Some years ago, I received a query from a writer who had written a book about dead girls. I knew we were made for each other. Even though I couldn’t find a publisher for the book, Mikita Brottman continued to write and write and write. It’s not that rejection doesn’t bother her, but nothing stops her. She has to write. Sometimes I think the world exists so that she can write about it.
Now, she has produced a book I am so excited about: The Maximum Security Book Club. It’s about her experience running a book group in a men’s prison. It’s not about life lessons or how literature will save your life. Instead, Mikita brings us inside the prison and lets us get to know these men as individuals; they struggle with most of the books (Macbeth, Lolita, and Heart of Darkness to name a few); that struggle animates the chapters and illuminates their lives. You cannot help but look at each book anew and that is a bit of a miracle.
Here is a brief interview with Mikita:
Can you tell us how you chose the books for the club?
I didn’t sit down and plan carefully in advance. I just chose some of my favorite books – the ones I most wanted to think about and talk about. I didn’t think about whether they were suitable, or accessible, or appropriate. I didn’t want to pander or patronize.
Do you think literature has the power to change lives in 25 words or less?
Yes, but not in ways that are obvious, immediate, discernible, or even necessarily for the better.
What is your favorite prison movie?
I Want to Live!
You never seem frightened or threatened in the book club; can you say something about that?
The men were always calm, polite, and respectful. Most of them hadn’t committed an act of violence for 20 or 30 years. And the book club was the highlight of their week. None of them would have risked losing it, or the other volunteer programs, which are their only contact with the outside world.
Is the killer inside you?
Only in faculty meetings.
Dear Readers: what book would you teach in a prison??
Filed under: Uncategorized | 11 Comments »
I was defending my decision not to go back into therapy to my husband today. The time. The money. But mostly the agony. For the first time in my life I’m happy with my misery. Do you feel me? I always went to therapy to change. Then I realized (after 30 years) that I was never going to change and was happy for “awareness”. Happy to stop acting out at every family gathering. Then what? Please don’t get me wrong I think therapy is critical for many people and most writers. But I’m no longer willing or able to jump down the well and climb my way out with a spoon. I’m okay with crying at the dry cleaner for “no reason.” I understand that given the chance to imagine the best or worst in something I will always go for the latter. I’m okay with the voices in my head. Though they could be a little nicer.
My mother and I ride again. This morning to the Reform Temple of Westchester in Scarsdale where we will play Bridge with a group of women, followed by my giving a reading, followed by my mother stealing the show during the Q&A. Afterwards, I fully expect a shopping trip to the Westchester Mall where I will revert to my teenage self in the fitting rooms and have a melt down when she weighs in on what looks “flattering” or asks for the four millionth time why I have to wear black.
I’m watching Me, Earl and the Dying Girl for the third time, okay fourth. I am in love with this young actor Thomas Mann. And the girl (Olivia Cooke) is the first since Ali McGraw who I don’t want to die. Usually, I’m like pull the fucking plug and take us all out of our misery.
Last night my mother and I did a Q&A at RJ Julia, Connecticut’s premier indie bookstore. She was wearing a pink sweater set, her red-framed glasses, and seemed really nervous. But when it was her turn to answer, she was thoughtful and warm and succinct. When asked a question she didn’t want to answer she said, “as we say in Bridge, pass.” Mom! Killing it! We’ll be at the Westport B&N tomorrow at 3 and the New Haven JCC on SUnday from 4-6 if you’re anywhere in the vicinity — please join us. xo, B
Betsy Lerner 