A Book by Its Cover

Two years ago this week, I was on a travel memoir reading binge, rapidly consuming any books I could find about worldwide road trips. Winter in Colorado has that effect. I don’t ski, snowboard, snowshoe, sled, or ice sculpt, so the darker months generally find me longing for reminders of summer travel.

Scrolling through titles with my morning coffee on President’s Day, a cover caught my eye: A pale orange T2 Volkswagen camper on a lakeshore with a woman and her dog sitting up top on the front luggage rack.

It was a memoir called Between Two Kingdoms, a story of, I presumed, a woman, her dog, and a VW bus. And a road trip. Perfect. The title, I assumed, was a play on the difference between living on the road in a bus and living a normal life in a house. The details would emerge, obviously, but this looked like a good read for a gray morning.

My wife and daughter left for a day of snowboarding as I downloaded the book, brewed a fresh pot, and dug in: An ebullient woman in her early twenties is living a charmed party life in Paris when the unthinkable happens: She finds herself stricken with a very rare form of cancer.

Wait, what? Where’s the VW bus? Where’s the road trip? I feel for you, author, but when do I find out how you got your bus, what modifications you’ve made, and how it runs?

I paused. Nope, not my thang, not spending a peaceful morning reading about cancer, illness, and/or death. Fuck all that. I’ve pathologically avoided mortality my entire life, as family and friends have been stricken with one tragedy or another. Let’s find another book that actually has a VW bus in it, or even an American van, as long as it’s about a journey.

Well, one more page. Surely, the VW bus and the hijinks of an American road trip would appear soon. I continued to read. Another page. The story became deeper, darker, but undeniably more engrossing. Her writing style is direct, unsentimental, and honest. More pages. Damn, what a tough read. I stopped, now several chapters in, to refill my coffee and take the dog out, feeling…uncomfortable? Something.

You’re invested. Be a fucking adult. For once, face a difficult story. She had the courage to write it. This book deserves your attention and respect.   

I didn’t know where that inner voice was coming from. I patiently awaited a more familiar voice to tell me instead to see what was on Travel Channel (Paranormal Caught on Camera? Love that show!) as Carmine and I returned from our walk.

***

I consider myself fortunate in that do not skim books. I read them, experience them, feel them; becoming fully immersed in a solid book is one of the genuine pleasures of life. I shook off the cold of the February morning, re-opened my Kindle app, and was soon all the way back in. Jaouad’s perspective on her ordeal would not let go of me. A connection was forming.

She writes of her anger, of unfairness, and of acceptance and denial and the entire range of emotions that possessed her during treatment. I could not help but think of my mom. I hadn’t understood why, at times, Mom had acted the way she did throughout her own ordeal. I had not thought of much concerning my mom’s decline, honestly. I had erased it. But reading Jaouad’s account brought it back to the surface. It brought a new understanding.

In the second half of the book, the author is in remission and embarks on a North American road trip in a Subaru (still no VW bus) visiting the people with whom she made connections via a blog she wrote for the New York Times during her treatments. (In a strange twist, I was stunned to find that on the journey, she encountered a couple I’ve met who live in their VW bus and travel the country, Kit and JR.) The story becomes redemptive and uplifting, but again honest, direct, and unsentimental. Jaouad is beautifully talented writer.

My wife and daughter walked in from snowboarding around 5 pm and found me in the same spot on the couch.

“You’re still reading that book?”

“Almost finished. Incredible.”

Towards the end, the VW Bus finally makes its appearance.

***

Later in 2021, an old friend from Louisiana got cancer, went through treatment, and subsequently requested a pledge class reunion in New Orleans. I surprised myself by telling the guys organizing the event that I would be there.

I firmly believe that if I had not read Jaouad’s book and come to terms with some of my myriad hang-ups regarding all things cancer and death, I would have conjured an eloquent declination, given my regards, and moved on. But that memoir, which I had initially chosen to read for its cover alone, changed my perspective just enough that I was pulled to return to Louisiana after a seven-year exile to face a whole litany of demons that a younger, less-sober me would have ignored, probably, forever.

The book I wrote about the trip covers many things: grief, acceptance, memories, reconnection to the people and places I love dearly, and, of course, my badass 1986 Vanagon Syncro 4WD High-Top with a 2.0 supercharged inline four, ZF limited slip transaxle, lifted suspension, a cool little galley, and a super comfy foldout bed…

Wait, what were we talking about?

Oh, right. Vanagon to Louisiana. My Vanagon, Pigpen, is on the cover and plays a significant role; however, the book is also about far, far more. And I firmly believe I would not have gone anywhere, nor written a word, without a gray President’s Day morning, an alarming, but welcome, new voice in my head, and the exquisite, illuminating, and courageous Between Two Kingdoms.