections.

One day, the answer came. I was reading Pope John Paul’s 1995 “Letter to Women.” He was thanking women in their various capacities, enumerating their many roles in life: mothers, daughters, workers, sisters, wives, etc. As I read, I nearly jumped out of my chair; this could be the way to categorize the books! We could organize them loosely around these capacities inherent in being a woman. The first year could be Year of the Daughter, and then we could follow with Year of the Mother, then, Year of the Spouse, Year of the Worker, Year of the Friend, etc. This provided a framework for choosing the books....