The Sky Call

I wrote this story a few years ago in the form of a letter to a friend.  I never can decide if I like it or not.  Hopefully you can look past the many flaws, and get the feel I was trying to convey...

There was once a boy.  From the moment he was born he felt a draw towards the sky.  You know, one of those kids that climb everything in sight.  When he was very young it was simply a desire to get as high up towards the sky as he could.  He would look at the moon for hours. 

            As the boy grew older, however, instead of a natural inclination he began to feel a physical draw toward the sky.  It was as thought two opposing gravities were fighting for him.  At first it was very vague.  It seemed easier to jump up than sit down.  But the older and bigger he got the stronger the upward pull fought against gravity’s downward anchor.

            However, as he got older he also lost his desire to follow the pull toward the sky.  Instead he began to listen to his mother’s lectures about staying on the ground, of avoiding high places.  She lived in fear, she told him, of the inevitable day he lost his balance on the top of that swing set, or tree, or building and fell to his death.  That was what always happened to people eventually, she told him, when they climbed into high places.  The boy loved his mother as boys do and so he began to make her fear his own.  When he refused even to climb to the top of the slide he saw her smile.  And so, in not so very long he taught himself to fear the air.  He learned to cling to the earth more and more, even as he felt himself pulled ever more strongly away from it.  He convinced himself that he was crazy to imagine such a thing.  Everyone knew gravity was one of those laws that couldn’t be changed, avoided, or overruled.  So he convince himself that he was simply deluded

An overlooked demographic

A friend of mine recently read two of the five books I recommended the other day.  Because my friend has good taste he absolutely loved both of them.  Unfortunately, being a man, he has struggled with the fact that he is so thoroughly enjoying books that are clearly aimed at a rather different demographic.  Or in his words "My roommate is right.  I am a woman."

*sigh*

I suppose this post brings the last two together.  You see, that attitude, right there, is all that is wrong with our society.  Ok, so that was a bit of over-exaggeration.  But it is certainly symptomatic of a lot.  What is this idea of '"manliness" which declares it "un-manly" to appreciate a book about a really choice woman?  Call me crazy, but that seems, rather, to be an indication of truly being a Man...rather than just another guy.

The Guy.  He is the propagator of this warped view of "manliness".  I don't really want to go into my definition of the Guy.  It isn't really important to the ultimate point of this post and I can't seem to explain myself without sounding like a judgmental jerk.  Unfortunately, I feel like I can't move on without giving some small explanation.  In as neutral terms as I can manage, a guy is simply the one who believes that the books he reads and the clothes that he wears are what define his masculinity.  He believes the propaganda of today's society, which declares manliness to be measured in aliens killed on Halo, the relative density of one's muscles (are they rock hard?  and if so, what kind of rock?  Granite?  Marble?  Sandstone?), and the amount of gunshots in his movies.  If the percentages of these things are not correct, he must needs be less of a man (I hope it is understood that I am speaking in vast generalizations and stereotypes and that there are infinite possibilities of variation here).  And most importantly, the Guy promulgates these stereotypes by imposing them on all of his friends. If they fail to live up to these preconceived notions of man-hood then he plasters them with what seems to him to be the worst labels one could have--"gay" or "womanly"

But what of a Man?  For, you see, there are measurements of masculinity that have nothing to do with such superfluous things as video games and fashion.  These things revolve around behavior and understanding.  I'm referring here to concepts of responsibility and loyalty.  Hard work, dedication, honor, and strength.  A Man is a different being entirely from a Guy.  He understands that what defines him is what he believes, how he acts, and what he chooses.  He is not defined by the unimportant and easily changed elements of the very surface of his character.  These come in and out of fashion on the whims of some unknown non-entity and they are not worth the effort it requires to keep up with them.  No, a Man knows that his masculinity rests inside him, where no labels apply but those he creates himself.  


So, what does this all have to do with my friend and his "embarrassing" proclivity for College Girl literature?  I would argue that it has everything to do with it.  You see, our society is busy convincing us that Guy-liness is really Manliness and Girlyness is Womanliness.  Not only is society portraying Guys masquerading as Men, but it is full of Girls strutting about as though they knew what it is to be a Woman.  Not only that, but we are being told over and over that Guys and Girls are all you need.  It is the best you can do.  I argued in my previous post that every girl ought to read those five books before she turns 20 as a means to understanding what it truly is to be a Woman.  It is a goal all girls should be striving for.  But I feel just as strongly that any guy who wants truly to be a Man ought to read them as well around the time he is looking for a wife.  You see, my friend is not womanly for loving the delightful innocence of Daddy Long Legs or for wishing he could marry a real life Elnora.  On the contrary, he is far more Manly than any Guy, dismissing such things in biased ignorance .  It is the recognition that just as there is more to being a Man than the surface appearance, there is also more to being a Woman.  A man who reads and appreciates these books is learning how to discern the difference between the Sparkly and the Candle Flame.  He is learning that there is so much more out there for him than a pretty face to be checked off on the list of "manly achievements".  And most importantly, he is learning that he wants all these extras.  That a Woman like Elnora (or Anne, or Jo, or Judy) is a woman far more worth having than any Sparkly Girl.  


And this is why I sigh when I hear my friend repeating the societal propaganda that is being so constantly thrust at him.  This is why I argue passionately that he is not outside of the demographic of these books.  This is why I wish that all guys could read these books, and have the wisdom to discern the value they contain.  Then, perhaps, as a girl who is striving to one day become a Woman, when that day arrives I will find a Man there waiting for me, instead of a bunch of guys.

A kiwi

A sparkle vs. a warm glow

*Disclaimer* Please read this post with a grain of salt.  I've never thought of myself as a feminist (or neo-feminist or anything else) and yet I find myself posting nothing but feminist articles over here.  What's up with that?

The Sparkly.  What is the sparkly, you ask?  Put simply, the sparkly is that girl that the main guy always falls for first, before the one we all know he's supposed to fall in love with.  You know...the pretty one.  

There are three main characters I will be referring to in this post.  Edward Ferrars from Sense and Sensibility, Edmund Bertram of Mansfield Park, and Roger Hamley of Wives and Daughters.  While I'm sure this plot line exists in other stories, these three exemplify it perfectly and are the only ones I can think of off the top of my head.  

Allow me to quickly summarize what I'm talking about.  You have your main girl.  She is witty, resourceful, pretty (but in an understated sort of way), intelligent, loving, and kind.  She is just the kind of girl that you know would make a really good wife.  She's also steady, dependable, and generous.  She doesn't demand your attention.  She's like a candle—warm, glowing, useful, and beautiful, but utterly unassuming.  If you don't make a point of looking, your eyes will slide right over her.  And that is the kiss of death for our heroine.  She doesn't catch your eye.  Enter her sister/friend/completely random acquaintance.  This girl is flighty, changeable, and even a bit dodgy on her moral grounds.  But this is the most important part.  She's beautiful.  She has the captivating eyes, the luscious figure, the shining soft hair.  She flirts and teases and otherwise bewitches our hero.  She is a sparkly.  And he, being a man, simply can't resist.  You see, he's always wanted a sparkly...of his very own! 

We’ll start with Sense and Sensibility.  Edward is perhaps the most excusable of the three.  He meets the delightful Lucy Steele years before he ever comes into contact with Eleanor.  What is it he says?  “It was foolish, idle inclination on my side, the consequence of ignorance of the world—and want of employment”  It is true that from the moment he comes into contact with Eleanor he clearly values her virtues far above the charms of Miss Steele (indeed, he implies dissatisfaction with his fiancé dating long before his visit to Norland Park).  Also to be considered are the social forms in which he lived; having engaged himself to Lucy and finding himself disillusioned, he was yet unable, in good honor, to disengage himself.  And yet I cannot completely excuse him of blame.  Other men have managed to keep themselves detached long enough to meet Eleanor.  Other men have seen through the pretty-faced façade of Lucy Steele.  But I I’m not going to hold that too much against him.  As he says, he was only 18.

I am not so indulgent of either Edmund or Roger.  Let us begin with Roger, we’ll get to Edmund soon enough.  Roger quickly forms a deep bond with Molly.  He often asserts that he loves her like a sister.  If you were to ask him to tell you about Molly he would readily run off an impressive list of virtues and good qualities.  And yet he never really sees her.  Knowing her for quite some time, he is none the less instantly captivated by her step-sister, the beautiful Cynthia.  Cynthia openly admits to faults of changeableness and insensibility.  And yet Roger is blind to all but her lovely face and winning mannerisms.  Mr. Preston puts it best, I think, when says “One often misses what Miss. Kirkpatrick is in the halo that surrounds her.”  I think the blackest mark against Roger is the fact that, had Cynthia remained faithful, he would have gone all the way and married her.  It was her decision to break off the engagement, not Roger’s.  And then, having regained his freedom, Roger remains blind to Molly’s superior merits.  It is not until he sees her at the Hollingford event, all done up in the latest fashion, that it finally occurs to him that she might, perhaps, be worth more to him if she were not quite such a sister.  What an idiot.

And finally for Edmund.  We’re not going to address the creepiness of courting cousins; that is beside the point and a relic of a past culture.  The point is that of all three, Edmund has the deepest understanding of his heroine, the truest appreciation of her character, and the longest acquaintance with her.  And yet he, too, is distracted by the beautiful eyes and pert nature of Mary Crawford.  He is described by far as the most refined of Austen’s suitors—he is moral and upright and always proper.  And yet…and yet even Edmund is not immune to the sparkly.  In what might spitefully be referred to as a poetically just twist of fate, Edmund is the only who really suffers any pain in detachment from his sparkly.  Edward greets his freedom with unadulterated joy, Roger with a resigned stoicism.  Edmund, however, is forcibly disillusioned at the peak of his passion and must disengage himself on moral grounds without the benefit of any real change of feelings.  “Gladly would I submit to all the increased pain of losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do.”

What is it these men are guilty of?  As my childhood friend Jeremy so perfectly demonstrates, the sparkly has a hypnotic effect (Jeremy is the crow, in case you missed that).  It is a beautiful image, entrancing the viewer and blinding him to anything else.  The sparkly is enticing and seductive and rich.  Other men will see it and envy you your sparkly.  It stands out and demands attention.  It is a prize to be shown off, wordlessly shouting out the prowess of the man who was able to capture such a treasure.  These are real and understandable attractions, and so, really, can you blame these men so much for succumbing to something so many men before them have also fallen for?  I am going to argue yes. 

You see, it is not in the fallibility of Man that I take issue.  That is a fact of life.  It is the fact that these men are granted a place in the halls of great literature as adored male protagonists that I become irritated.  We watch the movies and read the books and we handily ignore their inconstancy and poor judgment and still fall in love with them.  Yes Roger proposed to Cynthia first, but he eventually realized his mistake, and much more importantly…he’s just so sweet!  Sure Edmund never thought a second about Fanny’s feelings as he confided in her all his passion for Miss Crawford—but through the whole thing he never lost his respect for her opinion, and that’s what really matters, right? 

Wrong!  I hereby excise Roger Hamley and Edmund Bertram from the pantheon of literary heart-throbs!  Edward Ferrars is to be relegated to the annex next door.  No more should these weak-minded men be allowed to walk the same hallowed halls as such true-hearts as Colonel Brandon, Mr. Thornton, Mr. Knightly, or even the wild Heathcliff.  Mr. Darcy showed more fortitude in the midst of his crippling pride than any of these three.  And what is it that these men appreciated and the others overlooked?

Ah yes, let us consider the candle.  The woman in the background, through whom, none the less, is the entire room lit up.  Fanny, Eleanor, and Molly.   These women exemplify womanly virtue.  Like a candle, there is beauty in them, but it is the simple beauty of a flame.  And yet, as anyone who has stared into a campfire knows, there is nothing simple about an ever-changing flame.  While it may stand innocuously in the corner, if ever you stop to look at it, you will find a dancing complexity of light, color and shape.  And even more, it is a generous being.  A candle fills the room, casting light on everything surrounding it, bringing all into being, chasing away obscurity.  A candle is mundane precisely because it highlights everything else around it (and yet it never diminishes).  So with a Molly or an Eleanor.  As good women, they shed light on those around them, bringing out the best in others while losing nothing of their own appeal. 

A sparkly, on the other hand, draws all attention to itself.  Adding more candles to a room makes it brighter, while adding sparklies to a pile merely strips them of that much of their “unique” appeal.  A sparkly is a selfish being.  It must be the only one in the room for its full impact to be realized.  Interestingly, put a sparkly in the presence of a candle and you will find it even more beautiful than it was on its own. 

I think I’m getting carried away with my metaphor and starting to ramble.  And the more I think about it, I suppose I don’t really even have a point to which this is all coming.  I suppose, in the end, I simply wanted to vent my frustrations at these three men.  A friend of mine once admitted to me that he was searching for his own Marry Poppins—“practically perfect in every way”.  He honestly thought she existed.  And I’ve met so many men in real life who spend their lives chasing one sparkly after another, wondering, each time they catch one, why they’re standing in the dark with a rock in their hand.  The greatest frustration of all, I think, lies in the denouement.  In the end these three idiots finally realize how blind they’ve been and mend their ways.  Despite the fact that they deserve nothing more than a useless rock, they all three end up with the better woman.  When does this happen?  When does the inconspicuous candle get the recognition she deserves? 

I’ll tell you when.  When it is Colonel Branden doing the proposing.

A suicide

This is the very short film my brother and I made because Kandace left her hot-dog sandwich out and then went and hid in her bedroom.

A lost genre

One of the most painful conversations to overhear when I'm out and about is the debate over what book to get for an adolescent girl (painful because social mores declare that it is odd for me to interject).  You're likely to hear painful suggestions like Twilight or one of its host of derivatives.  You might hear references to the Uglies series, or perhaps something by Nicholas Sparks or Jodi Picoult.  Maybe they'll even throw out something along the lines of Wicked or the Hunger Games series (which is fine as far as books go, except that I personally found Wicked and Nicholas Sparks to be a bit...adult).  Don't misunderstand me, there isn't anything inherently wrong with most of those options (the exception to that being Twilight, my thoughts on which, however, have been documented elsewhere).  But I would like to offer up some alternate suggestions that are sadly forgotten in today's society.  These are the 5 books that I feel every single girl ought to read before she is 20.

1. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
2. A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter
3. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
4. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
5. Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster

These 5 books belong to what was known as "College Girl" books from the early 20th century (published in the mid 19th century, Little Women falls slightly ahead of this era, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn slightly behind, all the way in 1943).  It is a genre, now dead, which featured a female protagonists moving beyond adolescence into the more mature world of college, marriage, and independence.  They were, at the times of their publication, primarily marketed to and aimed at women of that same age, however they are now generally considered more suited for younger readers.  While I absolutely believe that these books are still relevant to their originally targeted audience, I would agree that they have even more to offer a younger, still-developing girl.  

The key to a college girl story is the classic "coming of age" theme. Unfortunately, the very phrase "coming of age" has been so overused in contemporary culture that it has come to mean nothing more than moving out of the house and having an ill-fated fling that teaches you a good "life-lesson" along the lines of "I shouldn't sacrifice my dream for a pretty face"  Indeed, I would suggest that today coming of age means coming to self. Follow your dreams.  Don't settle.  Demand the respect you deserve.  Take time to take care of yourself.  Discover who you really are.  These are all typical themes in contemporary "coming of age" stories.  However, they are all ultimately still the "life lessons" of a child.  Realizations all centered on the self.

There was a time when coming of age meant something more.  To come of age meant to transition from a girl to a woman.  It was the process of taking on the responsibilities of an adult and the concerns of a lady.  The affairs of womanhood are intrinsically different than maidenhood.  To grow up, to become an adult, is to realize that life isn't all about you.  It is the dawn of understanding that there are things in life that require sacrifice, and that you are capable of making those sacrifices on the strength of your own will.  Though it may be considered "un-feminist", these books embraced the idea of the "womanly soul".  This was the idea that a woman, by nature, is intelligent and strong, but also nurturing.  A child is by nature selfish and aware only of those things which relate to it specifically.  A woman must cast of that childhood self-absorption and embrace her responsibilities as an adult.  

What are some of the "life lessons" to be found in my 5 books?  Jo March learns to love serving others.  She learns that integrity is one of the most valuable and simultaneously the most easily lost of virtues.  Elnora Comstock begins the book and remains constant as an incredibly strong and sympathetic character.  She is a dedicated and determined worker, passionate and loving, and is strong as steel.  Francie Nolan learns how to take care of herself, and yet how to forgive, love, and trust those closest to her.  Anne Shirley learns to control and yet embrace an flighty and impulsive nature.  She learns how to apply herself and how to relent in the face of her wounded pride.  And Judy Abbot exemplifies the beauty of a happy, loving soul.  

These are the "strong female characters" girls ought to be looking up to.  Women who exemplify all of the best attributes we are capable of as a sex.  How can such women exist in literature, and yet our daughters, sisters, and friends are told to look to Bella Swan as a "strong heroine"?  She isn't the only example to be found of the current standard of moral [lack of] strength, but she is always the first to come to my mind because she is so very disappointing.  If you would like one from classical literature, I would offer up Becky Sharp from Thackeray's Vanity Fair.  I remember watching the Reese Witherspoon movie adaptation, and being absolutely horrified when, in one of the "making of" features, I heard all of the women on the crew praising Becky for being such a "strong" woman, so "ahead of her time."  Becky Sharp was a character who sold her soul, heart, and body for social advancement, money, and power.  Thackeray never meant her to be a likable character (indeed, the book is subtitled "a novel without a hero").  But the horrifying part was that these women knew that...and thought her the stronger for it!  These women respected the fact that Becky viewed her body as a commodity she could use to get ahead in life.  I suppose, in a society that thinks like this, it is not surprising that we are producing Bella Swans and holding them up to be revered and respected.  But what can such a society expect from the girls who are doing the revering?  What can they possibly grown into?

So, to conclude this overly-long post, I suppose I just want to add my small voice on the side of real womanhood.  If I am ever blessed with a daughter of my own, I will share Anne, Elnora, Judy, Francie, and Jo with her.  If I am lucky, their stories will take root in her soul, as they did in mine, and their strength, knowledge, and beauty will shape her more than the twisted and deformed models society will be offering her.