I had never heard of this author. But this morning when I was clearing out my LFL donation box, his book appeared. I am not usually attracted to short stories (other than mysteries), but for some reason, the premise of his got to me.
Anne Lamott wrote the foreword. Her first sentence,
“Mark Yaconelli is an unusual person, as brilliant as he is plainspoken.”
She went on to share his different attributes. Showcasing him as someone who could be an activist, or a goofball, charismatic, deeply articulate yet compassionate and silly. Something she felt, we as readers would find between these pages.
I felt compelled to do exactly what she suggested. Open this book.
And so, I did.
I began to read.
And I only stopped for breakfast.
And then again for some routine chores.
And then again for our dog walk.
And then when we got back from our walk, I stuck my nose in the book, and read some more, until I finished it.
Every time I found something I loved of his that he said, I added the quote to my favorites on my page. You will find a lot of those quotes either within this review or below.
I was mesmerized by his words. His thoughts. I literally was entranced.
What I have come to learn over the course of my reading life, is that storytelling is an art form. A true storyteller will capture us immediately. And if they don’t, we as readers, will become impatient, sometimes, regretfully critical. (After all, read some of our reviews!)
When writers can capture us at the beginning, we are in for a heart-felt read. And that is what obviously happened here for me.
Take for instance, the author’s first sentence in his first story, “A Place the Soul Once Knew.”
“There are moments, often unexpected, when you find yourself at home in your own life.”
I live within those moments, too. I live a present moment life. Not all of us do. We are in a hurry. We have things to do, life expects that of us. But, here in this moment, he has us standing at his kitchen window watching the weather, listening to the birds. He is recognizing how distant he has become from life itself. And asking a very difficult question of himself…
“How long was I out?”
This is a very sobering question, indeed. He is referring to life as we have all experienced through this pandemic. The helpless despair. Withdrawing from public spaces.
(I personally still don’t go to public closed spaces; i.e., restaurants, movie theatres, large group events. And, if I go to a grocery or retail store or a doctor’s office, I still wear a face mask, even though it is no longer required. So, I get what he shares here.)
He questions our humanity to one another. He talks about the impact at schools. Friends. Family. Relationships.
In some ways, he is giving us in this first story, an introduction to what is to come throughout the book – an opening to his soul of storytelling.
And…To the many storytellers he has experienced to this point…in his lifetime.
There will be 180 pages, 12 stories, 3 interludes (short disconnected stories with their own soft setting, so to speak), an acknowledgements and notes.
He will take us back through his childhood, into his present, and share anecdotes of what he sees around him. We will be a passenger on a journey with him as he shares his experiences and observations – of the listening – and the telling.
There is so much within his short stories that I can relate to, that I almost feel like we have led parallel lives. (I believe many readers might feel similarly.)
As an example, in his story, “The Catacombs,” he shares a lot about his dad.
I could relate to what he shared when he said,
“One way to become a storyteller is to have a father who is impatient, busy, easily distracted, whose attention you crave.”
The author spoke of how often his father was unavailable for most of the important events in his life. I remember resenting my father for those very same things – especially missing my high school graduation. And yet, if I attended some work event of my father’s, his colleagues would gather around me and share how much my father would rave about how proud he was of me. They would then go ahead and list all of my many accomplishments, as I would stand blushing in shock, never realizing how important I was in the eyes of my father. Because I never heard him share any of this, EVER with me personally.
Still…My Dad, was my role model, and so much of what this author shares, his father did for him, too. It was always the little things. We gained so much through the little things. The stories they shared. We listened to their every word.
And in this way, we learned. And we grew. And we became the best version of ourselves, too. Through our own stories.
“The transformation occurs in the space between one heart and another. To be heard by someone who is present, open, and caring is to be led into freedom.”
As I am reading along, in his story “Pure Medicine,” the author asks,
“If stories are relational, if their power is to connect us to others, to our own hearts, our values, and the natural world, then why are we so estranged from one another? Why is the earth suffering from such mindless exploitation? Why are there skyrocketing increases in depression?”
He brings up a good point. He talks about the time we invest in social media “reading” stories, and how we allow it to consume us. Not always in a good way. Concerned that if this goes unchecked, our distractions could ruin us.
We may yearn for connection with others – but…
He makes us question whether we are truly connecting – if we are allowing ourselves to be exploited by various media or political and corporate interests.
Is our mindless consumption of stories disconnecting us from our humanness – our ability to connect face-to-face with each other?
The author reminds us in this story – that storytelling is being human together.
We need this reminder so much in today’s world.
I have provided a selection of quotes below that I think compliment his stories well. I highly recommend this book. It will do your soul good.
I’d like to close with the author’s own words…
“We live in a world that is alive and generous and in need of care. Strangely, paradoxically, it is in serving and singing and telling our stories to one another that we discover the homecoming we’ve been longing for has been here, among and within us, all along.”