Funeral

(This post is my answer to a challenge to write a story in 250 words. Tell me what you think, unless what you think is that you hate it, in which case, keep your opinion to yourself.)

He stared at the dead animal. This was just too perfect. He smiled grimly, envisioning himself scooping up the broken, bloody bundle of fur, and taking it with him to the funeral. Perhaps even laying it in the coffin, beside his great aunt’s body, to enjoy the same pompous last rites. She would have laughed. She always laughed when he was funny.

The rest of the family, of course, would stare in open-mouthed horror, whispering their outrage.

“What’s wrong with him?!”

“Surely even he can respect a funeral!”

His mother would be silent, of course. Humiliated once again by her strange son. She probably should have put him into an institution years ago, but now he was too old…

He shook his head, dismissing the daydream.

He picked up the small body and gently carried it across the road into the field. He laid it down in a hollow and slowly ripped up handful after handful of grass to cover it. It would make a welcome meal for some fox tonight, but for now he could honor the life he had taken.

“It ran under your wheels,” he heard his aunt say, “it wasn’t your fault.”

He did not feel better.

“You cannot control these things,” she’d said, “Animals know when their time is up. But sometimes we need help to let go.”

She had always called him her little helper.

This small funeral completed at last, he got back in his car and continued driving to the next.

The Road Untaken and the Talk Not Given - musings on spousal selection

A couple weeks ago I was asked to speak in church.  I went through this process of writing out my whole talk, and then at 9 pm Saturday night I decided I wanted to talk about something else.  I mentioned this whilst I was speaking and a couple of my friends told me they wanted me to post my un-given talk on my blog.  So, here it is, more or less, adapted to secular blog instead of theological oration.

I want to talk to you guys about one of my favorite books.  I've written about it before on this blog, in my list of the five books everyone should read, but specifically every girl should read before she turns 20.  I'm rather proud of the fact that that is in my list of top 10 most popular posts, btw.  Anyway, I'm talking of Little Women.  I would like to assume that, as readers of my blog, you have of course, already read Little Women after I recommended it before, or you have already read it on your own because you have superlative taste.  But if neither of those things are true, I shall give a brief and incredibly inadequate summary for you.  Little Women, published in 1868 by Louisa May Alcott, tells the story of Jo March and her 3 sisters as they transition from young girls to women.  Jo, the penultimate child, is the classic tomboy bucking against the restrictions of gentility and societal expectations.  Early into the story she befriends Teddy Lawrence, the boy next door, and he is quickly adopted into the family as a brother.

Ah, wee baby Christian Bale...you did a pretty good job I guess

At this point I supposed I should warn of upcoming spoilers, but guys....the book has been out for 150+ years, not to mention made into at least one major film.  So I feel like you should probably get over it.

So anyway, Jo and Teddy grow up as best friends, sharing the same sense of humor, the same interests, and enjoying the same activities. And as they get older, Teddy starts trying to lay the ground work to take his relationship with Jo to the next level.

Here's the thing guys.  I just finished this book for the first time in many many years, only this time I listened to it as an audiobook.  I don't know if it was the woman reading the book or just my frame of mind this particular go through but for the first time I found I kind of had a thing for Teddy.  I never appreciated how funny and sassy he is before.  But I realized something else, too.  I've conducted 20-odd years of thorough study on this via film and TV and I can tell you definitively....Jo and Teddy are legit made for each other.  They are the text book definition of chemistry.  At least by modern romantic standards.  Think about it.  Isn't that what ever rom com tells you to look for?

Your perfect match.

I love puns so much

Love, and consequently marriage, is about finding that perfect match.  In practical terms that looks like someone who will validate you.  It's like "You watch the Great British Baking Show? OMG, I, too, watch the Great British Baking Show!!   At last I can stop feeling weird and just watch and love the Great British Baking Show with someone....which is all I really ever wanted."

In contemporary society, where long-term monogamous relationships are approved of at all, they are marketed as the ultimate bff validating relationship.  Your spouse is that person who will always be on your side, who likes what you like, and who reassures you of your place in the world because they occupy it with you......But guys.  Jo doesn't marry Teddy.

Teddy goes off to college and when he comes home he asks Jo to marry him.  He, like me this time through, believes in the idea of a perfect match.  But Jo says no.  She breaks his heart.  She breaks his heart because she understands that there is another way of loving and another way to choose a spouse.

Instead of a perfect match Jo wants a perfect complement.

eheheheheheh

She knows this because it is the marriage she has watched her whole life--that of her parents.  Early on Jo's mother talks to her about her hasty temper, explaining that it will cause her so much grief if she doesn't learn to control it.  Young Jo bemoans how impossible it is to remember and her mother makes a confession.  She, too, struggles to control her temper.  But her greatest strength in her efforts is her husband.  He knows her struggle and when she needs help he gives her a small sign to remind her of what she wants.  .

This was another aspect of the book I'd never really appreciated before.  Essentially it was a portrait of a much less common type of relationship, even back then, but it gave a whole different idea of what a marriage could be.  One person loving the other enough to patiently help them when it was needed, and the other person loving enough to humble themselves and accept that help.  In this sort of marriage the goal is not to comfortably validate you, but gently and lovingly push you towards progression and improvement.  In this marriage two people join together to share the work of becoming the best people they can possibly be.

I don't think it is a coincidence that the modern idea of love is the philosophy of matching and validation.  It is easier.  It asks so much less of us.  A complementary relationship takes work.  It requires humility and love and dedication.  But if you put in that effort you will have a partner who is as invested in helping you attain perfection as they are in achieving it themselves.  Can you imagine any greater or more valuable asset in our progression as individuals?

I do not love these actors as these characters, but what can you do?

Jo does eventually find her compliment in a really lovely gentleman named Professor Baehr.  He possesses the strengths she lacks and she provides for his deficiencies.  They form a partnership that is stronger together than  either of them were on their own.  And almost it is enough to help me overlook the creepiness of a 40+ year old man courting a 22 year old girl.  Almost.

Sir Maxwell Octavius and Shaw

basically...these are for mom and aunt Vickie
If you are confused what this post is, then go read the first one from yesterday.

Sir Maxwell Octavius

Role in Story: Mirabel’s best friend

Occupation: octopus

Physical Description: Max is a stuffed blue octopus about 12 inches long that Mirabel has had her whole life. He wears a floppy top hat, monocle, and mustache.

Personality: Sir Octavius prefers to be referred to by his title by all but his closest friends. Mirabel is the only person allowed to address him as Max (though he wishes she’d call him Maxwell). He is a stickler for etiquette and formality. He and Mirabel frequently butt heads as he cannot approve of her “ends justify the means” life philosophy. That said, he is terribly loyal and under questioning by the authorities he will always back her up. He, like Mirabel, struggles to be taken seriously by the people around him. No one but her is able to look beyond the fact that he is a stuffed octopus and appreciate anything else he has to offer. He is, in fact, extremely intelligent and particularly good with the more complex, nuanced ideas Mirabel is often guilty of over-simplifying

Habits/Mannerisms: I’m not sure yet

Background: Sir Octavius was given to Mirabel’s mother by one of her friends from college when she announced her pregnancy. He was the first and only animal to be born of a sewing passion that quickly settled on clothing over toys.

The Tooth Fairy

Role in Story: antagonist? Anti-hero?

Occupation: collecting teeth

Physical Description: dark slinking creatures with long skinny arms and knobbly joints, particularly elbows and knees. Their hands are long, flat, and thin to slide undetected under your pillow. They have incredibly hard, broad, pointed teeth made of something not quite metal nor quite stone, but something in the middle, that is able to crunch up human teeth, and acidic saliva that helps to dissolve the bits. Their bodies are squat and pear shaped. They look like an orangutan mixed with a spider with the hide of an elephant. Their eyes are large, extremely pale, and sunken. They have no hair at all.

Personality: What we call “the tooth fairy” is in fact a race of demons known as Hortz Demons, which eat human teeth as their primary food source. They are extremely solitary, and each has its own territory that typically comprises 200-300 children (as population density varies, so does the geographical size of the area covered by each demon to take in enough children) and if another demon tries to invade their territory they have been known to get into fights—the goal of which typically is to break the other’s fingers, which are very long and spindly, as this virtually guarantees their opponent will not be able to successfully collect any teeth till they heal.
The particular demon of this story is named Shaw. I don’t know precisely who Shaw is yet

Background: In the Dark Ages demons were hunted and despised. As folktales and superstitions waned amongst humans, however, demons were forgotten or rejected. Wary of returning to the days when they were hated and hunted, demons typically encourage the skepticism of humanity. Co-opting stories like the toothfairy have allowed them to eke out a subsistence below human radar. Most of them don’t even leave the money for the teeth anymore as parents, rejecting even the harmless mythos of the toothfairy, have begun taking on that job. Those demons who DO leave money typical steal it out of purses and wallets or under car seats.

External Conflicts: Shaw needs the teeth to stay alive. He also needs to remain hidden from the humans. He has to find some way of stopping Mirabel from discovering the truth about “tooth fairies”.

Notes: I don’t know yet if Shaw is going to be a legitimate villain or if he’s going to be sympathetic. Part of me wants to go unabashedly scary, but part of me wants him ultimately to team up with Mirabel.  

Mirabel

Whilst I was in Oregon over Easter weekend I got this idea for a story about a little kid who gets freaked out about the idea of the Tooth Fairy.  I, of course, did nothing about it, but last night as I was falling asleep I suddenly got this idea for just a moment out of the story.  I swyped it into my phone and fell asleep, but tonight I decided to pull out Scrivener (since my mom so very kindly bought it for me last Christmas) and see if I had any more ideas.  And it turns out that if you open a story document in Scrivener it has all these nifty little writing tools, including character sketch sheets.  I just now roughed out my main character, her best friend, and the tooth fairy.  It was great fun and since who knows if I'll ever come back to the story again (my enthusiasm for projects is all too often terrifyingly brief), I wanted to at least share little Mirabel with you because I think she's kind of fantastic.  So here's a cut and paste of her "character sketch" straight from Scrivener.  Perhaps, if anyone wants, I'll post the other sketches later.

Mirabel

Role in Story: protagonist

Occupation: 5 year old child

 

Physical Description: very compact child, small for her age, but solid. Like a little brick. She has very short curly brown hair and grey eyes.

Personality: intense and businesslike. She doesn’t like people talking down to her or not being taken seriously. She has a nose for condescension and flimflammery. She is shrewd and curious and pragmatic to the point of seeming cynical. She wants to know how and why before she does anything.

Habits/Mannerisms: she pulls on her right ear when she gets frustrated. She shakes her head violently when angry. She has a very slow, rare smile. She walks just a little sideways and clutches a stuffed octopus in her left arm. He goes with her everywhere and is her most trusted confidant.

 

Background: Mirabel was born on September 1, 2010 just before 8 am. She lives in an as yet undetermined city with her parents in an apartment downtown just a block from the city library. She has three older siblings, Joshua, the eldest boy who is 15, 13 year old Anne, and 9 year old Schroeder. Schroeder should have gotten over it by now, but he is still a little bit resentful that he is no longer the baby of the family (in fact, in many ways he still is, as Mirabel has no interest in being coddled). As such he tries to ignore Mirabel whenever possible. Mirabel’s mother teaches 2nd grade and her father works as a middle manager in an advertising company. Mirabel has just started kindergarten this year and is not entirely sure how she feels about it.

Internal Conflicts: Mirabel is very confident and sure of herself, but no one, not even in her own family, takes her seriously. She can’t figure out how to make them listen to her. In her attempts to gain legitimacy she once took her mother’s sewing scissors and cut off all her hair after she heard someone say it made her look like such a doll. This has gained her a reputation as somewhat of a problem child and, contrary to her hopes, did not inspire the people around her to treat her like an adult.

External Conflicts: Mirabel is very uncomfortable with the idea of someone or something coming in the night and stealing away her teeth, even if it does leave her her some spare coins in exchange. Thus, on the verge of losing her first tooth, she is on a quest to discover just who or what this tooth fairy is and what exactly it is doing with all these teeth. 

Because learning without creation is pointless

I've been trying to write a story for the last couple of weeks.  On a good day I write about 1,000 words.  Prolific I am not.  It's because, surprisingly enough, I find fiction writing to be exhausting in a way that writing here is not.  Writing on my blog is casual--just me spitting out whatever is rattling around in my head.  Writing a story is different--it needs to be "right".  And finding the right words to explain the right actions in the right way leaves me exhausted after just a scene or two.  Which is ok.  Because there isn't actually a time line on anything and if I it takes me till October of 2015 (which is what the NaNoWriMo website is predicting based off my current rate of writing) then...ok.  Why not?

oh, it's actually November of next year...hooray!

But, it also means that today I just wanted to take a break and do some writing that wasn't quite so difficult for me.  Perhaps later I will write another scene in my story.  But for now, it is the mental equivalent of sweatpants and chocolate time for my brain.

Miley...I think you're doing that wrong...

So let's talk about the usefulness of education.  In my last post I mentioned how I'm adjusting to adult, non-married life.  I talked about my recent interest in researching fairy tales and how I questioned whether or not reading arcane academic articles was a better use of my time than perusing facebook and buzzfeed.  I left it open ended, implying I wasn't completely sure about the answer.

Well, inasmuch as I am capable of being completely sure of anything (I'm not), I will say that I am sure.

With qualifications.

Whether it is my Mormonism or just me, I have to say that educating myself, even about the most obscure and useless of topics is an improvement over entertainment-grazing the internet for babies and kittens (which is not to say that there isn't a place for babies and kittens and gif-fests).  If for no other reason than that the latter requires absolutely nothing from your brain.  And if my primary pass-time is something that I can do equally well when I am literally half asleep, there is something wrong with my pass-time.  Hence, I declare obscure research a winner!

But frankly, it's not actually a huge step up to go from facebook to obscure research.  There's a last step missing.  And that is where my qualifications come in.  (guys.....I'm sorry, but I'm having a really hard time focusing on the rest of my post with that gif repeating above me over and over...)

Ok, refocusing.  What I'm talking about is synthesis.  This is a thing that, ideally, you learned about in high school.  If you didn't learn about it in high school then I am praying that you learned about it in college.  But since I've been a college TA, I know that many many people did not, so I will give a quick summary, though I'm pretty confident that none of you, my 12 lovely readers, are these people.  Anneke, if you're reading this, bear with a non-education major as I try to explain this.  There are different levels of learning, each one implying a certain depth of understanding.  Because understanding is not the same thing as knowing.  Think of it....think of it like acting.  Imagine a scale, and on one end you have Antonio Banderas learning his first Holywood part phonetically because he didn't speak English at the time.  He knew his lines, but he didn't understand them.  All he could do was repeat back exactly what he had memorized.  On the other end of the scale you have, um...someone like Robin Williams or Anthony Hopkins.  These are men who know their lines, know their characters, know the story, understand all those things, and using them, they riff and improvise and actually create more than what is in the script.  This is synthesis, and this is what is necessary to make education worthwhile.

hey look! A little picture about exactly my topic!

It is a hard lesson to learn, especially for those students who made it to college without learning it.  So many kids would email me or approach me in class to ask "Why didn't I get an A?  I covered all the study points."  Even setting aside my feelings on grade inflation, the most basic answer is that simply regurgitating a list of facts is not demonstrative of complete education.  It's Antonio Banderas speaking out sounds whose meanings he couldn't comprehend.  To show me that you actually understand what those facts mean you have to synthesize them into something greater than the constituent parts.  Tell me why those facts were significant.  Tell me why we're studying that story.  Tell me anything, as long as it shows that you've not just memorized the information, but actually digested it and comprehended its significance.  Be Anthony Hopkins disappearing into his character so that you forget that he isn't actually a terrifying madman in real life.  Be Robin Williams riffing so much during the making of Aladdin  that they could have made three movies on his material alone.

Which brings us back to research for research's sake.  It's true, pumping my brain full of facts is better than turning it off entirely and tucking it away in a corner.  But better still than that is taking all those facts and doing something with them.  In my case, right now, I am using my research to write my own version of one of my favorite fairy tales (I hope to adapt more in the future).  Sometimes I write quasi-scholarly analyses of stories or movies or books here on my blog.  Maybe I just tell my boss about how strange the stories are.  Whatever I do, about not just fairy tales but any other topic I research, the point is that once I've put the information in my brain I need to work with it.  If I don't, it might as well not be there in the first place, taking up space.  Because not only does synthesizing your knowledge demonstrate a deeper and more thorough understanding of it...it actually creates that understanding.

Synthetic thinking is a..."higher" level of thinking than consumptive.  It takes more work.  In practical terms that means that you just don't really do it without making yourself do it.  And you don't make yourself do it without a reason.  Now that reason may be simply because you enjoy it (that is why I write this blog).  But until I sit down and write a blog post about the importance of College Girl literature I don't actually fully understand that importance.  The bits and pieces of my thoughts are all floating around in my head but I've never taken the time or energy to straighten them all out and organize them and make something of them.  This is actually exactly what is happening when you're talking to someone and you explain something and they get all excited and exclaim "Exactly!  That's exactly what I think, you just put it so much more clearly!"  What they're actually saying is "I had all those bits of idea drifting around in my head, too, but I never sat down and put them all together like you have just done and I can recognize the idea all put together there in your words!"

If only more people understood the principle of synthesis I think the world as a whole would be a much better place.  Synthetic thinking leads to an understanding of and ability to both articulate and support one's own beliefs and ideals rather than a blind defensiveness.  It leads to developments of philosophy and art and science.  And the thing is, everyone is capable of it.  It's not a "smart" vs. "dumb" thing.  If you want to be that reductive you could, I suppose, argue that it is a "disciplined" vs. "indulgent" thing.  But even then, you can't expect someone to discipline their mind in a certain way if they have no understanding of what that way even is.

But maybe I've managed to explain it successfully here.  And maybe someone who didn't quite understand it will read this and then they will  (or maybe not...I'm not so optimistic about my writing/explaining abilities).  And then, just maybe, they will have the discipline to start trying to think this way.  And I suppose that if I can manage to inspire that series of events with my blog for just one person then that will be a good day's work.

Gatsby? What Gatsby?

How could I not write a review of The Great Gatsby?  It's Baz Luhrmann for heaven's sake and we all know how much I love him (I love him about five heaps...just in case you didn't know).  It is safe to say that The Great Gatsby is the movie I've been most excited about for the last six months (now that it is out Ender's Game officially takes over that job).  But how could I not be?  Look at this trailer!

Alas....I will say that the trailer is just a shade more satisfying to a certain aspect of my Baz Luhrmann love than the movie.  See, what I've always loved about Baz's movies is their passion.  They don't go in for restraint or subtlety, when Baz does passion it is explosive and vibrant to the point of nausea and I absolutely love it...probably because it is exactly the sort of experience of emotion I am unlikely ever to have in my own life.  And that trailer?  It is positively dripping with classic Baz Luhrmann passion.  The movie?  Surprising as it may seem, I think I could say that it was his most restrained film thus far.  Which is not to say that there isn't plenty of emotion there, nor even plenty of over-the-top visual gluttony.  But those emotions were restrained, veiled, veneered over and divorced from the orgy-like party scenes.  Thematically it is a brilliant move that reinforces the central idea of Luhrmann's adaptation of this specific story....but it did leave me a little bit disappointed in terms of a Baz Luhrmann movie experience.

This is the sort of heavy-handed passion I'm talking about.  This

is one of my favorite scenes of all time...

But never fear!  If I felt a little disappointed in terms of the blatant emotions of the film it was more than made up for in the casting of it.  I have long argued that Leonardo DiCaprio is one of the best actors we have today and I don't think he's ever given a better performance than as Jay Gatsby.  Of course, we all knew he would.  I don't think I have talked to a single person who didn't share the same moment of "of course!" as soon as they found out he was playing the central character.  Once you think of him as Gatsby there is absolutely no one else who could have played him.  And Leo didn't disappoint.  I am one of the few people who didn't study the book in high school (I studied a grand total of one complete book in my high school, and it wasn't till I made it to AP english my senior year...hooray for The Scarlet Letter!) so the first time I read this book was the end of last summer I think (or possibly it was fall?).  I didn't really connect with Gatsby when I read it.  I didn't understand why Nick would come out of this entire experience and say that the only person he didn't loathe was Gatsby...he seemed to be just as degenerate as the rest of them to me.  No, it wasn't till I watched Leo's twitchy, nervous, and intensely anxious performance that I came to connect with the character of Jay Gatsby.  He was magnificent.  I mean, right down to the smile that I thought couldn't exist as per Nick's description of it:

He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.

And when DiCaprio turns smiling to the audience in his big moment of reveal...smiling right at me so it seemed...suddenly I knew exactly what Nick meant.  But that was just Gatsby.  Though Karissa and I agreed that Tobey Maguire is possibly tied with Michael Cera as the most awkward human on the earth, I think he absolutely nailed Nick Carraway.  He has this knack for hilarious expressions that say 50 times more than any amount of dialogue possibly could.  I read an interview with Maguire about how it was difficult trying to find a way to play Nick that captured his role as outside observer whilst allowing him the space to be a character who actually did things. I think that trick of expression was a major part of that balance.  As he gets drawn into an Epicurean afternoon with Tom and his entourage his face expresses that dissociated observant quality in the midst of his own participation in the whole thing.  And even though Maguire seems to have somehow become ridiculous in pop culture (I still love him and think he is terribly under-utilized) I think he carried his darker more dramatic moments wonderfully.  Carey Mulligan, too, was magnificent.  She caught that breathy, melodramatic way of speaking that you somehow just can't help but associate with flappers.  Even more amazing was how in moments she could appear bored--old and almost haggard.  Carey Mulligan.  Let me remind you what Carey Mulligan looks like

seriously...so damn adorable

She was great.  But then, every single person in the movie was great.  The greatest triumph of this film was its casting.  

Slightly less great were my constant flashbacks to Moulin Rouge.  As Riss and I discussed on the way out, Moulin Rouge was based heavily on La Traviata and the Orpheus myth.  Now, if you were to read either of these stories your first thought would not be "Wow, this is just like The Great Gatsby!".  But the way Luhrmann decided to play the story I was constantly reminded of his earlier film.  First you have a conservative somewhat naive young man who moves into a new environment of excitement and indulgence.  He is caught up in this hedonistic world and is consumed and nearly ruined by it.  He slowly rebuilds himself afterward by growing a stubble and writing it all down.  There is an ephemeral and unattainable beauty who glitters brightest in this world of color and excitement and all men worship her.  Despite all the best efforts of her true love to win her and take her out of the artifice and corruption he fails (though in this case he is the one who dies rather than she).  The party scenes gave off the same frenetic energy as those in the dance hall. This recurring deja vu was mildly irritating, but on the other hand...this is a Baz Luhrmann film.  I can't blame him for returning to the same themes that appealed to him in a previous movie.  After all, Spielberg and Burton and any number of other big directors have been making the same movies for years.  We can't help that certain stories appeal to us.  

But similarities to Moulin Rouge aside, this was a remarkably true adaptation of one of the most famous works of American literature in existence.  One of Baz's trademarks is also the trait that makes his movies so divisive; either you love him or you hate him.  I'm talking about the willing suspension of disbelief.  This is a principle you talk about in humanities classes--it is the implicit request of the author or director or whoever that you the audience member suspend your awareness of how the real world really is and you instead step into this story and accept the rules that exist here.  Most movies cultivate this in their viewers.  They attempt to make it as easy as possible for the audience to invest in and submerge themselves in their fictional world.  Baz, on the other hand, strives actively to reject it.  This is what is so jarring to people who don't love his movies.  The fact that things seem so very insincere and theatrical and just plain contrived.  Isn't he aware of it?  The answer is yes.  Yes he is.  He did it on purpose.  See, the very idea of movies and acting is about playing pretend and building and fantasy between the actors and the audience.  At least, that is what it is to Luhrmann (I'd link you to the interviews with him where he basically explains all this but I don't want to hunt them down).  So he wants his audience to be aware of what is happening.  He is constantly reminding them that this is all a big show, a big game of pretend, in the effort to force them to get involved.  They are watching a grand play and their reactions to it are an important part of the overall production.  I am one of the people who absolutely love this aspect of Luhrmann's movie-making.  And I think that his willingness to acknowledge the falseness, the facade of it all, is what made him possibly the only director who ever possibly could have adapted this specific book--widely deemed "un-filmable"--into a successful movie.  Of all its strengths, the text and Fitzgerald's gorgeous use of the English languages is arguably the greatest the book offers.  And Luhrmann is the one director who is capable of stopping in the middle of the film to just straight up put that text on screen.  Because none of it is real why not acknowledge that the whole thing is coming out of a book?  I thought it was fantastic.

As I said, I didn't study the book in high school.  I just read it on my own last year.  I didn't have anyone forcing me to analyze the symbolism of the book so, while I could see it was there, I didn't really care about it.  Obviously the green light was symbolic and probably there were some others and they probably meant something and it was probably really deep and interesting but I'm not picking up on it right away and I just don't really care.  When I invited Ben to come see the movie with us he confessed he hadn't read the book and he asked "Is it really such a classic?  What is so great about it?" and I'm not going to lie, I told him that to me the reason it is worth reading is solidly the aforementioned elevation of English to true art.  I mean, some of the sentences in that book literally made me catch my breath.  Like, I had to stop and reread them several times just to luxuriate in their craftsmanship.  I told him that was why it was worth reading.  The themes and such were fine, but nothing amazing.  I know.  This is shameful for a literature person like me to admit.  Especially when I follow it up with the confession that watching this movie completely changed my mind.  Suddenly the symbolism and the allegory and the significance of the thematic development was engrossing.  I'll definitely need to watch it several more times to work through it all.  And sure, I feel the appropriate shame that I needed the rather heavy hand of Luhrmann to pick up on these things.  But on the other hand, I'm going to blasphemously argue that this adaptation, true though it was, actually opened up some new and different analytic options.  If nothing else, watching actors color the characters with their own takes on motivations and reactions forces a reevaluation of the characters in this new light.  My point is that watching this adaptation opened up the original text to me and I am ok with that.  

So what is my final opinion?  The Great Gatsby is pure and unadulterated Luhrmann.  If you don't like his style then you're not going to like this movie any more than you've liked any of his other films.  If you do like his style then you won't be disappointed (equally you won't be surprised...he's not really breaking any new ground).  As I've said before, Baz Luhrmann is truly the master of the post-modern pastiche and surrealism.  While Moulin Rouge remains my favorite of Baz's movie thusfar, I still can't wait to add Gatsby to my collection.  

The Soul of a Story: Lessons learned from Sunshine

I just finished reading Robin McKinley's Sunshine for the fifth or sixth time.  Every time I reread it it pulls me right back in, even though by now I know exactly what's coming--there are no more surprises left.  Nevertheless, from about the point where Constantine reappears for a second time, I am sucked into the sort of trance that leads to extremely late nights and ditched commitments.  Part of it is the joy of experiencing (at least somewhat vicariously) a new and different world.  It is that sort of book I find myself constantly coming back to, and, I think, a major part of my love of fantasy and science fiction - genres whose entire heart and soul rest upon world-building.  But even the more mundane worlds will do--the vivid charming, and scatterbrained world of Anne Shirley, or the beautiful, treacherous, moralistic world of Elnora Comstock; Victor Hugo's Paris, or Charles Dickens' London; all my favorite books share an ability to engross me in their worlds and call me back if I've stayed away too long.  In books I am able to enter the minds and experiences of the characters.  I can see through multiple perspectives and feel with multiple selves -- a feat I have yet to achieve in reality, though certainly not through lack of trying.  Literature grants me one of my dearest wishes - to get inside the heads of those I care about and to understand what they're thinking.  Sure, the people I'm caring about in these instances are fictional characters, but try telling me that in the moment.  Anyone who's fallen in love with Colonel Brandon, or Elnora Comstock, or Jean Valjean knows that their persistent lack of corporeal form certainly makes them no less real to us.  It simply makes loving them more painful.  A relative or a friend who passes away at least did exist once and you have your memories and your physical connections to them.  A character in a story might be said to live forever, but not in the way that matters to the grieving reader who just finished the book.  That character became a real, complete person in your head who, upon closing that back cover, you're forced to give up; to deny; to remember he or she is merely a figment of your (and the author's) imagination.  And as the prolific existence of sequels and fan fiction tell us, it is a hard and painful loss.  Anyone who has gotten lost in a story knows, just a little I think, the disorientation and pain a schizophrenic might feel upon being told that his delusions were the product of his mind alone.

It is that sort of immersive experience that keeps me coming back to Sunshine.  Even knowing how it all works out and exactly what's going to happen, I still get invested in it.  I care about Sunshine and Constantine.  Not just care about--I feel like I know them.  Even a character so carefully framed to be alien as Con.  The story may be written from Sunshine's point of view and Con may be an impenetrable enigma to her, but to me he makes perfect sense.  This is what I mean when I say that a character is created out of both the author's and the reader's imaginations.  And this is the inverse blessing of fiction; if a character never truly existed then the way he or she exists in your head truly is who they are.  No matter how much detail and how many specifics the author give you in the story (and no matter how completely formed that character is in the author's mind) the fact is that there can never be enough detail in a book or poem or song or movie to tell you who that person is.  Not completely.  You, the audience, are given the outlines, like the empty lines in a coloring book, and then you fill in the rest.  You supply the details, emotions, and motivations that make that character so very real to you.  Thus, he or she becomes at least partly yours.  My Colonel Brandon, my Frodo, or my Constantine are unique from those of my roommates, my mother, my best friend, and the author.  These characters are made up of me, of what I put in them.  And, as my own personal ethereal literary friends, they are just as...accurate as my roommates', mother's, friend's, and the author's versions -- because none of them were ever real to begin with.  There is a particular empathy that avid readers possess - the ability to invest life and reality into fictional people - and I wonder if it is a lack of that ability, that empathy, that divides the non-readers from our ranks?

It was not, however, this investment of personal reality into fiction that most occupied me during this most recent reading of Sunshine.  Rather it was a heightened awareness, a running analysis even, of the actual mechanics of McKinley's writing.  How was she telling this story?  In stereotypically girly fashion, one of my favorite aspects of this story is the tantalizing hints of romance between Sunshine and Constantine.  (We're not talking Edward and Bella here - one of McKinley's greatest strengths as a storyteller is her sense of subtlety and implication)  But I realized, somewhat to my surprise, that McKinley manages something truly amazing in her story; she makes me either forget or simply not care about the implications of that relationship in terms of the consequences to Sunshine's relationship with Mel, a relationship that I am certainly invested in, even if it is not quite to the extent of my investment in her and Constantine.  Those of you who know me or have read this blog know my opinions on infidelity and that "strong" hardly begins to do them justice.  So my lack of concern over this implied potential infidelity all these years fascinated me.  How had McKinley managed to completely subvert my attention  from a theme I am usually so very attentive to?  So I read with heightened attention to the structure of the story itself.  I discovered that I, as the reader, didn't consider the issue because it is never alluded to as such in the book, either by the narrator herself or simply by the structure of her world.  There is, at one point, a narrowly averted sexual encounter between the two (Sunshine and Constantine), and while Sunshine does spend exhaustive amounts of time analyzing the morality of that event and her entire relationship with Con, the conflict comes from the fact that she, as a human, is choosing to consort with him, a vampire.  Never once does she consider her relationship with Con in any sort of connection to her and Mel.  Even in the very brief moment that another person sees her with Constantine and it is alluded to that he, as a male, might pose some sort of threat to Mel it is treated as a joke and instantly forgotten.

I was very intrigued by this...essentially this choice to ignore what would generally be considered a fairly major issue.  As I read I came across others-- rather than deal with the consequences of the climactic battle (or smaller issues, like her avoidance of the fetch put on her) the book simply ends.  Conflicts with Sunshine's mother are referenced, but never actually explained or even shown.  As I was reading, these omissions felt like...cheating?  I felt like McKinley simply didn't talk about things that were "too hard."  But as a finished the book, high on my vicarious-experience buzz, I suddenly wondered "is that necessarily bad?"

That is to say, the more I thought about this book, others of McKinley's books I've previously read, stories in general, and the idea of "cheating" in telling them, I had to acknowledge that it just wasn't that simple.  In a story told in first person like this one, you are bound by certain constraints - namely, you can only share what your narrator would, his or her self, think, know, and say.  You can, of course, get around this to some extent with external stimulus; (the most obvious example being another character who simply asks necessary questions) nevertheless, it is certainly a valid limitation.  In this case, the fact that Sunshine never considered the issue of her potential infidelity to Mel can tell us several different possible things about her --most of which lend themselves to a quite feminist-y reading of her character.

Additionally, inclusion and exclusion are incredibly effective means to highlight certain information and to direct your reader's attention.  I've always maintained that J.R.R. Tolkien's complete silence on the plight of Frodo and Sam during the entire first half of The Two Towers was an absolutely brilliant movie.  He manages to inspire the same fear, anxiety, and burning curiosity to know what's going on in his readers that Gandalf and the rest of the fellowship are all feeling.  What you don't say can actually say quite a lot.  On the other hand, if you don't want your readers to be distracted by extraneous information the best way is simply not to bring it up.  I wrote a post about The Dark Knight Rises and my opinion that one of its greatest strengths was the way it took up a lot the consequences that were ignored or sidestepped in The Dark Knight.  The fact is, if Christopher Nolan had paused now and then to, say, show an angry car owner shaking his fist at Batman as his Prius was demolished it would have distracted from the primary focus of the movie -- even if it had added to the realism.  Those questions and issues were better saved for a different movie.  And so it is with Sunshine.

In the story McKinley created those questions of mine were peripheral and unimportant.  The primary conflict was Sunshine's understanding of her own identity and the then the conflict between Bo and her and Constantine.  These other issues, such as her relationship with Con, with Mel, with her mother, and even with  the SOF, while important, are things better saved for a second novel.  Which, I suppose, brings us all the way back to the beginning of this blog post.  I began by describing the experience of becoming immersed in a story and characters and the mourning that comes when you must leave them behind.  Perhaps, in the end, my "issues" with McKinley's writing, as I reread this familiar story, were actually my long-felt annoyance that she has yet to revisit this world and give me an update on how my old friends are doing....

A New TV Obsession...

Matt has been telling me I ought to watch Once Upon A Time for a while now.  This weekend was pretty intense for me, so by Sunday afternoon I just wanted something to distract me and keep my mind occupied so I figured I'd finally give it a try.  Tonight I finished the first episode of the second season, which started on Sunday.  That means that in about two and a half days I watched 23 episodes.  This is why I'm always cautious about letting myself get sucked into new TV shows.

because my brain doing the obsessive equivalent of this is also pretty dangerous...

If you don't know, Once Upon A Time was one of two shows that came out last year that are based on the idea of fairytales in the real world.  The other is Grimm, which apparently was darker and a little bit more subtle.  Haven't watched Grimm and I probably wont.  Once tells the story of Storybrook, a town populated by all the characters of your favorite fairy tales and children's stories (they do branch out from traditional fairy tales with characters like Mulan and the Mad Hatter).  They have been brought into our world, their memories of their former lives erased, by a curse from an evil queen.  Emma Swan, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, was the only one spared from the curse and is the only one who can break it and restore the townspeople to their happily ever afters.  The first season centers on Emma, her arrival in Storybrook, and the breaking of the curse.

is it just me or does blond hair just not look right on her?

have a picture of the Mat Hatter too.  Because he's beautiful with perfect hair,
magnificent three piece suits, and delicious guylined puppydog eyes.

While Once, pretty predictably, suffers from some problems with logic and logistics, I think that overall it is a really really well done show.  Matt was quick to point out that it is written by two of the Lost writers (Lost is a show he's been lobbying for me to watch for over a year now) and I think I can see the family resemblance.  There are plenty of twists and big reveals and mysteries.  But what has really impressed me is the quality of the basic storytelling.  I feel like so many TV shows are more concerned with those twists and surprises and keeping people hooked on overinflated drama than they are on actually telling really good stories.  Once, on the other hand, kept up a decent level of storytelling, sometimes caving to cliched plot devices or purely "gotcha!" twists, but overall utilizing some very good thematic development.  Part of this, I think, is a result of the principle of constraint. Which is a principle I just made up, but it's still valid.  Basically, if you tell someone to write a story about anything they'll think a while and then they'll come up with some random story that probably won't be much good and probably will be kind of generic.  If instead, however, you tell them to write you a story using the phrase "Oh, I don't need the dishes", contains a pair of tweezers, and takes place in one single late night then you'll get something rather more interesting (if any of you would like to write me that story, please do and email it to me).  In this case, the constraint was to tell a story fundamentally based on magic in a world that has none.  This really led to some very fun story telling moments and interesting thematic ideas.

because why wouldn't you translate "queen's huntsman"
into "mayor's sheriff and sex-slave on the side"

I will acknowledge my inner feminist for a moment here and say that I also really really appreciate how kick ass the women are in this show.  Snow White, when accosted at her wedding, draws her husband's sword and stands between him and the evil queen Regina.  Little Red Riding Hood? ...well, I don't want to spoil anything, but I kind of have a woman crush on her.  Even more so do I have on one Belle (but we'll talk more about her a little later).  Cinderella begins as a bit of a ditz, but she really grows and finds her strength.  Even Katherine, a proverbial "other woman" who simply exists to come between the two star-crossed lovers, is a really strong good woman who does her best.  And she may be evil, but you can't get much more hardcore than Regina herself.  And last of all is Emma, who is so unrelentingly tough and sure of herself that I'm able to ignore the fact that she is Cameron from House--a feat not to be sneezed at.  These are not your traditional damsels in distress waiting for their men to come save them.  They can and often do save themselves.  I love that so much.

not only is she maximum hardcore, she is also mind-bogglingly beautiful...sorry
Snow White, but you ain't actually the fairest of them all.  Your besty Red is.

But most of all--above all the other characters and all the good story telling and all the fun plot twists--above all that stands my love for one character.  And that character is Rumpelstiltskin, aka Mr. Gold.

so true.

Oh my gosh Rumpelstiltskin.  Matt and I have given many of the characters in the show nicknames, mostly because Rumpelstiltskin is really hard and long to type and then it was fun to give them to the rest.  I call him Skinner.  Which is a perfect name for him because you really never know if he's going to help you or skin the flesh right off your back.

Skinner...why are you wearing gloves and an apron and carrying a
shovel out here in the middle of the woods??

This character is so delectably ambiguous.  Usually, when a character behaves badly in a show it is one of two options: it is a bad character behaving exactly how we expect him or her to act and is therefore boring or it is a good character acting out of character and really stupidly which is immensely irritating.  But Skinner is neither of these.  Skinner is a deeply self-interested character acting incredibly deviously, powerfully, and intelligently to further his own ends.  And sometimes he is just straight up screwing with your head because he's Rumpelstiltskin and what the heck else do you expect?  I love the fact that at any moment he might betray someone and that I don't have to hate him for it because it's just who he is and what the heck, it may end up that that betrayal is actually going to somehow make everything better (sheriff's election anyone?).  One of the things I love most about him is that he's always completely honest.  He'll straight up tell you that he's screwing with you or that the magic you want from him will ruin your life completely.  But somehow, without ever lying, he manages to constantly play with the people around him and keep them all in the dark.

dude, you found a girl who laughs at your horrible jokes...you keep her!

And, unlike Regina with whom I was initially fascinated but have since come to regard as a lost cause, I can't help feeling like Skinner deserves to ultimately be happy.  Which is why I am dying with anxiety over the upcoming season.  Skinner has an opportunity to be with Belle (a truly genius twist on the Beauty and the Beast tale) and let himself be happy.  I want him to take it so very very badly and I am so terrified that he's going to ruin everything as he has so consistently done for himself.  I am more invested in his relationship with Belle then I am in any other relationship in the entire show.

no matter how much  love him I cannot deny that he is a
super awkward kisser...possibly because he has a frog face?

Rumpelstiltskin, aka Skinner, makes  up at least half of my love for this show.  Despite everything I've said, I really can't fully explain how much I love him and why.  I think it's just how very complex and interesting he is.  I'm always a sucker for an interesting guy--a guy who will never ever bore me no matter how well I  know him.  As evidenced by Skinner, this often leads me to take an interest in really hard guys.  That is something I should probably watch out for in my life, but for now it means that I will keep watching this show as long as it keeps giving me plenty of Skinner.  And I'm pretty sure it will...

how can you not love a man who laughs like this?

Thoughts on Batman, Rising and Risen

Do you guys remember my SPATULA?  Well, first off, that died.  I didn't get the grant, so if I do end up doing that project it will be unfunded.  But the point of bringing it up is to use it as an example of how much I love the movie The Dark Knight.  That movie is, in my opinion, as pretty near perfect as a film can be.  I will go into why I feel that way a little later on, but you can imagine how excited I've been for The Dark Knight Rises with that sort of parentage, can't you?

I'm not the only one.  In fact, my excitement has been relatively tame compared to some I know.  I actively tried to avoid trailers and other promotional materials because in this case I didn't want to go into the movie already feeling like I knew what was going to happen.  And because I had this suspicion.  I was worried that this was going to be one of those movies where the hero gets pummeled beyond my idea of human endurance and I wouldn't want to watch it anymore.  And I didn't want to have to worry about that, so I just avoided watching the trailers.  Fun fact: it was not one of those movies.  In case you were worried like me.  

But anyway, I was super excited.  However, just as I was walking in to the theatre at 6:59 pm on Thursday evening I realized something.  There was no possible way that this movie was going to live up to my expectations!  That is, the chances were virtually zero.  I mean, Christopher Nolan is the guy who gave us Inception and The Dark Knight.  The expectations I had for him as a master storyteller were practically inhuman.  So, while it was possible that this film would be as good as I was hoping, I took a moment to prepare myself for it not to be.  Turns out this was a good thing.  

Now this is not to say that I didn't love The Dark Knight Rises.  First and foremost, please remember that, when I say that this movie did not live up to the one before it, that is comparing to an insanely high standard, and falling short of that standard still leaves the movie at a higher level than most others.  So please remember that, for the rest of this post.  Though I was disappointed (how could I not have been?) I still really liked the movie.  I would say it was as good as Inception...

I will put the rest of this post under a cut, so that you can avoid it if you've not yet seen the movie...

The Chocolate Fight Club of the D'Ubervilles

I've been reading The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier.  I finished it last night.  Robert Cormier is known for writing....questionable books.  He wrote I Am The Cheese, a book about a disturbed young man who has a less than firm grasp on reality.  He wrote Tenderness, which is about a teen aged psychopath serial killer and rapist and the girl who becomes obsessed with him.  Supposedly Cormier says that he wants to write "real people in dramatic situations that will keep people turning pages."  That generally translates into books that parents don't really want their children to read.  The Chocolate War seems to have a permanent home on the ALA's 100 most banned books list, sitting around #3 for years now.

First of all, a tangent about my opinion on censorship.  It's stupid.  Always.  Ok, maybe not always, but pretty dang nearly.  That is to say that I grew up reading things that would probably be considered wildly inappropriate for my age range.  A rather tame example--I remember checking out Robin McKinley's The Blue Sword when I was in...4th grade maybe?  and the librarian looked at the cover, looked at me in my wee 4th gradedness, and said "are you sure you should be reading this?  I think you might be a little too young..."  To which I responded "My mom doesn't care what I read, and I promise you this will be fine."  Admittedly, had my mom been there she probably would have qualified that statement.  I think possibly the reason my mom "didn't care what I read" is because I have always had remarkably good taste in books.  But it was the truth.  I don't think my mom could have cared less if I was reading an innocuous fantasy book, even if it did have semisortofnotreallyoblique sexual references.  And, being in 4th grade, those went right over my head and I didn't realize exactly what was happening in them till I reread the book later in life.  And that's the point.  If you're old enough to be interested in the story then read the story.  If there are "mature" themes then you'll be "mature" enough to understand them so whatever or you won't be and they'll go over your head.  And I personally intend to cultivate the sort of relationship with my kids that they know they can ask me about anything if they have questions.  Censorship, in my humble opinion, is for cowards who don't want to have to think about hard questions.

What is that honey? You want to know WHY he hates
 green eggs and ham?  Hmm...I'm not sure this book is appropriate for you...

Which is a long way of saying that banning a book like The Chocolate War is stupid.  A.) banning something is a good way to make it a heck of a lot more appealing and exciting than it was before and B.) if they want to read it let them read it.

That being said...I absolutely hated this book.

So much.

Plot synopsis:  Jerry Renault attends Trinity Catholic School where authority is divided between the teachers, and The Vigils, a secret school gang.  The school has a chocolate sale coming up and Brother Leon, the acting headmaster, solicits the help of the Vigils to make sure it goes well.  But Jerry refuses to sell, trying to find some way to assert his rejection of the tyrannical mob rule and cruelty he sees in the school.  Jerry's refusal sparks a mild rebellion amongst the student body and the chocolate sale is lagging terribly. But when the Vigils do get behind the sale, suddenly it takes off.  Whether or not they are legitimate results, every student but Jerry is credited with achieving their sales goals.  Jerry becomes the focus of a vicious mental and physical campaign of intimidation. After suffering a group beating, Jerry's frustration and anger come to a boil so that he can be tricked into an unfair public fight with a bully.  Jerry ends up getting beaten within an inch of his life.  His jaw and ribs are broken and he is unconscious, taken away in an ambulance.  Archie, the architect of this all, appears to be on the verge of punishment until Brother Leon shows up and waves it all away with a "boys will be boys" philosophy.

It's all fun and games till someone breaks their jaw and has to get it wired...

And that is the end of the book.

I finished reading this book at 3:30 am this morning and as I closed the back cover I felt an unfamiliar sensation.  For the first time in a very long time I felt legitimately angry.  I mean, like....anger!  Those of you who know me know I don't really get angry.  I get frustrated and annoyed and anti social but not really angry.  As it turns out, one of the very very few things that make me angry is...can you guess from the title of this post?  Books!  The last time I was angry like this was after reading the introduction to Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club (I didn't make it past the introduction because it made me so angry). And before that it was on the train from Paris to London as I read Tess of the D'Ubervilles and fought the urge to hurl it across the car and brain some innocent bystander...er...sitter.

I was so angry that I couldn't sleep.  I pulled my phone out and typed an angry ranty email to my friend as the only vent I had to my feelings.

Because how can this not be therapeutic?
(Also, this picture came from this tumblr:
 http://www.flickr.com/photos/wagerber/3068239625/sizes/m/in/photostream/ )

So I was angry, you get it.  Why was I so angry?

Do you remember how a lot of people said they didn't like The Dark Knight because it was just "too dark for me"?  My response to that was always the same.  The Dark Knight had to be dark a.) because it's in the name and b.) because there must be dark to see the light.  The reason I rank that movie as one of the best films of all time (for seriousness, I do) is because it makes the argument that People, as a whole, are good.  This is an argument that seems to be out of vogue these days, which makes me sad.  Hence I am so in love with The Dark Knight.  What?  People are good?  They won't just...kill everyone else to save themselves?  How refreshing!

Contrast that with Cormier's story.  At it's most reduced, basic level, Cormier has written the story of how all people are either vicious, remorseless, cruel bullies, or they're cowards who let the bullies have their way.

And that is what makes me angry: the presumption of any man on earth to imply such a degenerate image of mankind.  I find that it...offends me to read such a picture of humanity.  Don't misunderstand me--I am well aware of the horrifically long history our species has for cruelty.  But I am also aware that in every single account of depravity there will be stories of  compassion and fellowship.  If humans have the ability to appall each other with their cruelty, surely they also have the ability to astound us with their nobility and love?

cliche but applicable...

So who is a man like Cormier....or Palahnuik or Thomas Hardy...to reject that spark of goodness?  I understand the urge to write "reality" and there is certainly enough hatred, violence, and cruelty in the world. But I must protest on two counts.  The first is that, if you want to write reality, you can't ignore those bright shining lights of goodness no matter how misanthropic a view of humanity you have.  And the second is that if you write a story like The Chocolate War or Fight Club and send it out into this dark world and people read it and see nothing but more darkness then what have you done but convince them of the futility of goodness and light?

I guess what made me so angry was the way the book seemed to have given up on goodness.  None of the characters felt any remorse for their actions or even appeared to have any awareness that they had behaved incorrectly.  I do believe that all people have an inherent goodness in them--we Mormons call it the Inner Light of Christ, but you can call it whatever you want.  It boils down to a conscience.  The ability to know that good is good and evil is evil (evil, as distinct from "badness" which is open to interpretation).  I reject the idea that goodness doesn't exist and that people, if left unchecked, will devolve into depravity.  I stand up for goodness.

It Aint Fair...

I should 100% be going to sleep right now, but instead I'm writing this post.  Once again I am faced with a topic far too vast to be addressed in a small, insignificant blog, but again I feel impelled to put my thoughts into words for my own sake if for nothing else.

I would not have thought that my young adult fiction class would be the class to provoke most of my "deep thinking" for the semester.  "Deep thinking" is the name I gave just this instant to what I consider to be the very best part of my academic career--the thinking I do beyond, above, around, and through my assignments.  It's when I take ideas and carry them through and really explore them.  Usually it has nothing to do with actual class work or credit.  And I repeat, I did not expect my YA fiction class to be the one to spark it.

But I have been lucky.  My professor has assigned us, thus far at least, some truly superb books.  This week's was Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry.  I read it today.  I think I read it once before years and years ago, but apparently it was one of a very small list of books that I don't remember very well at all.  So today was an essentially fresh and new reading.

Somehow, inhumanity and cruel treatment of others has become a theme in my life the last couple of weeks.  Last week I read the Hitler Youth book, about which I posted.  Then the Holocaust and WWII seemed to keep coming up in various disparate points in my life.  Then there is this book, which fits right in to the theme.  And now, after two weeks of stories about people hating, hurting, and dehumanizing other people, I am starting to chafe and feel raw.

The fact is, when I read these stories about Nazis beating and murdering Jews without remorse, or white men slapping and kicking black children who happened to look at them wrong, the fact is that I am flooded with righteous wrath.  I want to take the fear those poor people experienced and I want to take it right into the hearts of their tormentors.  I want them to know exactly what they put their poor victims through.  I want to cause them the same pain they cause to others because I feel like that is the only way they could ever understand what they'd done.  And it is the only way to make things right and even and square...

Even as I'm writing this I'm brimming with emotion--utter fury that a human being could treat another in such a way, wringing sympathy for those who suffered such vindictive treatment, and embarrassment that I should presume to pity these people as though I can even begin to comprehend their experiences.  I mean, I can read this book, or To Kill A Mockingbird or Hitler's Youth, or any other book, but I can never really fathom what it was like to live in the same world as the actual people.  So who am I to be angry on their behalf or sorry for them?  Who am I to read their stories and then write a blog post as though I have something important to say?

But I must.  Because as I was sitting here on my bed, wondering how things like Slavery and the Holocaust could exist, I suddenly had a bright shining realization that had the gleam of truth about it.

To understand I will take you on somewhat of a tangent.  I'm sure you all remember the movie Taken.  The Liam Neeson movie that came out a year or two ago that everyone just loved.  In it an ex-CIA operative has retired to be closer to his daughter.  She goes on a holiday to Europe and is kidnapped by sex-traders.  Her father then goes on a bloody rampage through Europe to rescue her, killing brutally, mercilessly, and without the slightest remorse anyone who happens to stand too close to him.  Everyone loved this movie because we all loved seeing Liam Neeson circumvent laws that so often seem more a hindrance than a help, and get bloody, efficient results.  I walked out of that movie deeply disturbed as I realized that I had just watched literally hundreds of people die and I had relished it.  I can't tell you how many people responded "yeah, but they were horrible people!  They deserved it!"  Be that as it may, I couldn't help but feel that a movie like Taken played to an unhealthy place in human nature which ought not be cultivated.

Because the fact is, the moment you start rationalizing cruelty by any sort of reasoning, you are on the dangerous slope.  One of the great tragedies of something like the Holocaust or of Slavery is the scarring left in its wake--the mental and emotional backlash.  You take a group of people and categorically demean them to a point where their lives hold no value...what could you possibly expect would happen to those people once they're finally released from your power?  The hatred of the Jews for the Nazis or the blacks for the whites is a horrible thing.  Their lives and their children's lives for generations are warped and mutated by a hatred that is just as blind as the hatred that they experienced.

What I'm trying to say so unsuccessfully is that these terrible points in history often lead to reciprocation.  That righteous anger I feel, that desire to hurt the tormentors as their victims were hurt, those same feelings are felt by others and we try to punish the tyrants somehow.  They need to suffer because they made others suffer!

But what does that make us?  What does that make the victims?  Suddenly the roles are reversed.  And just because you were once a victim doesn't mean that you cannot become a bully.

The epiphany that I had as I was sitting here on my bed was this:

If you cannot possibly find any way to value yourself besides setting yourself up over another person  by stripping them of their humanity...how low...how little must you value yourself?  And how immensely must you loathe yourself?

That was my epiphany.  And along with it came the realization why righteous wrath simply will not work.  Why you cannot punish away that kind of bad behavior.  If you hate yourself that much--that the only thing that can make you feel good is to compare yourself to something you consider less than human--no amount of punishment or pain will fix that.  Indeed, it will but add fuel to the fire.

What can fix that?  The horribly beautiful or beautifully horrible truth is that love is the only thing that can fix that.  Love and forgiveness and acceptance.  If you hate me and I hate you back, that does nothing but create an endless cycle of hate.  But if you hate me and I love you and forgive you back...even if you hate me till the end of time, by removing my own hatred I have managed to decrease the net hatred in the world even just by a little.

My righteous wrath isn't gone.  In fact when I think about forgiving someone in a situation like that a large part of me revolts.  Where is the justice in that?  How can I possibly suggest that such a thing is even possible?  Honestly, it may not be possible for many people.  Maybe their suffering passed the point of no return beyond which they cannot come back without some recompense being paid.  And maybe that's good.  But just try to imaging for a moment a world where everyone loved others--and more importantly, everyone felt well and truly loved.  Imagine a world where everyone knew who he or she was, the value they had, and that they were loved by those around them.

Can you imagine a Holocaust in that world?  Because I cannot.

Forgiveness and love are the way to that world.  Not hatred or vindictive punishment or retribution.