One Woman, Two Tribes
I have been in Book Group One for twenty-five years. There are eight of us, and we talk about the book for a hot millisecond before moving on to kids, now grandkids, jobs, spouses, and most recently, age spots. We are not all politically aligned, which has created challenges, but so far, whether we’re being honest or biting our tongues, we’ve stayed together.
Group Two, at three years old, is a toddler: smaller and louder. Ideologically, we are like-minded, and initially, we were very serious about reading. But, as time passed, instead of doubling down on literary gravitas, we devolved into Group One’s relaxed anarchy. Sure, we talk about the book for a few minutes, but something is always making us furious. When we run out of outrage, we talk about our families.
For both groups, I read every book faithfully and arrive on time, ready to weigh in. Occasionally, I even get to. But even when I don’t, I don’t regret the exercise. I have a goody-two-shoes appreciation of the discipline of assignment to deadline. But I am only that kind of stickler with myself.
As a diehard bibliophile, reading itself is pure pleasure, but it is enhanced by two groups of women who crack open my favorite solitary pastime into two monthly free-for-alls that celebrate both commitment and deepening friendship.
I belong to one decades old book group. We started out barely knowing each other’s first names…and now we finish each other’s sentences. We didn’t talk politics in the beginning, and now we rage together and share information on where to march and how to increase voter participation. We are all women of a certain age who have enlisted our children to pluck our chin hairs in the likely/unlikely event we are placed in a “home”…and we also talk about the book in a millisecond.