Tuesday's Slice of Life, a little late

Yesterday I took part in the Urban Librarians Unite Read-In, a movement to promote and support public libraries and also protest budget cuts to public libraries. People read for 15 minutes at a stretch for 24 hours straight. (Yes, all night too, and that's when people can read their favorite porn and erotica.)

This year it was next to City Hall, as the City Council is currently debating the budget. I read from 5 to 5:15 (from Carola Dibbell's new, and first, novel, The Only Ones, which I highly recommend), and hung around for an hour altogether, before and after. The scene around the read-in was almost as fascinating as the readings and readers themselves.

There were two tents, one for the reader (with mike), the one with three rows of seats for anyone who wanted to stay and listen. I was there around the time people were getting off from work. Most people walked right by between the tents. Some looked over to see what was going on, a few paused to read the signs, but some walked on as though they didn't notice a thing out of the ordinary. A few did detour around the audience tent -- they noticed, and didn't want to interfere.

The woman before me read all of Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit, and then something from a book about Beatrix Potter and her garden, to fill out her 15 minutes. The person after me was a father and his three-year-old daughter. The father read from Dr. Seuss's I Wish I Had Duck Feet, and the last word of every fourth (or so) line was supplied by the little girl, who had obviously memorized the whole story. Once she realized that the mike magnified her voice, she could hardly wait to shout her word into the mike. And when we all laughed, she was even happier. I'm sure she will demand a microphone for her next birthday.

Slice of Life, #25

            I just finished reading a superb first novel today. It’s called The Only Ones, by Carola Dibbell. In a distinctive and strikingly original voice, Inez Fardo relates what life is like in mid-21st century New York City and environs, when pandemics are ravaging the entire world, and no one can have children in what Inez calls “the regular way.” She’s been orphaned twice, once as a baby, again when she’s 10 by the woman who found her, and she’s had to survive on the street ever since. Which she can because she is a hardy, someone who is mysteriously immune to all the pathogens swirling around the world.

            At 19 she becomes enmeshed in a scheme to harvest her hardy eggs and, eventually, to try the possibly criminal act of cloning. When the client changes her mind, Inez is left with Ani, a baby she’s not prepared for and has no idea what to do with – she’s never even seen a baby.

            From here on, the story pulls you into the feelings of every new mother -- is the baby still alive? what do I do when she cries? when does the mother sleep? – exacerbated by there being no community of other mothers for her to consult. When she sees the rare baby or small child, she wonders, is that one a clone, or a “regular” child? Is Ani the only one, or are there others? But she can’t ask, because it could put both of them in danger.

            Inez’s efforts to keep them both alive are Sisyphean, because her wits are virtually their only resource; she’s a poor single mother, and even when the city is falling apart, the well-off live in Domes and their children are just as spoiled and snobbish as well-off kids are today.

            There is so much going on in this novel, about love and connection, desperation and bureaucracy, the lengths one will go to, to survive. It’s brand new, from a small publisher. Ask your library to order it, buy it from your local independent bookstore; it’s even an e-book.