Baguettes and Books

I'm a bit of a crusty person. It's true. There is more than one way to call a girl a B****, and I've heard more than I can count on fingers and toes. And that's just referring to myself personally. I've heard it in emails, in person, through gossip, over the phone, you name the method of communication, and short of having it spray-painted on a freeway sound barrier, its probably been used to call me some version of the witch-with-a-B. Heartless. Frigid. Stone-faced. This goes a long way back too. On my mission I was "the sister who didn't take any crap, not from anyone." Its also as recent as within the last 6 hours via gossip at work in a place where I have spent less than 10 hours in the last 3 months.

Its OK though. If you are one of my lovely wonderful friends that knows me better and you would like to jump in and defend, well then I'm grateful, but I don't take any of it very personally. Because you see, every time I hear it, I ask myself 2 questions. First I ask myself if I deserved that. The answer is usually "maybe". Then I ask myself if I would change my behavior. And that's where my answer is generally "No". Not in the cases where I get called those names. Because if I'm crusty towards someone whose response is to turn around and start calling names, I would be willing to bet there is a reason I was defensive with them in the first place. And all they've done by calling me that name is justify my defenses against them.

Don't get me wrong, there are times when I do regret my behavior or my defenses with people. Those are the times when I am defensive with someone and their behavior does not justify my defenses and I discover that they are really just lovely people and then I casually ask their forgiveness and they laugh it off like I'm some sort of comedienne.

But in the cases of the big B, i probably deserve their name calling and they probably earned my treatment. See how nice that works?

Now crustiness aside, you should probably know that I am actually a big squishy puddle on the inside. I may not emote externally, but between my brain and my heart there are a whole lot of pictures of babies, fields of daisies, roly poly puppies and kittens, and even a few *gasp* tears.

You know how ogres are like onions, because they have layers and not everyone likes them? Well I am a French Baguette. I have 2 layers. The crusty crunchy cut-the-roof-of-your-mouth and crumble into a thousand pieces exterior, and a super squishy but ultimately yummy and just a little bit salty middle.

Ehich brings me to a completely unrelated 2nd point.

Something else you should know: I love reading. When I was a kid the Hennepin County Library system would have a book sale once a month. They would clear their shelves of the books that were falling apart or never checked out and set them up on folding tables in a big multi purpose room. Now we didn't really get a consistent allowance as kids. But when that glorious saturday came around we each got a dollar and could choose whatever we wanted to read. A dollar doesn't sound like much. But here's the kicker. Paperbacks were 10 cents apiece and hardcover was 25 cents. There were some grown up things that were a whole dollar, but that was not my realm. At the very least, I had 4 new books a month. But 4 books never lasted a month, and I knew that, so I usually got between 7 and 10. I'm pretty sure this is where I learned how to figure out coins. I didn't learn "a quarter is 25 cents" I learned "a quarter is a hardcover book" Because you see, sometimes I only wanted 1 hardcover, but if I only got one hardcover and the rest paperbacks, it would leave me with a lonely 5 cents. And there was no bargaining for an extra nickel. A dollar was a dollar right up until the day my siblings and I figured out that if we each had a lonely nickel we could collaborate on a final selection.

Now let's do some the math. At the time, there were 4 of us kids choosing our own books, with mom helping number 5 pick a few of her own and then my dad going nuts in the classics and nonfiction sections. At the least there were 20-30 "new" books in our house each month. But I would venture to say that we never brought the low numbers home. We are talking 50 or more "new" books per month. I'm certain that most of them got returned and re-used, although to this day there are more than a few books on my parents and my sibling's and my bookshelves that say "officially withdrawn from the Hennepin County Library System" on the inside of the cover.

And my parents really let us pick anything we wanted. This is how I devoured the Babysitter's Club, Sweet Valley High, and Trixie Belden Mysteries all before the age of 10. This is also how I met Anne of Green Gables, everything by Madeline L'Engle, and a lovely old favorite called "Wild Violets." I snatched up Judy Bloom and Beverly Cleary like they were gold. Great literature and rubbish blended together in the mind of a 4th grade girl as every word made sense of the world around me. And its not like my parents weren't aware of what I was reading. I remember how silly I thought it was the first time I saw my dad reading a sweet valley high book. (It was the one where Elizabeth gets in an accident and starts acting all crazy and kissing Jessica's boyfriend Bruce. And poor Todd felt so rejected and Enid didn't know what to make of it. You know that one.) Anyways, I told my dad how silly I thought it was and he took the opportunity to talk to me about the books. He said he wouldn't stop me from reading anything, but that he thought these sweet valley books were pretty mindless. I took that into account and kept reading whatever I could get my hands on, including the rest of Sweet Valley High. The thing is, to a 10 year old, Sweet Valley High is amazing literature set in a fantasy land called high school.

I'm the first one to admit that my taste in literature isn't high or pretentious. I read what I like, and I know whether or not something is well written and that's not always what determines what I like. For example: Twilight. Well written enough to engage huge audiences. I can admit that. Can't stand the books. Eragon. Predictable, borderline mediocre, writing by a 17 yr old who spent his home-schooled life discovering the formula for a fantasy and then reproducing it. Love the books.

So how can a girl love Sweet Valley High and Anna Karenina at the same time? How can a die hard Harry Potter fan openly admit to a love for Eragon and the occasional tween romance? And why does a crusty B**** have every Tacky the Penguin book Helen Lester ever wrote?

I'll tell you why. Its the characters. If a book has character development, or a character that's well written, or a character that I like, I'll read it. Its the characters that make a story. Jessica and Elizabeth (from SVH) had a pretty complex relationship for a 10 year old to try and sort out. Stacey and Kristy and Claudia and MaryAnne (BSC) were the people I wanted to be friends with. Harry Potter has the kind of friends I want. Levin (Anna Karenina) is probably the fictional male character I would most like to marry. And the only reason I finished reading the Twilight books was because i wanted to find out what happened to Alice. Bella could have and should have died in the baseball scene in book 1 (she was weak, whiny, and never went any deeper than wanting a boyfriend/sex/baby) Alice was the only girl with any personality in the whole set. I know some of you love twilight. That's fine. You probably saw something in it that I don't. That's fine by me. I have plenty of other books and characters to love, I don't need those particular 4. (see how i can be crusty?)

Sometimes I read a book without even realizing I love it. Sometimes I misjudge a book the same way I misjudge people. Like Hunger Games. Which I enjoyed reading. I thought "this is a decent read. It's engaging, and the heroine is not only pretty darn kick-A, but she's complex. Her whining and insecurity did not get on my nerves the way certain other female so-called-protagonists do. Instead of not recognizing her own beauty, this girl didn't recognize her own strength. And that runs deeper for me. But at the same time, I didn't feel particularly attached to any of the characters until I got to the end of the 3rd book, and someone died that i didn't think would die, and I was devastated for days. I'm not kidding you. Days. I would think about this character and just melt. I honestly forgot she was fictional. And then I knew that I loved the books and the characters.

Now here's the thing about devouring books and befriending characters great and small. You may claim that they are fictional, but the thing is, these characters came from someone's mind. Which means the emotions and traits are real. And they speak to enough people that we must see something in them that we can relate to. That's right people, I believe in fictional characters. I believe in dragons and I believe in high school drama. I even believe in Bella, even though I don't like her. (She would probably call me that one name.)

Which leads me to the thing I learn from believing in fictioinal characters. Everyone has a favorite. And our favorite characters mean something. But I don't think we go around liking the characters that are most like ourselves. That would be pretty narcisisstic. From what I've seen, people truly love the characters they would most like to become. Not in the "I want to be Frodo so I can wield the ring of power" sense, but in the "I want to be Faramir because I'd like to believe I would turn down the ring outright like he did in the book and not be tempted by it the way Peter Jackson portrayed it that blasphemer." Not "I'd like to be Harry and have magical giant show up one day to rescue me from drudgery and take me to a magical vault full of money" but "I'd like to meet Snape and give him a hug and thank him for everything he did for us muggles and the wizarding world."

So what characters do you love, and what does that tell you about who you want to be?
I love Neville Longbottom, because all through the series I kept thinking "there's a reason this kid is in Gryffindor. I love Luna Lovegood even more, because she had a Ravenclaw mind and a Gryffindor heart. I love Katniss because I honestly think she gave up even Gale just to save her baby sister. I love Levin for the chapters on threshing and value he placed on working regardless of stature. I love Tacky because he's not afraid of being an odd bird. I love Eragon and Nasuada for figuring out how to grow up at the same time as his author did. I love book-version Eowyn and Faramir because they deserved each other in a gentle way the same way movie Eowyn and Faramir (who I do not love) deserved each other in a bumbling way.

Which brings me to a final point. Movie versions of books are just fine as long as you have read the books and know what's really happening. Watching the movies without the books is sort of like eating a twinkie without and cream in the middle. You left out the good stuff, but you got the shell.

Watching a good movie that gets the emotions of the characters right can enhance the book experience. Like tonight. When I was sitting in a theatre watching Katniss sing to Rue. And this crusty baguette sobbed like a baby. The gasping kinds of sobs that everyone can hear. With facial leakage and everything. And I suddenly realized I think I love Rue even more than I love Katniss, because I think she's the kind of brave that I'd like to be someday.

So take that, gossippy work ladies.