Reading Under The Influence

As far as I know, Amy Tan and Bill Bryson don’t know each other, though they’re both popular American writers. But they will always be fused in my memory: they both caused me serious embarrassment on the Tokyo subways.

I read Bill Bryson’s Neither Here Nor There in Wales shortly after our first daughter was born. It is a very funny book -- so funny that I kept it around for a few weeks, going back to my favorite passages whenever I needed a pick-me-up. Two years later I read it again in Japan and laughed every bit as hard. A year after that, a colleague asked if he could borrow the book and I told him I’d bring it in.

When I got home, I put Neither Here Nor There in my briefcase. On the train to work the next day, I started reading it for the third time .

If anything, it was even funnier. I laughed so hard tears filled my eyes and sweat beaded up on my forehead. A businessman sitting across from me studied me, clearly worried. I was heavily pregnant and he might have thought my excessive mirth would induce premature labor. When I finally got to my stop, my stomach was sore from laughing. I was conscious of people’s eyes on me. I hoped they wouldn’t be on the train going home. There was no question that they would remember me.

When my colleague asked if I’d brought Neither Here Nor There, I had to tell him the truth: that I’d brought it, but I couldn’t let him have it yet. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow,” I promised him.

“But you said you’d read it twice!”

“Yes, but now I have to read it again.”

I made a fool of myself on the train home, too. There is a description in Neither Here Nor There of a train trip Bryson takes, when he shares a compartment with an elderly Norwegian and a rather unpleasant old lady. I won’t spoil the book for you, but I found this part so funny I actually had to put the book down just to regain my composure. My fellow passengers kept their eyes on me. I could hardly blame them.

The next day, I passed the book on to my colleague. He had a few for me, too, and one was The Joy Luck Club.

“It’s not sad, is it?” I asked him. “My cousin said it was really sad.”

He shrugged. “It’s about the war and all. But it’s not especially sad. And there’s a happy ending.”

I started reading The Joy Luck Club on my way home. I’m a fast reader and my train journey was over an hour and a half. By the time I was halfway home, I was onto my third pack of tissues. The tears fell from my eyes and I quietly cursed my colleague, but I couldn’t stop reading. When I felt sobs coming, I had to put the book down and take out my work, but I couldn’t concentrate: I had to find out what happened to all the people I’d gotten to know and care about. This went on for the rest of my journey home: I read until I felt a sob coming, put the book down, took out my work for a few minutes, then read again. I saw two of my fellow morning commuters staring at me in deep suspicion, but I didn’t give a damn. I did make a mental note to have words with my colleague. It’s not especially sad, he said. For God’s sake, if this wasn't, what was?

I finished The Joy Luck Club on my way to work the next morning and practically dehydrated myself. When I got to my office, my eyes were puffy and red. Silently, I handed The Joy Luck Club back to my colleague. “Did you enjoy that?” he wanted to know. Still sniffing, I let him have it with both barrels and he shook his head. “I really didn’t think it was all that sad.”

“How’d you like the Bryson book?” I said, changing the subject.

He smiled slightly. “It was funny."

I stared at him, amazed. I couldn’t get over his nonchalance. The saddest book in the world wasn’t all that sad; the funniest book in the world merited only It was funny. And then I realized that it wasn't him, it was me. No wonder I found Neither Here Nor There so funny and The Joy Luck Club so sad: I was pregnant, under the influence of powerful hormones.

“If you thought that book was sad, you won’t want to read this one, I guess," he said, putting a book back into his bag. "It's by the same author."

I looked at the title: The Kitchen God’s Wife.

“Give it to me!"

I read it on my way home. I guess I just like being emotional.