I get dozens of books sent to me every month…. (thanks to the many author interviews I do for WGTD) ….. many more than I can possibly use for the program ….. and a lot of them, frankly, are excruciatingly boring, at least to me – while others feel like tiresome retreads of books that have already been written many times over. (If I had a dime for every “how to be a better manager” book I’ve been sent over the years, I could be Oprah’s next door neighbor.) But of course I receive plenty of great books, and a few of them are truly extraordinary, either because they’re superbly written or explore some completely untrod topic – or both.
One such book arrived in the mail the day before yesterday. Pictured on its cover is an open suitcase filled with a camera, a pile of old letters, a journal, and a well-worn teddy bear. The title of the book? The Burning House: What Would You Take? The book’s author-editor, Foster Huntington, was with friends at a party several years ago when the topic came up of questions that they had been asked on various dating websites, which in turn led them to wonder what questions they wish had been asked. That was when Huntington posed to his friends this very intriguing question: if their house was burning down, what items would they try to take with them?
It’s a fairly basic question that actually a lot of us have probably considered from time to time- but Huntington was astonished at how enthusiastically and thoughtfully his friends all responded to the question, and what an interesting discussion ensued. In fact, he was so struck by the quality of the conversation that he found himself asking the same question to other people whenever the opportunity presented itself. Soon he was inspired to create a website dedicated to gathering many more responses to that very basic question, and theburninghouse.com was launched. Eventually, Huntington took a leave from his job in order to travel the country and solicit still more responses to his question, believing (quite rightly, I think) that to gather a sampling truly representative of every facet of American society, you can’t just post something on the internet. In his words, he wanted “to expand the project generationally, geographically, and socioeconomically.”
Out of the thousands of responses gathered, Huntington chose 132 to include in this book. He tells us that 80 years separates the youngest and oldest respondents, and they represent every continent on earth except Antarctica and an impressive range of backgrounds. Each response is presented with a full color photograph of those particular items – and a caption which is often a rather simple, stark list, although sometimes there are a few words of explanation as well. (That’s especially the case in several instances where the people would take nothing at all with them. My favorite is a retired post office worker from California who says that all he would take with him from his burning house would be the boxer shorts he was wearing and his prayer beads. In his words, “I believe there is nothing more valuable than life itself. The beads are for a prayer of thanks for the safety of me and all – that we live another day to rebuild, experience, learn, and explore within and without.”
You really have to look at the book to truly appreciate the amazing range of possibilities. One of my favorites is a man from Prague whose list of 12 items includes both his iPod Classic with WeSC headphones (whatever that means) and his grandmother’s pen from 1902. Contrast that with a guy from Bulgaria who insists that he would only take a Twix bar, a small bag of Heinz Ketchup-flavored Ruffles (I’ve never heard of those- are they only available in Europe?) and a cup of coffee.
That last one makes me wonder just how honest or well-reasoned some of these responses are. I’ve known some people in my life who seem just unconventional and idealistic enough to walk out of their burning house without grabbing anything of conventional value. But I can also imagine some people choosing to say that, but who might in fact make other choices if actually confronted by such an awful scenario. (It’s a little like that classic Friends scene where four of them are engaged in a rapid-fire trivia quiz about each other- Q: What does Rachel say is her favorite movie? A: Dangerous Liasons! Q: Her actual favorite is? A: Weekend at Bernie’s!) If asked this question, I’m sure a lot of people might be mightily tempted to craft a rather noble list, with items on it like The Holy Bible . . . my in-laws‘ wedding photo . . . my first born child’s baby teeth . . . and reluctant to list things like their box of Justice League of America comic books. But actually, this book and the responses it contains seem to be refreshingly honest. Some are poignant- some are irreverent- some are downright bewildering. But ultimately it comes down to how we would answer the question. When it comes to our stuff – at least the stuff that we could conceivably carry out of our burning house – what matters the most to us? Or in fact does any of it matter at all?
Thankfully, most of us will never find ourselves caught in such a tragic scenario. But my dad did. One terrifying winter night in his childhood, their house burned to the ground. My dad, his brother, and his parents barely escaped with their lives, the clothes on their backs and the camera hanging around my grandfather’s neck, with which he took the dramatic photograph you see at the top of this blog entry. (When he was later asked why he would take a picture of such an awful scene, he replied “there was nothing else to do.”) They lost everything that night aside from grandpa’s camera and their car (which they were able to remove from the garage before it too was engulfed in flames.) Everything else was gone. But at the risk of sounding trite, they had what mattered most because they still had each other. That awful night would have been a thousand times more awful had one of them perished in the flames. I think of that whenever I have the opportunity to look at that astonishing photograph. I look at those flames and cannot fathom how they made it out alive. . . but am so incredibly thankful that they did. And if such a calamity were ever to strike 5631 Hillside Drive, I would gladly leave behind every comic book, every DVD, and every piece of music- if it meant I could walk out with Kathy and Ellie and Bobbi, alive and well. It maybe sounds trite, but it’s absolutely true- and I’m willing to bet it’s true for you, too.
That may be the best lesson to be learned from reading this book and pondering the question it poses.
The Burning House is published by It Books, which is an imprint of Harper Collins.