Never mind the live painting...what's worth living for?

I am currently reading a book that I predict will go down in my personal history of most favorite and beloved books- The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Fifty pages into the book I have NO idea what the title means, and I am dying for even just a hint that can help me uncover it. But despite that mystery, I am thoroughly loving it.

The book, originally french, goes between the perspectives of two characters tied in some way to a fancy building in France. One is very intelligent twelve year old Paloma, who come from a wealthy family and lives in a four thousand sqare foot appartment in the building. The other is Renee, a fifty-four year old widow who describes herself as rather disgusting and poor, and works as the concierge at the building (7, rue de Grenelle)

Here's the catch, on the younger side: on the last day of school when she's thirteen, Paloma plans to commit suicide.

Which is a very dark thing to a twelve year old to even consider, let alone plan on doing...though not totally unheard of.I am more able to connect to her for the obvious reasons- age, etc.- but there's a part of her that I feel I will never understand. For example, Paloma is a lover af art, and she watches a real life scene in the hallway that seems to immitate a piece of artwork she's seen exactly, and in some ways broadens her understanding of art...life art.

Of course, when she's done thinking this, Paloma decides even moments like that- rare, exciting moments for a person like her- are not worth living for.

And I am stuck thinking about how TOTALLY and COMPLETELY irrational this is, and I have to go back and read over her thinking again. And it always comes up thes same.

But Paloma is a smart girl, and she knows that. She talks with an air of dark, sophisticated knowing, and I always feel so awkward. This character knows something I don't. She puts me down. ALL the time. And though I admire her persistence and sense of thought, I don't like her as a person. Atleast, I hate that she has such a cynical attitude. She's intelligent enough to sense it.

But that's the thing. Paloma has so much smart thinking and reasoning behind her plan that it's almost impossible to disagree with her. While at the same time, you couldn't disagree with her more.

And this is what's driving me absolutely insane...

Like Old Friends...

My room is a hurricane of books. I could probably spend an hour describing every bookshelf, every nook and cranny that one of my- hundred or so?- books has wormed its way into. I've begun to think they have minds of their own.

Which they might.

But yesterday I took on the impossible task of attempting to organize three huge stacks of books, due to the purchase of two new wall bookshelves(LIFESAVER!). I came across many books that I loved but hadn't seen for the longest time because of the clutter. Findind them felt like finding old friends, as reading is such a huge part of my life.

All of my absolute favorite books fill those two shelves now, but I was especiall happy when I pulled out (from god knows where)my copy of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, one of my favorite reads from this summer.

Francie lives in Brooklyn many decades ago (I'll find out when later today, trust me!), in an era where money is somewhat hard to come by. It is the story of her childhood- practically from birth to young woman. I especially loved this book because besides Francie's twelve year old self being one of my favorite characters in the world of literature, I get to watch her grow and change.

I remember particularly the ending- its abruptness stood out to me. In the very end of the book, Francie is about twenty, and watching a young girl play around outside- alone. She says "Hi, Francie," and when the girl shoots ack that her name is most certainly NOT Francie, she says nothing. Then, walking inside her home, she whispers "Bye, Francie."

I remember all of this and more, and I haven't picked up the book since last summer. This part, Francie is seeing her past self in one way or another, and recognizing that she's now a different person. When she says "Bye, Francie," she's letting go of her childhood, and starting the rest of her life fresh...with more than a few memories tucked away, just in case she does want to look back at some point.

And remember.

Lost Alongside Isabel

I think for now I've taken a nice, LONG break from posting. A second cycle of ELA writing entries are forcing me to pick up where I left off. Thank you, Ms. Robbins.

In writing, we are working in groups on fiction sub-genres. Mine by choice is historical fiction, which I have not written since fifth grade- though it was probably my best writing of that year.

But anyway, I am for that purpose currently reading Chains, by Laurie Halse Anderson. Though the book is a somewhat easier read than some other things I've read in the past, it lets me become totally engrossed and lost in the words themselves.

So lost that it seems I completely lose track of time whenever I open the book. The words fly off the page, and I absorb them like a sponge. Isabel, the main character in Chains, is a slave during the time of the revolutionary war, working for a secretly loyalist couple with her younger sister Ruth.

At times, Isabel seems to feel lost- whether she's daydreaming as she labors over whatever order Madam has demanded from her, or she's lying in bed at night, dreamimng of home...but really, where is home for her.

The idea of home is pretty much a lost concept to Isabel. The only home she's known is the one of the recently deceased elderly woman her family used to work for. She longs for a nonexistant place...and I truly feel sorry for the poor lost soul.

This made me realize how fortunate I am, and the people I know are. I could have easily been born in the place of some one in Isabel's situation. For some people, the word and concept of home is as it is to Isabel: foreign.