When I was in elementary school, Mr. T, our fifth grade teacher, courageously ventured to take our class on a field trip to the Liberty Science Museum in New Jersey. It was no small endeavor since the commute from our elementary school in Queens, New York entailed nearly three hours of hair-raising time with thirty-two rambunctious, sticky children (there was no air conditioning on most of our school buses).
When we got there, most of the boys made a beeline toward a looming dinosaur skeleton while our teacher scrambled after them, futilely trying to shush their bedlam. (As I write this, I realize it’s a miracle that I played witness to all this madness and still became a teacher.) In all the bedlam, I’d gotten lost and wandered, transfixed by this very machine.
Have you seen it? I’ve encountered various versions of it over the years, and what may seem like a clever illustration of Kepler’s Law of planetary motion is also a clever scheme to get children to willingly empty their pockets of all their spare change. Until Mr. T came and pried me away, I watched nearly two dollars' worth of my coins (a fortune at the time) make their seemingly endless orbits around the funnel before depositing with a final clink into the collection box below.
The truth was, this machine haunted me. Every time I released another dime or nickel, I would wait with bated breath for one, just one coin to somehow escape the magic pull of the black hole below. Never mind the fact that I could just reach in with my hand and rescue my change myself - no. Instead, I held out childlike hope that a coin would be able to save itself.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like one of those pitiful coins, hapless against the forces that drag me toward the toilet hole of despair. I don't know if it's the colder weather, and thanks to that damned groundhog, a bleak future of six more blustering weeks, or just dumb tiredness. But in times like these, I tend to be a little more circumspect with my book choices, even halting books I’m in the middle of reading, to protect my fragile, tottery bubble of joy.
If you ever find yourself the same boat as I, here are some of my mainstay happy reads that I regularly revisit when I’m in need of a lift. 'Happy' is a universal feeling, I think, but I know everyone's got their own ways to get there, and reading preferences are terribly subjective so I won't pretend these titles will have the same power over your cloudy days as they do mine. But if happy endings could be formulaically defined, I think it's where all loose ends are neatly tied and everyone gets exactly what they deserve, and these fit the bill nicely. (You also can't see it in the pictures, but some of these have crinkled, yellowing pages and broken spines from many comforting rereads.)
Of course, if you’ve got some more happy titles that might draw me away from future black holes, I'll leave my newly minted comment box below for all your recommendations.
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry,
by Gabrielle Zevin
I'm tempted, so tempted, to apologize for this picture, since you can't even see the beautiful cover. But this book has flown to my rescue in so many miserable moments that the dust cover was hanging by a few papery threads until I mercifully tore it away.
This one's a book for book lovers. It features a curmudgeonly bookshop owner-cum-widower whose life takes an unexpected turn when a baby girl is deposited at his doorstep. There are no true villains, and while the overarching mystery of the little girl's provenance looms overhead (eventually solved), there is so much joy in her childhood - with a grump of a bookish foster father, a lovely romantic arc, and a host of funny village characters with whom I couldn't help but fall in love.
The Bookish Life of Nina Hill,
by Abbi Waxman
If you'll permit me another book about books (or rather, book lovers), here's another that can be depended on to tug my lips into a satisfied smile.
Nina Hill is an only child and a bookworm who happily leads a classically introverted life. Though she interacts regularly with her trivia teammates and bookstore coworkers, most of her nights are quietly spent with her planner, her cat, and copious glasses of wine. When she receives unexpected news of her absent father's death, as well as her place in his will, her social circle suddenly has to expand to include a large family she never knew. Maybe it's because I could relate on so many levels, but my heart always grows a few sizes every time I watch this character develop alongside some lovable found family.
Albatross, by Terry Fallis
I can't believe I almost didn't read this book because I heard it was about golf. If, like me, you have no interest in the sport, I plead with stay your scrolling hand for just a moment.
What if there were an algorithm that could take your body measurements and spit out the very sport you were destined to play? Adam, a high school student with big dreams of someday becoming a writer, has a teacher who uses this fictional formula to determine that he is almost perfectly built to play golf...even though he's never played before. She takes her reluctant student to a golf course to test her hypothesis, only to discover Adam truly is an untrained prodigy. He is thus launched into a life of immediate stardom, including tournaments, multimillion sponsorship deals, and fame, while his original passion of writing remains latent.
This plot grapples with the classic dilemma between talent versus passion, and while I've heard some readers argue that it was a bit twee for their taste, this is pure plot and perfect pacing for storylovers.
Anne of Green Gables, a graphic novel, adapted by Mariah Marsden and illustrated by Brenna Thummler
Why have I only just discovered the joy of graphic novels in my late thirties? Maybe it's because I scoffed at the idea of an adult needing pictures to supplement a story.
Well, phooey to that.
Brenna Thummler has quickly become one of my favorite illustrators, and I actually read through this graphic adaption of Anne of Green Gables while I was still in the middle of reading the original classic. It brings all the quintessential moments of Avonlea to life in the most beautiful way, and I hope the publishers won't mind if I just share this sneak peak of my favorite spread here -
Joy between two covers. There are no other words for it. As usual, James found the perfect words to describe this incredible fiery-haired character after watching the Netflix adaptation.
"She makes me feel like an idiot for ever complaining about my life."
Well, there you have it. If you need a similar kick in the pants, Anne of Avonlea in all forms - written, illustrated, or on-screen acting - is your gal.
Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance,
by Ruth Emmie Lang
This one's for all you fans of magic realism or fantasy. And if you're not, you're probably eyeing it with the same skepticism that I did. I'm afraid that if I told you it was about an orphan boy named Weylen who is raised by a pack of wolves and wields some strange abilities (like being able to control the weather), you might guffaw and rush past this gem.
So how about I just tell you about a pure and wholesome boy, untouched by the harsh realities of life, who touches the lives of all the people he interacts with as he grows into a man? We can all get behind that, can't we?
I'm not sure what kind of serendipitous magic allowed me to reach the last page right at sunset, but when I finally shut the cover, my room was suffused with all kinds of glorious light providing the perfect tableau for his hopeful read.
The House in the Cerulean Sea,
by TJ Klune
Linus is an administrator, in every sense of the word. He's a go-by-the-book, follow-the-letter-of-the-law, keep-things-boxed sort of fellow. His job as a case worker in the Department of Magical Youth is where things start to veer toward the fantastical (in a delightful way), as he's given a tricky, classified case to oversee the goings on at an orphanage at a remote island.
The magical children in this book tunneled their way into my heart and provided perfect levity for this story that really wrestles with the heavy reality of how society treats those who are deemed different.
The Chronicles of Narnia series,
by C.S. Lewis
What can I say about this classic that hasn't already been lauded? If you need something to restore your hope in happy endings, nothing hits the ticket like a walk through the hushed and magical woods of Narnia.
For years, I assumed the story began and ended with the famous closet, but I purchased this comprehensive tome at a bookstore several years ago and was nearly enraged to discover several prequel and sequel novels that had escaped my reader radar. They're not only just as good as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe; they complete the story arc in the most satisfying manner.
I'm sure if you pressed me, I could find more literary liniments for our heart's ills and doldrums. In fact, our fridge can be counted on to always have a few bottles of chilled champagne on standby for the perfect accompaniment. But hopefully this list is a start. Cheers to rocketing ourselves away from vortexes!