The first time I heard of Ann Patchett, I was sitting in the courtyard of a hotel with my mother, grandmother and little sisters. My mom told us that she was going to read aloud an essay titled “Three Fathers” from the book she was reading, “These Precious Days.” I closed my eyes as my mom read and listened to the story of Patchett’s three fathers: her biological father and her two step-dads. Through personal insights and wholesome family anecdotes that made each father come to life, Patchett dissected what each father meant to her at different times in her life and career. I was moved and captivated, and I told my mom I wanted to read the rest of the book. She bought me a copy, and I was so excited to dig in. Schoolwork and other obligations intervened, so it was another year and a half before I finally picked up the book myself.
It was in the wake of the publication of Patchett’s most recent novel, “Tom Lake,” that I finally brought myself to open my long neglected copy of “These Precious Days.” I reread the “Three Fathers” essay and marveled at its impact the second time around. From then on, I not only read Ann Patchett, but also I felt and believed every word that she put to page. Not because she is my idol, nor my favorite author of all time, but because of the earnestness with which she writes. She tells intensely personal stories with such dignity and certainty that I unequivocally trust her. Above all, I admire her ability to start with the apparently mundane and from there, write in a way that engages readers so that they may begin to think about little things in a bigger way. A day at the beach becomes a pivotal goodbye. A hobby of knitting becomes a lifeline. Tattoos become symbols of war and conflict. Snoopy becomes a literary icon. In this way, Patchett is similar to Joan Didion, famously capable of turning nothing into a story. To me, that is the best kind of writing, and Patchett has perfected the craft.
“These Precious Days” is a collection of essays by Patchett from the time leading up to and during the pandemic. This was the first nonfiction book I had encountered that takes place during that pivotal time, and it was fascinating to see how Patchett captured the much cliched subject of the pandemic, separation and “these unprecedented times.” She drew upon memories of life before and during the pandemic. There is an essay on her husband getting his pilot’s license, another on helping to manage the will of her best friend’s late father and one on a year spent without shopping. She reflects on her old work, her career as a writer and the way she has been drawn to revisit her past, both intentionally and unintentionally, throughout the years. The way that she reflects makes me excited to grow old (not that she is). I want to grow old so that I may look back on my experiences as Patchett does and discover how special they all have been. I want to look back with appreciation and gratitude for how I spent my precious days, and hopefully, I will be able to write about them with the skill that Patchett wrote about hers.
There is something to be said for reading a book about nothing. Often, the most substance resides there. Ann Patchett found the most something in the nothingness of everyday occurrences: cleaning out drawers, meeting new people, shopping. “These Precious Days” is, at its core, a love story to time—the time we have for ourselves and with the ones we love. Patchett reinforces just how invaluable this time is, how precious these days are. After reading this book, you will never take them for granted again.
I wrote earlier that I now look forward to getting old and reflecting and writing as Patchett has, but I would like to amend my previous statement. What this book has perhaps saved me from is waiting. It will be great when I am old, but if this book has impressed upon me one message, it is that waiting, while human, is a disgusting waste of time. So, may I begin now by reflecting on and holding close the memories of these precious days.