THE THING WITH BOOK CLUBS

or

DON’T BRING LULU

“Your presence is requested, wrote little Mrs White,

But with this invitation, there is a stipulation,

When you attend this book club, you'll be treated right, but

There's some woman you girls can't invite, now......

You can bring Pearl, she's a darn nice girl, but don't bring Lulu.

You can bring Rose with the turned up nose, but don't bring Lulu.”


The other day my friend S and I discovered, somewhat to our mutual relief, that we share a mildly troubling affliction: neither of us has ever been invited to join a book club. And yet we seem to be surrounded by women who have. Never mind Groucho Marx’s deep suspicion of any club that would accept him as a member in the first place - one does like at least to be asked.

The conversation between one of Them and one of Us normally runs something like this:

“Sorry, I’m not free tonight, I’ve got my book club.”

“A book club ! That sounds interesting. What do you get up to ?”

“We read books and talk about them. We take it in turns to suggest new ones.”

“Really ! What sort of books do you read ?”

“The last one was the Brooklyn telephone directory. Now we’re on the Meaning of Life.”

“I’m passionate about phone directories (true)! And the Meaning of Life ! That’s so cool ! Have you found it yet ?”

“No, it’s a rather obscure translation from old Icelandic.”

“Old Icelandic ! how fascinating ! Call it serendipity ! Did I tell you I’m really, really into Old Icelandic?”

The natural reply to this would seem to be:”Well then, why don’t you come along and give it a try!” or:”I’ll ask the others first, but personally I think it would be great if you came!”

The unextended invitation hovers squarely in the air, like a great big buzzing insect waiting to be swished away. Surely impossible to ignore. But amazingly, time and again, no reaction. The great big buzz fly continues to hover until it drops to the ground with a loud cathunk !, dead from sheer exhaustion. The thing is, S and I seem to be the only ones hearing it. And yet these are women we socialize with, work with, whose children play with ours, whom we’ve welcomed into our homes, …. What part of:”Sure, come along !” is so hard to pronounce ?

At first I thought it was just me, being German and all. They might think I wouldn’t enjoy it. Like inviting your local slum friends to a posh tea party where everybody stares at them when they put the milk in first.

S at least is a bona fide mother tongue English speaker, teacher of English, and reader of books.

But then the same thing happened to me with French, and even German book club members. Is a book club some sort of secret society ? Is it perhaps slightly distasteful, even alarming, to the initiated to hear an outsider express more than a casual interest in the subject ? Are we a) trying too hard ? b) just plain nerdy ?

We just can’t figure it out.

How do people ever become members in the first place, if not by word of mouth ?

And what physical, mental or social attribute is it that makes you uneligible ?

“Could be kids”, says S “You’ve got too many, so people reckon you never read anything more challenging than, say, the Very Hungry Caterpillar, let alone go out after dark. I’ve only got the one, but they’ve probably decided that as a single mum working full-time I should spend every single mum, I mean moment, of the evening reading bedtime stories. Rather than boozing with my mates from the book club, that is. In frivolous literary pursuit.”

“Come off it ! Take M for example – she’s got three kids, works full time and she’s read every book under the sun, including her children’s bedtime stories. I bet she’s turned down more book club invitations than hot dinners (because of dieting).”

“I’ve got news for you,” says M, quietly triumphant, “I boldly went and asked L if I could join hers.” “So ? what did she say?” we inquire breathlessy. “She told me I couldn’t.” “Did she say why not ?” “She said it was full.”

The book club is full !

La barque est pleine !

The mind boggles - how can a book club be full ? Surely it’s a living, breathing thing that thrives on fresh oxygen supply and biodiversity, ensured by constant renewal of membership ? Anyway, is there one childrearing and/or working woman in the whole wide world who’d manage to attend every single time ? The shortage of seats, or even floor space, can’t be that acute.

I’m beginning to wonder - if it’s neither about seating arrangements nor the book bit, it might be about the club part. After all, the very idea of a club suggests exclusiveness. Funny how “exclusive” has come to mean “high-quality”, making you forget about its close relatives “exclusion” and “exclude”, which sound downright reprehensible.

Few people seem prepared to risk breaking the exclusiveness rule, in case the other members start whispering “Who brought her ? Soandso ? What was she thinking?”

That’s it.We are going to open our own Outreach book club. Rule no 1: anyone who asks the slightest question about it automatically becomes a member. Rule no 2: after the third time it’s compulsory to bring a friend.

Meanwhile, should you have any insider knowledge about book clubs and their arcane admission rites, please do let us into the secret !