Where have all happy endings gone?

“And so they lived happily ever after.”

While that’s a common enough ending for the younger readers, I can’t think of a single modern novel off the top of my head that ends completely happily for all/most of the characters (with the notable exception of genres like chick lit/romance where the inevitable Shakespeare comedy plot plays out or those stories that turn abruptly at the end to give an almost false sense of hope). Why is that? After all, if some critics believe that novels are meant to mirror real life, where are the stories documenting loving marriages, healthy children being born, or even just successful careers coming to a happy end? Granted, there is quite a bit of tragedy in the world – both large and small – but some of the greatest stories ever told are all about good triumphing over evil. So where is that other “happy” percentage of the population being represented with quality lit. and the small joys of their lives? Is happy lit. too boring or too close to life?

To that end, I was chatting with some Russian friends a few weeks ago and they said one of their major issues with Russian literature is that it is ALL political and depressing. Their lives were bad enough at times in Russia, “why read more about tragedy, poverty, and suffering when we already know all about it from history?” they asked.

I really didn’t have a good answer for them as I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. While I am all for realistic fiction and love dark, tragically beautiful novels as much as any bibliophile, I’m surprised by how imbalanced the current publication market seems to be – with the most graphic, devastating books reaping in all the praise while anything that seems to be positive about life gets relegated to that “inspirational” / “book club” / “beach read” pile that doom it to huge success with the general public but largely ignored by the literary elite.

On the other hand, many of the nonfiction memoirs that are popular now are all about the “happy path” – most notably, the recent film adaptation of Eat Pray Love. It certainly does not surprise me to find out that many women have tried to follow Gilbert’s same itinerary to a more peaceful, blissful existence. These followers rationalize that it worked for one, it can work for them. And, after all, books like Gilbert’s are almost an extension of that bookstore staple – the advice/lifestyle section. When I worked at a major retail bookstore the latest celebrity fad diet/exercise/lifestyle book would fly off the shelf (on the other hand, those clever, dreary fiction books may only be sold one every few hours).

So what happened to those classics of literature that managed to combine both in a brilliant and beautiful way? Why don’t we want advice or keys to a happy life in our fiction anymore? Why can’t we model our lives on fictional characters who have the space, opportunities, and ability to find a better life?

I wonder if partially we have so many other avenues for these “happy” stories (from “feel-good” TV comedies to fuzzy newscasts that “salute” the good people in our communities every week to the heartfelt and real outpourings of love and support after the many major tragedies that have rocked our nation along with the world in these last few decades) that fiction is perhaps one of the last places where people can freely explore these corners of darkness and call it art. “Let’s be realistic in our fiction!” was the clarion call for the 20th Century American writer (and many of the world writers) and certainly their outpouring about their lives has lived up to that cry – focusing on war, atrocities, and the seedy underbelly of our urban centers.

So, in a way, my questions boil down to these incredibly open-ended questions: are today’s fiction writers just so unhappy that no realistic fiction can end well or only with a small sliver of hope? Or, are these would-be happy writers moving their stories to another genre where it can be taken more seriously as advice is coming from honest-to-God experience and not a fantasy world of what could potentially work out for someone?

Or perhaps I’m missing the point entirely. Perhaps I should be focusing on the changing readership that reflects the common morality and perspective of their times which helps define what constitutes a “good story.”

However, it’s certainly something to think about before I get to answer that question from yet another student asking me why most of their reading lists are full of “super depressing people who just super depress me.” I wish I had a better answer. Or, at least, a happy one…

Banned Books Week

Welcome to Banned Books Week!

I've been sharing links from the official ALA site to my students and I enjoyed the discussion so much I'm sharing it with you...

Here's a list of the Top 100 Banned Books from 2000-2009

Take a look at that number 1 book!

I'll be posting my regular post tomorrow.

Why Did Jo Get Married? Realism and Fairytale in Alcott's Little Women

(Melville and I decided to switch days this week; she'll give us a fabulous post on Wednesday! --Shelley)

There are many things to love about Louisa May Alcott’s children’s novel Little Women: its endearing characters, who naturally make mistakes, indulging their selfishness and certain temptations, but who, more often than not, are remorseful for their wrongdoing, and strive to be better, to be “good”; its joys and gratitude in the simplicities of life, particularly family life, despite the burdens of poverty; constantly turning negative situations/attributes into positive ones: “Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity, is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world”; the blessings and payoffs that come as the result of personal determination and concentrated work (especially for the disadvantaged 19th century female); its depiction of respectful, powerful, intelligent, hardworking, and amiable women; and a genuine celebration of all things American, including its faults: “[Amy’s] old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign polish.”

These aspects of the novel, including many others, reflect the novel’s strength: its sense of realism. We can identify with the characters on many levels: they are flawed individuals who are constantly learning as they mature and gain more experience; they have hopes and dreams that involve careers and romance; they have a deep love and connection with family and friends; most importantly, they must constantly overcome roadblocks and struggles as they proceed through life, which sometimes means making a serious life-change. Such changes and adjustments make these characters complex, and as the world and its inhabitants are complex, the text exudes reality in many forms.

And yet, I am ultimately reminded that this is a children’s novel (especially the first half) because, with all of the realism, the text also greatly succeeds because of the nostalgia Alcott creates. She makes stitching and mending by the fireside, sharing and writing stories, putting on plays, befriending neighbors, housework and domestic life, raising children, teaching, and battling poverty sound pretty enjoyable, despite the difficulties inherent within such activities. It seems as if Alcott celebrates joys and hardships alike, creating a paradoxical fairytale-like aspect to the story while it is at the same time entrenched in realism. I mostly get this sense from the fact that every conflict eventually works itself out **SPOILER ALERT**: Mr. March recovers from pneumonia and makes it home from the war safely; Beth recovers from her scarlet fever, and even when she suffers an early death, she willingly accepts her hard fate with hope and grace; all the girls find happiness in a marriage of their choosing; Meg and Brooke’s early marital woes are pretty normal and are easily overcome (their marriage eventually thrives with the addition of vivacious twins); Laurie and Mr. Laurence’s relationship persists stronger than ever after several instances where Laurie’s “manliness” is threatened; Laurie graduates from college with honors after many distractions jeopardize his earning a diploma at all; Amy’s early selfishness and vanity blossom into social tact and grace (she is the traditional belle of the ball in all aspects); after Laurie’s devastating rejection from Jo, he and Amy are neatly paired together in a most romantic coupling; and the March family ultimately stays together despite three marriages because they all live close to each other, and regularly interact. Most importantly, Jo—the seeming outcast who identifies more as a boy than a girl, who has much trouble holding her tongue and controlling her temper, who basically feels unlucky and out of place—finds a suitable partner in the Professor (quenching her fear of loneliness), and even more, is able to live her dream of helping and schooling young lads. In the end, everything just seems to work itself out; it seems too perfect in spite of all the difficulties the March family faces.

So, how real is Little Women? After Amy and Laurie’s marriage and return from Europe, Bhaer magically appears to save Jo from the horrid loneliness and boredom she envisions for her future: “She opened it with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had come to surprise her,—for there stood a stout, bearded gentleman, beaming on her from the darkness like a midnight sun.” The professor is imagined as a “ghost” and a “midnight sun,” two very magical, abstract qualifications. And then Jo, who all her life swore off marriage, and with immense restraint repeatedly rejected her best friend’s marriage proposals, ends up becoming Bhaer’s wife, all the result of her own desires. Is Alcott’s decision to marry Jo off a reflection of reality—a reflection of the compromise many 19th century women made in order live less lonely and financially depraved lives, or maybe a reflection of Jo’s “tender, womanly half of” her nature that has finally blossomed in adulthood—or is Jo’s fate unrealistic and more mythical, compared to her independent actions and tendencies throughout the lengthy text? In other words, is her fate more magical because it’s a happily constructed Victorian ending for a female character who, throughout the whole of the text, would rather not be married? Can Jo—the persona of Alcott and the main protagonist of the story—still be considered the heroine of the text for contradicting herself, and being married in the end?

I find Jo’s situation at the end the most fascinating aspect of the text because it sparks so many questions about the purpose and meaning of the text, and subsequently provides many reasonable possibilities as answers. On one level, one could argue that Jo makes a powerful and artful decision to marry Bhaer: he will help her “bear” two boys in addition to serving as the instructor for her all-boys school, thereby allowing her to fulfill her dream to always live and be surrounded by young lads, whom Jo claims to more closely identify with. By marrying the Professor, then, Jo uses her husband as the means to her true happiness and career goal. And yet, I feel like Jo’s desire to be with Bhaer is more of an emotional one, as Alcott intends: “Was it all self-pity, loneliness, low spirits? Or was it the waking up of a sentiment which had bided its time as patiently as its inspirer? Who shall say.” The narrator purposefully puts doubt into the reader’s mind as to Jo’s desire for Bhaer’s partnership, but it’s clear that her desire is spun from emotion. For example, when the Professor does not show up for three days after spending two straight weeks with Jo, she “become[s] pensive, at first, and then,—alas for romance,—very cross.” Her reaction to Bhaer’s absence seems to be a romantic one, not a deceitfully constructed one. Jo’s emotions strongly reveal themselves again when she tears up after finding out that Bhaer will move across the country, and possibly crush her wish to be with him. Evidence from the text, then, more strongly suggests that Jo really loves Bhaer, and does not want to just use him for her own personal gain (business-wise).

Still, this ending seems too perfect for Jo, as it does for the rest of the family who care about her, making Little Women somewhat mythical. Is Alcott’s perspective just a positive one? Why did Jo have to be married? Her decision and desire to marry leaves me a bit unsettled because it seemingly contradicts her previous depiction as an independent woman dead-set on not being married. Obviously, people can change as they grow older, as Jo very well might have, but from a narrative standpoint, why does Alcott marry Jo off? Is it enough for Alcott that Jo does not give in to Laurie’s advances, and end up as Mrs. Laurence? After all, Bhaer is an unconventional match for a Victorian heroine, regardless of Jo’s unconventionality herself. Was upsetting Victorian’s readers’ desire for Jo and Laurie’s marriage enough to satisfy Alcott’s will to make Jo the independent heroine that she seems to be? I’m not sure, mostly because she seems to satisfy the rest of the story with Amy’s marriage to Laurie (pretty romantic in itself) and Jo’s ultimate marriage to Bhaer. So, I ask you this: why is Jo married off in the end? Is Alcott merely looking out for herself financially, trying to sell a successful novel that pleases the Victorian public’s appetite for a conclusion marked by three happy marriages? Or does she really think all sorts of women, even independent women like Jo, will find true happiness in marriage, if that marriage is decided freely by both man and woman? Or is she merely illustrating—realistically—that people are complicated beings who, through life experience, alter their attitude and beliefs toward certain subjects and ideas? Would Little Women be as successful and celebrated as it is if Jo stayed unmarried and possibly lonely for the rest of her life, even if she was independent? Is Alcott claiming that too much independence breeds loneliness and unhappiness, or maybe that one’s true happiness is through their relationship with others, especially with a spouse and children? What do you think? I would love to know!!


**Please note: our September book of the month is Ivan Doig's The Whistling Season, which we'll be discussing in a couple of weeks. Try and read it if you can! http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/02/books/review/02birkets.html

Taking the fear down a notch...

Oh my dear Melville, let me try and cheer you up.

I too often ride the waves of this same disappointment, especially after seeing the bestseller list at Borders (Sarah Palin? Stephanie Meyers??) or after teaching a class of apathetic teenagers. But two things usually make me feel better: 1) Perspective 2) My own intellectual journey.

[I do not have exact statistics for the following assumptions, so if you have more exact facts, please feel free to correct me.]

I think every intellectual (or reader or avid learner) in every generation feels like his/her society is decaying intellectually and that pop culture and contemporary fiction are getting stupider. Also, the thinkers always seem to feel like there is only a small percentage of those who care about intellectual pursuits…and they are probably right. But does this truly mark a decaying of society or is it just natural that the “intellectual” group is always smaller? And, is our society really losing readers and thinkers in comparison to other generations and societies?

When we look back 450 years ago, only a very small percentage was literate; only the wealthy or a specific class of people (as those in the church) could learn to read. Reading was a luxury many couldn’t afford or just weren’t allowed to do. Then, Luther, Calvin, and others preached that every one should be able to learn and the reading population expanded (this is an oversimplification of a small part of the reformation). However, it’s not as if every single person began reading and studying; more people were allowed to do it, but it’s not as if every person jumped at the chance (I imagine the pay was still as low for professors as it is today).

And, it’s not as if everything published was Literature. The pop culture “trashy” lit has existed since the expansion of the reading population. We’ve had romances since the medieval period, had crime pamphlets in the early modern, and had “dimers” that came out of the American West. Shakespeare wasn’t the only one writing in the Renaissance, like so many of my students think. And, not everything that was published was as good as Shakespeare.

Readers and writers have had to defend the importance of literature for a long time as well. Over these hundreds of years as each new literary movement came about, there were literary articles about defending the importance of literature and defending the newest art form or literary movement. Since there has been literature, there always seems a defense to accompany it. And, like I said each generation has the “intellectual” decrying the ignorance of their society: Milton, Swift, Alexander Pope, Sidney, Wordsworth, Wilde, Joyce (I’m not so good with the Americans), etc etc etc. So, are we really any different? Is it just us? Maybe the general population has always been that illiterate…[Part of today’s issue is that with the internet we are far more inundated with the opinions of the ignoramus, so they have just appeared to multiply]

I think the problem we as educators have has to do with the fact that today (mostly) everyone does have access to education. What’s frustrating is that SO many seem to take this access for granted. Teachers who have been in teaching for years say there does seem to be a shift in today's students. But are today’s kids really dumber or is just a change in their attitude and priorities? And, isn’t shifting attitudes inevitable in a changing world? Again, is it really a sign of intellectual decay or just the decay of manners and maturity?

Whenever I start to harp on these teenagers I have to ask myself: what was I like when I was their age? And, I have a confession to make: I didn’t always read the assigned books nor did I give a crap about Shakespeare. First, I had really awful English teachers who didn’t even seem to take us or our opinions seriously. They were jaded and didn’t seem to think Shakespeare was all that relevant to the world. And, neither did my parents. My mom read to me, which I think developed my love of reading in general. However, it’s not as if I was ever asked to consider the importance of literature to my life; reading was a hobby or fun activity, nothing more. I always liked reading and had an interesting imagination, but I did not spend my high school days seeing Marxist implications in The Great Gatsby. In fact, I really did not see the importance of literature until I was a senior in High School and I was assigned to read 1984. I had meant only to scan the book when I found myself sucked into the story, and for the first time really wondering what it all meant. It did not just entertain me, but for the first time it made me think. It was frightening and it made me confront many of my beliefs, crushing that moral absolutism that so often comes in the young and opening a door in my mind.

Yet I did not enter college as an English major; I actually started as a criminal justice major. (I had grown up watching too many crime shows and wanted desperately to be a spy). My first criminal justice class was taught by a rather large woman who used to work as a parole officer, and the first day she said to us that if we thought real life was like CSI than we should go home now because we were going to be severely disappointed. Devastated that my romantic vision of spy life was not to be, I asked a friend back home for some advice. She asked me what I liked to do most, and when I realized it was reading, I decided to sign up for some English courses (not without some sniggers and comments like “what will you do with THAT degree”).

My first English class was a British Literature course; we started with Beowulf and ended with Paradise Lost. I remember reading Beowulf in an evening thinking it was the most fascinating and beautiful piece I had ever read. I didn’t understand half of it nor could I articulate all it made me feel and think about. But it did make me realize that literature was important to my life and that even though I read a lot, I was far from being well-read. By the time we got to Paradise Lost, I had recognized why books and stories and language were fascinating and important, through the help of a really amazing teacher, of course.

I tell you all of this not to bore you with the mundane details of my life, but to show that maybe students aren’t as apathetic and ignorant as we think they are. Maybe they just haven’t found that book that is, as Emerson calls it, their paradise. There were many other factors that kept me from thinking and reading beyond my comfort zone as a kid and it took awhile to break those. I did not become a really good student until I was a junior in college, when I decided I wanted to get my PhD.

I’ve become very cynical in the last few years, and it has as much do with the petty infighting inherent in today’s academia as it does with the illiteracy of my students. I have recently decided I am taking myself (and the world) to seriously, which I think explains my current reading trend (I have read 7 young adult books in the past 2 weeks). It is not to say that I do not think Literature is important anymore, but I needed to be reminded why I wanted to work so hard to get a degree in the first place: I love to read because it’s fun. When we are faced with same feeling of “literary doom” as Melville so aptly calls it, I think we need to have a little perspective and hope. Not every student will find their way out of the Twilight storm, but some will as they always have. The literary apocalypse is not around the corner, as John Stewart told us yesterday, we need to “take it down a notch.”

Thought of the Day

Readers, a Category 1 maelstrom of literary doom and gloom has snuck up on me this week. Normally I can keep myself on an even keel about the prognosticators offering a dire view of our future, but currently I feel as if I have morphed into a Grinch with an academic heart two sizes too small.

Why?

Exhibit A: At the mall over the weekend I overheard a girl comment to her friends that she gets confused between The Grapes of Wrath and Fruit of the Loom underwear brand. Her friend commented the underwear was probably better than the book. And waaay hotter. The first girl agreed.

If my soul hadn't already sunk through my shoes, then this did it in.

Exhibit B: I read this article today. That's right, not only can the largest corporate bookstore in America not maintain a strong presence in a literary city in NYC, but the charm of the used bookstore is rapidly losing its appeal.

What happened to heady intellectualism? A culture of consciousness? Simply put: where my nerds at?

I wonder sometimes if I am pining for a lost art, a passion that is only shared by those who are just as obsolete or old-fashioned as my friends and I have apparently become. Is this the case? Our blog's motto, while conceived in some flippancy, also seems a little more accurate tonight -- "being literate in an increasingly illiterate world".

Now, lest you think I spend my time sitting alone in a dark room and silently writhing my hands in distress, I am cheered by the recognition that my fellow bibliophiles will not go gently into that good night as they have fought before for a rebirth of reading. A new twist on an old tale, if you will.

I also just stumbled upon this quote from Emerson to a friend about the power of reading which has helped:

"It happens to us once or twice in a lifetime to be drunk with some book which probably has some extraordinary relative power to intoxicate us and none other; and having exhausted that cup of enchantment we go groping in libraries all our years afterwards in the hope of being in Paradise again."

Perhaps Paradise is slowly becoming a little less crowded, but that doesn't make it any less precious... Does it?

A short post on some small thoughts...

I was intrigued by Melville’s previous post and I wanted to respond at length because I think it sparks a longer topic: What does our reading say about who we are?

I think Melville’s steadfast loyalty to a few books speaks volumes about who she is. (Loyalty is one of her best qualities—I hope she doesn’t mind me saying this about her).

If I could describe the type of reader I was it would be passionate and devoted yet inconstant. When I read a book, as previously mentioned, I will be completely rapt; I will devote all my time to a book I love and come up very little for food and company. When I am with a good book, I need nothing. Then, when the book is over, I despair because I miss whatever I found in that book. However, I can never reread a book. I have tried, but I find all the magic is gone. I know this part of the story, and I do not want the same story; I want a different one. I like the newness of a story, the discovery of characters and then watching them grow. I like to unfold it and see the plot for the first time. (I have reread books for school—and I will say it is helpful analytically, it’s just not as fun).

And, I find that I do not feel the same way about it over time. I hated Jane Eyre when I was in high school and loved it in my twenties. When I was a kid, all I read was mysteries, but now I do not find them as spectacular as I once did. I can be completely enraptured by a book and then in a few years I will wonder what I loved so much about it. Just as our palates, I think our taste in books develops and changes over time, which I guess why it would be interesting to reread a book with different eyes.

I also find that an attachment to a certain book at a certain time reflects a part of my life—and I think that it does for others also. I can remember reading Paradise Lost for the first time and having it absolutely shake my life. It shifted my future and I think its turmoil and confusion spoke to me. Although, Paradise Lost is different to me for that reason; it is my soul mate text, and the only book I am and always will be loyal too.

Any thoughts on the type of reader you are and why?

Are You a Good Neighbor? Is Anyone These Days? Little Women and Neighborly Affection

I don't know if it's a California thing, or maybe it's just me, but in terms of being neighborly, things have changed since I was a young girl (roughly 20-25 years ago). I remember playing in front yards and in the street with all of the kids on our block, whether it was during an intense game of snake-in-the grass, or during an exciting version of hide-and-go-seek on roller skates. Those days, those memories, seem like they belong to a world long since past: to a world where being kidnapped by a creep in a car was a distant threat, or where video games, cell phones, and the Internet didn't steal our sole attention. Obviously, there were dangers back then, and my parents took preventative measures; we weren't able to just roam all over the place with random people. But now, with as much as we know, it seems so unsafe to be neighborly! Or at the very least, it seems much more formal. Of course there are introductions, hellos, how are yous, etc., but I haven't been friends with my neighbors since I was younger, and I don't think it's just a kid thing. My parents became really close friends with their neighbors over 20 years ago, but aren't close with their current ones. They're courteous or whatever, like most of us, but not true friends. What's behind this? Is this a California thing, where there are just so many people around, we don't really need to be close with our neighbors because they won't necessarily consist of our only human interaction of the day? Maybe we don't need to rely on our neighbors as much as we used to since we now have access to so much aid, entertainment, etc. Or is it a technological thing, where we're more enveloped with worldly information and news than with what's going on right in our front yard? Please note: I'm clearly generalizing here, and writing about my personal experience, and what I've witnessed in terms of my family and friends. I'm sure this neighborly distance and mistrust isn't occurring across the country; I'd like to think that in smaller towns and communities, it's not. But anyways! How does this relate to literature?

Well, I'm finally reading Louisa M. Alcott's Little Women, which takes place during the Civil War in Concord, Massachusetts. I'm only a third of the way through, but I can't help but be won over by the March family, in spite of the overt sentimentality taking place. I'll have much more to reflect upon once I finish the novel, but for this week, one of the major realities that the text explores is the generosity, kindness, and graciousness that results from the hands of neighbors--from the hands of one's community. Indeed, one's "blessings" seem to be supplied by merely interacting with one's neighbors, but importantly, by doing so in a respectful way. The March family seems to be blessed emotionally, socially, and even materialistically for their manners and unselfish tendencies while interacting with others (including with other members of their own family), particularly with Laurie and Mr. Laurence, the wealthy teenager and his grandfather who live next door. By sharing company with each other, both families benefit from their neighbor's gender, which would have remained absent in their own home if their neighborly friendship/courtesy did not exist (Mr. March is away at war, while Laurie's parents are no longer living). Up to this point in the novel, it seems as if individuals in the text gain the most by acting as such--by being consciously aware of what it means to be a good neighbor. For example, Jo and the rest of her family gladly provide personal items and goods for Laurie in order to comfort him when he is sick, thereby establishing a strong friendship and bond with the young gentleman. Giving such things is actually a sacrifice for the family since they are struggling financially. The men in this text play their part, as well: Mr. Laurence goes out of his way to ensure Beth's happiness by allowing her to enter his home unattended in order to play on his piano; he eventually gives her--this young girl he's not related to--a piano once belonging to his beloved granddaughter, who has since passed away. Doing so is obviously not required, but Mr. Laurence recognizes the girl's modest dreams to play on a piano, and does what he can in order to please her because he sees her humility as an unassuming "little woman." Thus far, then, the characters in Little Women are super cool neighbors, and through this display of friendly affection, I think Alcott emphasizes that such thoughtful and selfless behavior creates the most happiness and joy in one's life. Luckily, I am able to share in such a way with my friends and family, even though they do not happen to be my physical neighbors. In addition to my neighbors, I always try to be nice to strangers and coworkers, but not AS NICE as the Marches and Laurences are with each other. I don't know; maybe if I lived in Massachusetts 150 years ago, I would experience life differently. Well, I know I would because only 25 years ago I did experience life differently in California, in terms of my association with neighbors. So now we're back: what's changed since Alcott's time and locale? What's changed over the past 25 years just in California? Must we experience such displays of respect, courtesy, and friendliness only in books written years ago? Please share your thoughts!

You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin'

Although I’m still getting my “school legs" back under me, I am thrilled to say that this year I am actually managing to carve out some time to read non-teaching books in drips and drabs.

To wit: I finally finished reading The Poisonwood Bible last week and I must admit, I’m not falling all over myself and raving about the majesty of the text. Now don’t get me wrong; I adore Barbara Kingsolver (goes with the territory, really, since I teach two of her novels and frequently reference Animal, Vegetable, Miracle in class) but I think one of the problems is that I went into the second half of the book with far too high expectations (even the real Melville probably couldn’t meet them when I’m in that reading mode). Most of the time I find to read now is while I’m at the yoga studio and my fellow yogis (and their mothers, one of the rare times I can be literal with that phrase!) were crazy about this book, telling me that it would change my life, my perspective on Africa, and make me want to be a better human being.

Well, I’m still good ol’ crazy Melville in California. I haven’t bought a plane ticket to Africa. I haven’t denounced all material possessions, nor do I find myself trying to pick up another language because of the sheer beauty of the words on the page. But I don’t think the problem lies in the book. As they say in relationships – “it’s not you, it’s me.”

The Poisonwood Bible is a beautifully written text that thoughtfully grapples with those tough philosophical and spiritual questions that I love to analyze. The characters are pitch-perfect and their narration kept me gripped to the edge of my seat. I even, at one point, dreamt about the novel – a mamba snake with glistening green eyes was my new daemon (yes, I’ve read Philip Pullman too often).

So what is it then? Why am I not in the throes of a passionate love affair?

I think I’m just not loving enough right now. Or, put it another way, I’m far too analytical.

Unless the book is designed to grab a reader simply based on plot and take you along for the emotional roller coaster of your life, I find myself comparing all new literature to those that I already love. In a way, because I fiercely worship a very small list of books, it becomes increasingly difficult for other novels to work their way into my top shelf – the inner sanctum of my books. I may spend the entire time reading a new book and thinking about how that same idea, that same style, that same attempt to move me was done so much better by one of “my authors.”

Now, granted, I don’t have the world’s greatest taste in books. Despite my M.A. and voracious reading habits in the summer, I generally fall in love with a book because it finds me at the right time in my life – I am searching for whatever message it is ready to impart. In fact, my list can seem a little odd or even a little shabby if you look at it from a purely literary point of view. But, it is what it is, and I stand by it.

So, until I can bring one of these books down a notch, or I re-read The Poisonwood Bible again with fresh, loving eyes, my list shall remain untouched.

While I don’t have the time or energy tonight to reveal them all – I’ll give you an eclectic sneak peek at my all-time life list:

(in no particular order and not the full list)

-- Matilda by Roald Dahl
He made school seem magical and I wanted Matilda’s magical powers oh-so-badly. And who doesn’t want someone with Dahl’s wit to keep you entertained all day?

-- Ex Libris and At Large and At Small (both books of essays) by Anne Fadiman
I would give my left hand, heck, the entire left side of my body to write even half as well as Fadiman. If there is one regret in my life, it is that I missed meeting her when she visited my undergrad university.

-- The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde
I’ve met the man and I can’t figure out which is more charming – the man himself or his books. I’ve decided both are hilarious.

--Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
Everything and nothing at once. Pure Genius.

--The Emily of New Moon trilogy by L.M. Montgomery
I re-read them every summer for about five years because I felt that transcendental “flash” she described so well…

--Any poetry book ever by Mary Oliver
The woman speaks to my soul.

--Eva Luna and Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende
Try to read the story “And of Clay We are Created” without being moved. I dare you.

And these are just a quick sampling. If I gave you the full list, I’d never get to re-read another of my favorites tonight (and the one I am teaching tomorrow) – Thoreau’s Walden.

But I’m not going to be too hard on myself. There’s always another book in the sea.

The next book I’m reading for fun is our next book club pick so stay tuned. I’m ready and raring to rave ….

How do you cure an addiction?

Firstly, I apologize for my lack of posts; I have been moving across the country. (More on that on a later date).

Secondly, I must admit I have this addiction, which becomes aggravated when I pick up a superbly original book, or in this case, a series. When this happens, I become so engrossed that I ignore everything (everyone) and can’t do anything until I finish (also why I didn’t post last week). It’s usually not a big deal, but when I am supposed to be moving and looking at houses, this addiction interferes with my real life. It is times like these that I am grateful for my husband who puts up with me, or lack of me, for three days until I finish whatever book I am obsessed with... [One time we had to go to a friend’s house for dinner, but I was so close to finishing a book, so I made him read me the ending as I drove—he was annoyed, but he did it].

I usually never take more than a few days to finish a book because something in me needs to know what happens (even if I am not particularly fascinated or even entertained by it). However, it is rare that I become so obsessed it is all I think about; the characters are so complex and fascinating that I want to know more about them, the plot is so entertaining that I can’t help but continue reading, and the ideas are so fascinating and original that I take days to digest all that I’ve read. It is also rare that a young adult series has this affect on me.

When I was twelve (okay maybe fourteen) I was lured in by the Harry Potter series because Rowling created a world I wanted to escape to. Despite the fact that a war brewed and an evil wizard killed without restraint, the fantastical world of magic appeals to children living such mundane existences with no such thing as magic, which is why I think children still love it. However, there was nothing particularly intelligent about the plot; it was still rather a basic “hero’s journey” and the characters rather typical. Especially, as the series ended, the plot became a cliché as if Rowling gave up and wrote the formula to please her obsessed fans (Anybody else roll their eyes at the nice and neat epilogue? Though, I admit I still read the 7th book in a day, and I will go see both movies this year).

The Hunger Games series is different.

It may not be a world I want to escape to, but it is a world I cannot stop thinking about.

Although it is labeled as “young adult,” there is nothing “young” in the ideas, in the story, or in the characters. I finished the series at 2am on Sunday night (I started Friday and there are three books), I reread the ending Monday morning, and, come today, I cannot stop thinking about it. The series opens in a dystopian, Orwellian America where the children in twelve districts of a corrupt capitol await a deadly raffle. To punish a rebellion that happened 74 years prior, each year the capitol chooses one boy and one girl from each district to play the Hunger Games. Twenty-four children total must fight to death in an arena filled with deadly obstacles as the districts watch live; there can only be one winner. However, this year will be different, setting a rebellion into motion with a young girl at the center: Katniss Everdeen. I do not want to give away any more specific details so that as you read, you can be just as fascinated by the plot’s numerous surprises as that is what makes the series such a fun read.

But what makes the series so smart, is Katniss. It is the first popular series with a strong, intelligent, and compelling female character who is not cliché or obsessed with a boy or made weaker by the presence of male characters. Although there is a romance, it is not the stupid cloying unrealistic romance that fuels lesser series with female characters. It is not the main concern of Katniss, only a fact of her life as a young woman reaching maturity. And, it is the real and painful messy love that is reminiscent of adult classics, yet the series maintains originality as Katniss never acts like a cliché or like the reader expects or like she thinks she will. And, these relationships only spur greater universal concerns and questions about love and life; they make the reader think about why we make the choices we do and what motivates our desires and goals.

Furthermore, the series central concern is with the horrors of human nature, asking similar questions that 1984 raises about the nature of power and control, about human complacency and defiance. The series asks: at what point would you fight back? How much pain could you go through? How much would you let yourself be changed by circumstance? Could you kill an innocent child to save yourself? Is there a right way to rule a society? And, much like in For Whom the Bell Tolls, in a rebellion, how can you tell which side is good or better? Although we may not live currently in a dystopian world, at times it feels we do have our own Hunger Games; there are times we have to make choices as a society where we must choose the lesser of two evils. And, the books make us think about our own world; there is a fine line between good and evil especially because these definitions are constantly shifting. The book also shows how politics in general is just a bunch of bull.

And, it is the way that Katniss explores these issues within herself that is truly grabbing. Although it may be typical of young adult fiction to feature a young character who must take on adult concerns too early, it is the way she confronts the above issues that makes this book a contemporary classic. The youth are the faces of a rebellion, and the way the book deals with these power-plays is truly fascinating.

As a hero, she is not perfect, and she compels the reader forward because she is confused and in pain but refuses to succumb to it. She is strong in order to protect those she cares about, but she is not invincible and her weaknesses are ours. She sometimes makes the wrong choices to do what she perceives is right because unlike other kids’ series, there is not a clear distinction between who is acting for good and who is acting for evil. [Just a sidenote: it always bothered me that Rowling made Harry such a Christ figure. Notice that he never actually kills anyone; even Voldermort’s death is mostly an accident.] The rebellion was not an easy automatic choice for her and the bad guy does not wear a black hat. Furthermore, her strengths are not the typical hero’s; she has emotions that often mess up her plans and those of others, and importantly, it is her compassion when others do not have any that makes her a great leader.

If you have read the series, or other young adult series, I would love to hear your thoughts! If you haven’t read it, you really should, and then we can talk about it.
[Also, if you have suggestions for my next addiction, I would love to have some. I miss Katniss and her story, so I need a distraction. My addiction is just a cycle…]