Mrs. Sheppard was my fourth grade teaches in this little regional country school in Kellyville Oklahoma. We traveled by bus for some distance to reach it. The school was poorly equipped in many respects and, of course, like all schools during the Stone Age when I attended, it had only old fashioned, non-electric typewriters, a basic library, and an old fashion school bell, which rang throughout the building. It was at this school that I discovered I was not the center of the universe when I returned from a six or eight-week absence expecting a joyous celebration only to find no one seemed to have noticed I was gone. It was also at this school that Mrs. Williams who, I am sure, I had in my shy way informed to wait until I was old enough to marry her betrayed me. She married another person! In my memory, which may have, little to do with what others experienced or remembered, Mrs. Sheppard, our fourth grade teacher, who was, in my mind, an old, dowdy, ruler bearing, spinster told the class, “You children will read. I don’t care about you read. I know you boys read those dirty little books. That is fine. You will learn something from everything you read and you will develop a habit which will serve you the rest of your life.” Oh my God! How did Mrs. Sheppard know about that little, cartoon, books crudely picturing people having sex? Surely, in 9 or 10 year old mind, Mrs. Sheppard did not ever have sex. Yuk! Come to think of it how did those little books find their way to this remote little village or town and the regional, provincial school? I had not thought about that!
At any rate, this is a rather long introduction to a tribute to the Mrs. Sheppard’s of the world and to all the men and women who wrote the books, magazines articles and other material which found and continues to find its way to my home. Of course, now in addition to having access to a fine library, I get reading material delivered by the post office, by email and whole books transferred magically to my ipad Kindel. I have no idea how many of Mrs. Shephard’s students continu to read, but I do know that my siblings and I are all readers as were both my parents. Reading was in my youth my primary access to a larger world. It was also my escape to a world, which was much more interesting and exciting than the often-unhappy world, which comprised our home.
In my youth, my main source of reading material, other than the school issues textbooks, was the school library. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on. The only other sources of books was listening to radio program stories on my crystal set and some I could read at the home of my Grandmother Pickett who was also a very avid reader. At any rate, I read what I could get my hands on whether it was a play by Shakespeare, a romance novel, a book on physics, the Bible, some other religious/spiritual book or those dirty little books which the boys passed around during recess. Despite the fact that I have all the reading material I could possible want I still switch from a mystery novel, to a lustful, romance novel, to books on spirituality to books on physics and whatever else commands my interest. I frequently am in the midst of reading several books at once. It is not surprising that one of the authors whose books I was reading just yesterday was The Heist by Daniel Silva. How shall I describe this book generally classified as a “spy fiction” novel? As does any good writer of this genre, the author interjects enough facts with some believable fiction, some intrigue, and some very interesting and lovable characters to command one’s attention for all 467 pages. In this novel the chief character is Gabriel Allon who is an art restorer, artist, legendary spy, devoted husband, grieving father and ex-husband/lover, art lover who can weep over a painting, a sensitive, caring man who will give up an important spy operation to save one person to whom he has made a promise, and a man soon to be head of the Israeli Secret Service.
I have a small confession to make. Since I was a young child, I have had the habit of becoming strongly attached to characters in books; so strongly attached that I have been known to leave the last few pages of a book unread for a long time to postpone saying goodbye to one of the characters. Furthermore I have been known to cry copious tears at the time of our parting.
Thus, it is not surprising that I love Mr. Silva’s character Gabriel Allon. I want to share a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, a warm embrace and long letters with this fictitious man. I want him as my best friend although a part of me KNOWS that he is Daniel Silva who is not fictitious and is, in fact, living in my new home state of Florida with his wife and children.
What do I love Gabriel who is a proxy for Mr. Silva? I love him because he defies any attempt to put him into a neat little box with labels. He has been made bigger than life to exemplify what I frequently write about or allude to in my blogs. He is more and less than any of these labels. He is me and I am him. We are the same person in the sense that we are all a mixture of so many thoughts, emotions and desires. We all have the capacity to weep over a piece of art, to want nothing more than the safely of a private embrace with our partner, the enter into the intrigue of a world which includes art thefts, the misuse of power, besting the “bad” in all of us as exemplified in a particular person, to be the person whose friendship and word is to be trusted no matter what the cost, and who outs the rich and the powerful. Gabriel is bigger than our little lives or the life of anyone. Yet, he is that very simple human who wants to leave a legacy of integrity.
Thus, it is that spy novels because my teachers just as much as books by people such as Father Gregory Boyle, Mother Theresa, Eckhart Tolle, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Walter Kaufman or a host of other “serious” writers.
My experience is that the novel often has a way to sneaking a truth into my brain which I might have resisted had it come without the plain brown wrapper.
I am indebt to all those writers, painters, musicians, dancers and others who challenge me to think and to become more than I am so that I can be at peace with who I am. That includes Daniel Silva.
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