the wall behind my
deliberately-left-ajar-
to-hide-them closet door. I
made up stories, or the
stories were there and I
found them.
Then, because I wanted to
understand my older cousins
who were spelling words in
front of me so I wouldn't
know what they were saying,
I taught myself to read.
I asked my mother what the
letters on the refrigerator
spelled. FRIGIDARE, she
said. Then I looked at my
name. MARYANNE BIANCARDI.
From those syllables I
sounded out the world. Most
importantly, I decoded my
cousins.
When my mother discovered I
could read, she sent me to
school, first grade because
the kindergarten was full.
That was the beginning of
me as reader. I was four.
I sat at a desk and was
given books. So I read. I
took them home and asked
for more. I read and read.
Why does anyone?
You read to discover your
own world, recognizable yet
transformed: a world you
can lose yourself in, a
world in which to hide from
your daily dread, a world
reinvented by you, that
tells you about yourself
and all that is not you.
To read is to discover what
you don’t know you know, to
see the sky is more than
blue.
What pleasure! You want
more. You want to recreate
the experience for another;
you want to create the
world. You want to play.
You want to write.
You hold the plastic Barbie
in your warm hand, where
she will come to life
beneath your breath. You
see her squirm, you feel
her fear. You could squeeze
her, crush her in your hand—
if you wanted to, but you
don’t. You have the
ability, the power, but you
are generous and benign.
And you are curious.
So you set her down and you
watch her turn and you
listen to her sing. You
follow her down the
miniature path, see the
rocks in front of her,
wonder whether she will
climb them, or crawl around
them, or blow them up, or
turn back. Look: there’s
another doll and another
and another; there’s a
whole town, there’s the
clown you forgot about;
there’s a world.
You're a goddess; you're a
writer.
# # #
more on maryanne
Maryanne Stahl, author of novels THE OPPOSITE SHORE
and FORGIVE THE MOON, lives in Thunderbolt, Georgia.
She teaches English and Creative Writing at Savannah
Arts Academy. Her most recent work is the very
limited edition of Max in Montauk, which she wrote
for her grandson, the world's most beautiful boy. For
more about her work and her worries about the Dalai
Lama, visit her blog:
http://maryannestahl.blogspot.com/
