A Slow Cooker of Words

My reading tastes have changed during the past year.

I used to read for the story. I relished the twists and turns of plot, the actions that characters took in order to answer questions in their lives, to explore identity and relationships, to mend rips.

Now, I read to be soothed by the language, to be carried away. To feel the power of words, relentless like the wind today, or to ride a raft on a lazy river of a sentence. I like authors like Cristina Garcia, Sandra Cisneros, and Julia Alvarez, who sprinkle Spanish terms like "carne asada" or "mangos deliciosos" onto each page like cilantro into a salsa. The lyrical melody of those words, so rich but so light, an even flow; the story, for me, becomes nearly irrelevant.

But I don't mean to imply that those writers don't tell stories. Their works are bursting with conflict and resolution, or whatever it is that people consider to be "plot." Characters are complex, with weathered hands, manic thoughts, the need to be accepted--situations are untenable and filled with tension, walking a balance beam towards possible resolution . . . or not. The possibilities are as bottomless as a vat of cabbage soup prepared especially for a month long fast.

I'm glad that my love of language has led me to authors whom I wouldn't have enjoyed in the past. Works that heal like a cool compress, herb infused chicken broth, and an afternoon in bed--slow and steady. Not a quick medicinal fix, but a cure that lingers. Passages that provide a "fix" at obscure times: when rummaging past pens in the glove box for a map, listening to the dog across the street bark at shadows, or in the middle of the night, while walking off the "Jimmy Legs."

A coiled rope of words, twisting into an easy circle, that heals the soul.

I no longer rush. I am able to take my time to savor a stew of imagery, a stuffed pepper exploding with adjectives and metaphors and strong verbs.

Tonight, I am reading Tawni O 'Dells' "Coal Run." I will treat each word as a delicacy. It will lay softly on my lips before I swallow it up. It will be my lobster-mashed potato feast.