If you're as avid a reader—not to mention as observant a writer—as National Book Award–winning author Julia Glass is, you're likely to find literary gold in the most unexpected places. So it's not surprising that she discovered her favorite books about parenthood in such varied spots as the hands of a psychotherapist, her son's bookshelf, and her realtor's dashboard. Glass herself writes poetically about the quiet and not-so-quiet drama implicit in familial relationships in her Three Junes (Anchor), as well as in her latest novel, I See You Everywhere (Pantheon), in bookstores this month. She can certainly be trusted, then, to find the nuanced stories that lead us to greater revelations about ourselves—and our children.
The Earliest Relationship: Parents, Infants, and the Drama of Early Attachment
by T. Berry Brazelton and Bertrand G. Cramer (Da Capo)
"Soon after I learned I was pregnant with my first child, a psychotherapist friend gave me this book. I was secretly irritated by its highfalutin title and discouraged at first by its academic tone, but to my surprise, it moved me enormously. It was like reading the soul's companion volume to What to Expect. What these authors discuss are the deepest assumptions, fantasies, and fears a pregnant mother has about the developing person inside her body—and how those feelings will influence her getting to know the 'real' child once he's born. Those nine long months, after all, are filled with hopes, projections, and memories of one's own childhood that don't vaporize when the cord is cut. Once I held my older son, Alec, and during the first months of his life, when he was my constant companion (and still the object of so many fantasies and fears), I was deeply grateful to have read this book."
A Stone Boat
by Andrew Solomon (Plume)
"This was one of many books I read while nursing Alec in those early months, and it galvanized my determination to give him a sibling. I'd assumed that if I could have even one child, I would be lucky (and I was). I was 40; three years earlier, I'd been treated for cancer and had lost my only sibling to suicide. A Stone Boat is Solomon's fictionalized narrative about how he endured, with his brother and father, the death of his beloved mother when he was in his 20s. It struck so many chords with me—darkest among them my own fear of having an incurable recurrence, brightest among them its depiction of two very different grown siblings struggling to maintain their bond in the face of such a catastrophe. It's one of the most memorable family portraits I've ever encountered in fiction. I broke down in tears at the part where the ailing mother tells her bickering sons that the reason she wanted two children was so they could each have the other one to love."
The Wonder of Boys
by Michael Gurian (Tarcher/Penguin)
"This was another fortuitous gift I'd never have found on my own. One of my closest male friends—a man of fearless integrity—told me that he happened to see Gurian on a talk show and was riveted: He'd never heard anyone describe so accurately what it felt like, to him, to grow up as a young boy in this society. He bought the book and gave it to me for my first birthday following Alec's birth. I know mothers who think Gurian exaggerates the
differences between the genders, but his book gave me unexpected (and useful) insight into my mate's emotions, never mind those of my budding boy. Gurian writes beautifully about what boys need that girls do not: among other things, strong communal groups involving rituals and games. He is also refreshingly immune to political correctness, especially when addressing precisely how schools are failing our sons. Now that Alec's 12, I'm returning to this book with new questions and finding it more valuable than ever."
The Stardust Lounge: Stories from a Boy's Adolescence
by Deborah Digges (Anchor)
"Another out-of-left-field recommendation—this one from the realtor who helped us buy our first house! (I saw it on the dashboard of her car.) Normally I avoid memoirs, especially the ones you read while a voyeuristic inner voice whispers, 'Please let this never happen to me.' But that's why Digges shares her story—because it's entirely possible that no matter how much attention, nurture, and steady love you lavish on your child, he will fall, almost willfully, into serious trouble that you can't handle—and that well-meaning, overdiagnosing 'experts' can't help you handle, either. Digges's teenage son is the kind many parents would abandon—the kind often labeled 'delinquent' or 'hoodlum'—but in her determination to hold fast to him and her faith that she can somehow save him from his worst self, she defies conventional wisdoms about 'tough love,' making her home a place where rules and responsibilities dovetail with her son's difficult yet delicate nature. This is hardly a how-to book, but boy, is it inspiring."
The Important Book
by Margaret Wise Brown, pictures by
Leonard Weisgard (HarperCollins)
"I'm told that Goodnight Moon was my favorite book when I was a little girl (hard to believe it was brand-new the year I was born). So I couldn't wait to share my heirloom copy with children of my own. Yet when Alec came along, the Brown-Weisgard picture book that enchanted him far more was this one, and I've come to see it as an underrated classic. From an adult perspective, it has an oddly precious, pedantic quality, but there are shades of Emily Dickinson, too, of marveling at the simplest things in life by seeing them at their most basic level. I can picture an adolescent reading Brown's earnest litanies with gleeful mockery ('Snow is white? You eat with a spoon? Like, duh already, dude!'), but when I'm in my younger son's room, I sometimes seek out this book, just to open it and remember the joy with which both my sons once recited the text along with me. It will always represent some of the happiest reading memories of my life."
What Is God?
by Etan Boritzer, illustrated by Robbie Marantz (Firefly)
"How I wish I'd found this book 10 years ago. Religion is a bit of a hobgoblin in our household; despite an active life in the church during college, I've grown up to be what I'd call a mournful atheist, covertly envious of families where genuine faith gives children a sense of comfort, confidence, and empathy. Unfortunately, my mate still suffers from a childhood overdose of dogmatic Catholicism. He regards all organized religion as insidious, if not downright evil. Yet when our oldest started to ask about God, his father agreed that we would discuss all things churchy in a neutral fashion, listening rather than preaching. Still, I felt awkward whenever such topics arose. Now our younger son, 7-year-old Oliver, seems both fascinated and compelled by the notion of God; never mind that an awareness and acceptance of religion seems more essential than ever in the modern world. So when I stumbled on this book two months ago, I was thrilled. Critics might see it as a soft-core, everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach to discussing religion, but that's exactly what I needed—and what Oliver needed too. Even his dad was impressed. Last night, Oliver asked if we could say a blessing at dinner (something he knows about from his Catholic grandmother's home). Thanks to the feelings and thoughts expressed in this book, I knew how to do it in an honest way. We joined hands and expressed our appreciation for what we were sharing, for being together, and for our larger connections to the world around us."
