FAIRHOPE, Alabama—Published by NewSouth Books, this wonderful memoir and literary guide by Frye Gaillard sets a thoughtful tone as expected of a writer with extensive and important real-world journalistic experience and a bibliography near arm’s length. Upon opening, I was reminded of my long-ago experience of being sent a “summer reading list” by the college I was about to enter. Total panic: I had not read half the books despite being an inveterate reader. Worse yet, I had but dim memories of some of those I thought I had absorbed. What was the name of the whale? Somehow I managed to read through some of the most recognizable books on the list, with the hope that those near me in class would be eager to rise to the occasion and fill in the blanks on those I missed. I graduated, but I never did really feel an educated man with all those wonderful titles still stockpiled in my “to do” portfolio. Was I the one to now review this book?

Gaillard did not ease my mind when he noted that “many of these books ... although not all …were those I read when I was young.” Redemption came later, though, as he noted that he often rereads many of those books, and his appreciation of them deepens each time. In this book, which I would recommend in the most positive of terms, he shares his lucid reflections in elegant and readable prose, combined with remarkable insight into both the book at hand and the surrounding context, often one with a civil rights connection. Many people had read (or seen) The Color Purple by Alice Walker, for example, but an equally impressive book is cited by Gaillard that followed it eight years later: Clover by Dori Sanders, which has a different take on the rural South mid-century.

He discovers writers and books that are not on other readers’ radars—at least to the huge majority of us, who suffer from sensory overload and can barely keep up with the daily barrage, let alone voluntarily add to it.  Perhaps I enjoyed this book so much because it did not hit me as overload but rather the act of a gentleman introducing me to his literary acquaintances in the most gracious and unhurried fashion. I loved that there are nuggets embedded throughout. For example, while he and I enjoyed Moby Dick, it never occurred to me to wonder about Ms. Ahab, who is barely mentioned in the book. Lo and behold, Gaillard recounts the tale of that missing story by Sena Jeter Naslund, who was intrigued and worked to create a plausible account in Ahab’s Wife, which meshes with the classic. Having once read the pedestrian follow-up to Gone With the Wind, I would have skipped this book, but I will now seek it out, which I think is Gaillard’s purpose.

There are 10 numbered sections, featuring three to four main books each, which are interspersed with references to related works and made even more interesting by the author of why and how each book came to his notice. I was always struck by how eloquently Gaillard writes, conveying thoughts but not overpowering the reader.  His writing is accessible in the best sense of the word.

The Books That Mattered: A Reader’s Memoir is a voyage into books that have seen the test of time, some more than others, but all rating a space on the shelf. Gaillard is an admirable tour guide, and I will keep this volume close at hand to guide me into some personal reading choices in the future. Perhaps had my undergraduate institution sent a volume such as this, outlining not only great volumes but giving a précis as to how they gained their plateau, I would not have felt that panic upon opening the summer reading list. Now I have the time to read these and will be gently guided in my journey.

 Ralph Thayer, Ph.D., professor emeritus of urban planning and public administration at the University of New Orleans, lives in Fairhope.