Thoughts on Satire

I'm a little bit behind the eight ball on this post. My TNY comes almost a full week behind the current newstand issue. No doubt, you have heard the media and the campaigns salivating angrily over the cover dated July 21st, 2008. I will not belabor that here.


I did, however, want to say something about the INSIDE of the July 21st issue (no, it was not just a cover, there were actually stories in the magazine), as well as a point about satire in general.


For the past couple of years, TNY has rotated several articles on both Barack Obama (including when he was in the state legislature) and Hilary Clinton. There was even a highly complimentary piece on John McCain a year or two ago. In the July 21st issue, in fact, there was a mini editorial type piece talking about the idea of "flip-flopping" and how mainstream media snatches on any phrase uttered by a candidate that looks like a policy change. TNY took a more rational view of such statements (emphasizing Mr. Obama) and placed them in a larger context of other statments made by the candidate and his history. In addition, there was a longer article on Mr. Obama (again, favorable) talking about the "art" of politics. As much as we would like our politicians to all shoot straight from the hip, such behavior would put us in one diplomatic mess after another. (If this sounds familiar, our current President prides himself on his Wild West approach to politics.)


I think that honesty is probably hard to define when you are a politician. What I mean is that the best politicians have to be willing to change their minds when circumstances change. Many of our laws have nothing to do with moral issues (definition of marriage, life, etc.), but have more to do with policy issues. And it is possible that two very different policies might yield similar--equally desireable or undesireable--outcomes. It is ridiculous to elect politicians whose ideas about every single thing are totally intractable: how could legislation ever be passed? Oh, wait, that is the current situation.


As for satire, well, this is what TNY does best. (There is a regular feature called Shouts and Murmurs, for example, that is just so snarky. Check out this gem.) A lot of their cover art takes two opposing images with a clever title and sheds clarity. The title of the controversial cover was The Politics of Fear indicating that some of the more outlandish claims against he candidate and his wife have nothing to do with who they really are, but fear over what they might be. And, like many fears, these stereotypes have no foundation in reality. The July 27th cover was tongue in cheek too, though it was just plain funny. The picture is great alone, but the title defines it best: A Summer Escape.






This one appeared less than two months after 9/11/01. This picture speaks volumes about what Mid Easterners in America must have been feeling, and are still feeling.


The following cover appeared on Mother's Day eight years ago and ignited a firestorm of its own, though it was mostly a "family" fight, kept to the confines of the regular readership. I think the frustration was that most female readers identify themselves with the woman on the left. But the juxtaposition puts the buxom, blonde bohemian mother in a much prettier light than the angular, pale working woman. I love it.

This last one, however, from 1998 is probably my all time favorite; it came out 10 years ago this week. If I ever got to do a girl's nursery, I would order a print of this cover and decorate in these very colors. How simple and perfect, but again taking two opposing images to shake up our perceptions. All of these last three are from Carter Goodrich. Each of his covers is like a gift.

Batting 0 for 2

This e-mail came from Cedar Fort today. The worst part about it? I've felt strongly compelled for months to get this manuscript looked at. I had my current and very best re-write ready in late April and hung on to it for three weeks before submitting it, trying to find time to get to the post office. Would it have made a difference? I'll never know. I'm just trying to find a lesson to learn in all of this that doesn't involve giving up my dearest ambitions.

"Thank you for submitting your work, Abish: The Story of A Convert. After careful consideration, we have decided not to publish your manuscript at this time. Please be aware that we offer to publish less than ten percent of the manuscripts we review. It just so happened that we received another manuscript about the story of Abish the same week that we received yours; both were extremely well written. Unfortunately we had to choose one over the other knowing it wouldn't be profitable to publish two novels about the same person. Although we did not offer to publish your manuscript, we strongly encourage you in your endeavors to get it published. "

Meh.

The Perfect Day

The pictures are finally downloaded, so here is the long-awaited post about my month of luscious, lazy leisure. (That phrase acutally sounds better if read with a British accent.)

On July 3rd, we drove to my parents' home in Utah, all in one day. It is a long trip, but we left at 3 am to arrive by dinner time and the kids did remarkably well. July 4th was the usual melee of parading, pyromanism, sweating and barbecuing. You know, the usual. I'll spare you my July 4th patriotism tribute/diatribe this year.

The next day we left for five wonderful days in Bear Lake. Plantboy has 8 siblings and every other year they do a family reunion. They take turns planning so that it is always some place different. It was our year to be in charge, and it has actually been a year in the planning to put it all together. (Read: stressful). We chose Bear Lake as a central-ish location rather than bringing everyone to us. All seemed to enjoy themselves and each day was fun and unique. I think it was a little bit harder to really enjoy myself because of the whole being in charge thing; the first day or two was especially stress-inducing.

My big kids were mostly very well-behaved, though the baby was a little bit harder. I think he was so sick of meeting new people and sleeping in a different bed nearly every night for a week that he was kind of a bearcat. Still, getting together with Plantboy's family (whom I really love), and doing all of our fun activities was wonderful. Here are a few pictures of some of the good times.

I'm so careful about Patchy's ultra-pale skin that he was the only one who ended up sunburn free. Even the baby got a red spot on one cheek.

I guess if your mother is a science teacher then you have to look at fossils to call it a vacation.

Everyone is smiling in this picture because it is BEFORE we hauled the two little ones down and then up 440 stairs in Minnetonka Cave. (That means we hit each stair twice for a total of nearly 900.)

This is a cute picture at the beach because it is all boys. The truth is that on Plantboy's side of the family, as of three days after the end of the reunion, there are 15 grandsons and 15 granddaughters. Every kid in this bunch got at least a little bit sunburned despite much diligent re-application of the Factor 150.

And how can you say you have been to Garden City without the stop at LaBeau's? I pounded two orders of French fries so fast at this place it is almost embarrassing. Almost. I didn't drink the fry sauce.

Sunset at the back of the cabin. Each family told a pioneer story and then we roasted smore's. My kids are in the gray and blue, half-turned in the center. It was a little lengthy but very cool. Uncle Sterling, of course, told the story of our great-great uncle Bob Squarepants. Hm . . . . not exactly what we had in mind when we requested a pioneer story.

One night, while we were all sitting around, we got to talking about what would be your perfect day, and would that include kids or not? I have been thinking about that a lot. Could there be ONE just perfect day? (I mean, the term perfect is absolute, right?) Would it really be a perfect day if you attempted to plan it that way? Or would it just happen on its own. Maybe a perfect day would include the kids, or my husband, or both . . . or maybe just myself. I had perfect days in each of May, June and July of 1996. There was a perfect day on my mission. Oddly enough, all we did was tract, but there was a feeling of testimony so down deep in my bones that there has been no room for doubt since. Every time something seems to not add up, I think of that day. Plantboy and I had a perfect night stargazing in Logan Canyon while we were dating. The day my #2 was born was quite perfect. There could have been other perfect days, but I think I am too much consumed with worry and planning.

But I digress.

After Bear Lake, Plantboy had to return home for work. He flew; we stayed for a few extra days. During that second week I was much-consumed with caring for my little brood, but there was time for some great things too. I mentioned before my fabulous visit with Nem and Desmama: two women who would live in my ideal neighborhood. I was having a good hair day that day. I helped my mom watch my sister's kids overnight and it was fun to see the five little boy cousins interact. My dad said it was no better than herding cats to get them to do what you wanted, but it was fun. My sister and I scrapbooked until one o'clock in the morning one night, laughing our heads off over old episodes of "The Office." I was able to see my mother teach a Relief Society lesson. There was another family barbecue, everyone is living within an hour of my parents now except for us, and a trip to Pine View dam. The waterskiing was not quite as sublime as my morning at Bear Lake, but it was still so much fun. On our last full day we rode the Front Runner, just to give the kids a train ride. Here are pictures of my husbandless week:

We actually took five kids on the Front Runner, but Patchy didn't want to get in the picture because he was really freaking out before we rode it. He calmed down once we got going.

Cousins. L-boy is actually more like Patchy's age but Scallywag's size.

Of course we had to get a picture in front of the breakdown train.

There is no such thing as fun if L-boy is doing sports. He takes this very seriously. Love the helmet.

Uncle Treff winds up for the pitch.

Patchy is less than serious.

Captain Tootypants wonders when he'll be big enough to play.

I love this picture because it coincides almost exactly with this post from last year. It is fun to see the kids on the same set of rocks to note how they've grown: and that we've added one.

I'm not sure if this is called leading off the base or the potty dance.

My mom came back with me to help with the driving. On our return trip we divided the driving into two phases, which made it a little easier on the driving, but the hotel room was a bit confining and crazy. On day two of our driving we discoverd a fantastic outlet mall just over an hour from my house. Mom couldn't believe I'd never been there, but I reminded her that except to see movies, I'd only been to the mall close to my house once in the past year--the last time she visited. On day three, Plantboy took half the day off and mom babysat so we could have a day time date. Oh, and we ate these carrots for Sunday dinner. Aren't they beautiful?

But day four.


Oh, day four. The PERFECT day.


Our only plan was to rent a mini-van and head to Haceta Head Lighthouse. We only had a vague idea of how to get there and a memory of a visit from six years ago.


I think that the beach below the lighthouse is officially going to rank on my list of the five most awesome places I've been*. It was impossible not to feel absolute joy as we lay on the beach watching the kids play and having a great time. My mother and I laughed until we were giggling like school girls. During low-tide we found pools of anenomes and rocks covered with mussels. During high tide, the waves crashed their freezing blasts up to my knees reminding me why I love the ocean so much. The view from the lighthouse was charming and a stray sea lion came to sun herself on the rocks below us. I was enchanted by the purple and yellow flowers clinging to the roofs of moss covered caves created by the tides. I have no adequate words for how perfect this spot is. Just. Seventy. Minutes. From. Home.


We found a delightful ice cream shop on the way home which features a flavor called "A Taste of Oregon" which has blackberries and hazelnuts. My kids were great; the baby slept coming and going and I really have a love for the minivan. When we got home, everyone was exhausted so we watched this favorite movie from my childhood that my kids have only recently discovered. Dinner was simple and delicious--my favorite chicken salad on warm pita bread with fried red potatoes from Plantboy's garden.


The kids went to bed early. Plantboy and I did too. . . .


A perfect day.


Mother returned home on Monday. (Insert sigh here) It has taken me a few days to adjust to normal life, but I had a teacher once who said that the memories and anticipation of summer vacation were better than the actual event. I think there is something to that. I have a golden memory that will shine for a long, long time.

* The other four are in no particular order: Glacier National Park (Montana) in July, Delicate Arch (Moab, Utah) in February under a full moon, Three Sisters National Park (Katoomba, NSW, AUS) either lightly dusted with snow in August or under a full canopy of ferns in December--its a toss up, Snow Basin (Ogden, Utah) on a perfect, sunny, late winter day off work.

Trust Is No Joke

When I was in the 9th grade my family visited my great-aunt who lived on an orange grove in Southern California. She bought all of her meds in Mexico and took us across the border one afternoon. I bought a hempy-looking pullover hoodie thing that said "Hard Rock Cafe Mexico" on the back. If you were in junior high or high school in the early 90's, you, no-doubt, can picture exactly the hideous garment I'm describing. I loved it. These jacket shirts were the height of cool that year in my small northern Utah hamlet.

It was stolen from our church during a combined young men/young women activity less than two weeks after I got home from California.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a very little thing. But for a long time afterward, I had a hard time trusting the kids in my ward, and I still have serious suspicions about who did it. To this day, I think twice before I hang something in the foyer at the church.

Our society functions simply because most of the people, most of the time, keep most of the rules. Especially the big rules. And whether it is because of conscious moral decisions made on a daily basis, or because they care too much about social norms to break with conventions, most people can be trusted. If not, you wouldn't dare leave your house. (Not convinced? Think of violent inner cities or war-torn countries.)

But now and then, things happen that shatter our innocence and plunge society into chaos:
* A girl is kidnapped from her home and held hostage for months by a homeless, crazy man her parents had tried to help.
* A father imprisons his daughter in a basement for two decades to cover-up his incenstuous relationship and the children he has fathered with her.
*A woman is tortured in her home before fleeing from her random attacker, whom she had never seen before that day.
*Two teenagers snap and mow down fellow-students in a place of learning.
*Nineteen "devout" men wrecked four planes, destroyed two buildings and took 3,000 lives after years of careful planning.

For those who have been victims of crimes, particularly violent crimes, abuse, or who have been betrayed, perhaps the worst part of the damage is not the act itself, but the years it can take to rebuild your faith in the goodness that constantly wars with the evil in man's nature. I don't know how awful it would be to look into the eyes of those around me and wonder, "Will this friend betray me?" "Will this man rape me too?" "Who in this room might be capable of opening fire on the crowd?" And even if you have not been a victim of something entirely life-shattering, I bet every one of you has thought at some point, "Will he break my heart too?"

These thoughts on trust have been in my head for weeks now, but have really come to the surface in the last day or so. Plantboy and I saw "The Dark Knight" on opening day. (No, it was not entirely my husband's idea, and, yes, I'm a geek, get over it.) Whereas Iron Man Tony Stark is funny and playful and happy to admit to being a hero--treating his vigilantism as a phase--Batman Bruce Wayne is dark and serious and tragic and secretive--treating his alter-ego as something that can only be excised from his soul when another comes the mantle can be passed to.

This post is not, strictly, a film review. There are many out there that are better writers than I am; you can read their reviews if you are interested. Nor will there be any spoilers here: if you like this kind of film you'll see it, and if you don't, then the plot details will be entirely uninteresting to you. My next paragraphs will be more about how this film affected me, and what I took from it.

Heath Ledger. He is everywhere in this film, and does every bit as good a job of stealing the show from Christian Bale as Jack Nicholson did from Michael Keaton in 1991. Though, I might argue, that Ledger's upstaging required greater skill than did Nicholson's. Bale is so much better as Batman than Keaton it is almost laughable. While Nicholson's Joker forces us to suspend belief and makes us laugh with his over-the-top antics, Ledger's Joker is frightening on a scale seldom seen at the movies. When I laughed at Joker's jokes in the film, I did so nervously, almost looking over my shoulder to see if he was watching.

His psychosis is so complete that he doesn't even look at cars he guns down in the street. He never has the same counterpart thugs in two scenes: there is no such thing as a right-hand man if you trust nobody and care for nothing. Even the mob bosses he obstensibly works for look like good family men who will draw lines somewhere. This film is a tragic exploration of good and evil, light and dark, crime-fighters and criminals. Ultimately the revelation is that both sides exist in all of us: it is our choices that define which way we go.

The story here is rich with juxtaposition--Joker v. Batman, Batman v. Two-face, Harvey Dent v. Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent v. Comissioner Gordon--the writing and directing is just subtle enough to not feel beat over the head with it, and just obvious enough so that you don't miss it in the middle of the mayhem. And mayhem it is. I left the theatre quite unsettled, wondering about the effect that a single person, completely uninterested in society's rules, could have on all of us.

The only performance I didn't really like was Maggie Gyllenhall. Why does every role she play seem so sexual? It is in her sultry, half-open eyes, her swishy walk and her ill-fitting bra. I actually really preferred Katie Holmes in this role--earnest, naive, adorable. I think I would have been much more moved by an unexpected plot twist had it been Holmes in the role. For me, Gyllenhall is just like Rene Zellweger and her brother: highly overrated. Maybe that is just me? I am also sad that Joker will be the defining role of Ledger's short career. I think of him in Knight's Tale--boyishly good-looking, funny, quick-to-smile--this fiendish character will instead be the last thing we know of him.

Anyway, if you are looking for a time at the movies that entertains, makes you think and keeps your eyes riveted, don't miss it. If you are looking for a light-hearted laugh . . . . Mama Mia might be a better weekend choice.

Oh, and don't forget to lock your doors.

200 Things (From Doreen's Blog)

1. Touched an iceberg (a glacier?)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Been a part of a hockey fight
4. Changed a baby’s diaper
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Swam with wild dolphins (though I was invited to do so on my mission)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a tarantula
10. Said “I love you” and meant it
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Stayed up all night long and watched the sun rise
15. Seen the Northern Lights
16. Gone to a professional sports game
17. Been to the top of the Sears Tower
18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
19. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
20. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Bet on a winning horse
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Taken an ice cold bath (this one, unfortunately, is closely related to an incidence of #26)
28. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Ridden a roller coaster
31. Hit a home run
32. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
33. Adopted an accent for fun
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Felt very happy about your life, even for just a moment
36. Loved your job 90% of the time
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Watched wild whales
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Gone on a midnight walk on the beach
41. Gone sky diving (this was scheduled for my 25th b-day, but we moved to Houston instead. Now with kids. . . . this will have to wait)
42. Visited Ireland
43. Ever bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited India
45. Bench-pressed your own weight
46. Milked a cow
47. Alphabetized your personal files
48. Ever worn a superhero costume
49. Sung karaoke
50. Lounged around in bed all day
51. Gone snorkling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Done something you should regret, but don’t
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Sung on a CD
60. Gone without food for 3 days
61. Made cookies from scratch
62. Won first prize in a costume contest
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Been in a combat zone (Does laser-tag count?)
65. Spoken more than one language fluently
66. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone (not a physcial fight)
67. Bounced a check
68. Read and understood your credit report
69. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy
70. Found out something significant that your ancestors did (Martin Luther is somewhere far down the line on our family tree)
71. Called or written your Congress person
72. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
73. Seen the Golden Gate Bridge
74. Helped an animal give birth
75. Been fired or laid off from a job
76. Won money
77. Broken a bone
78. Ridden a motorcycle
79. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100 mph
80. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
81. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing
82. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
83. Eaten sushi
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read The Bible cover to cover
86. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
87. Gotten someone fired for their actions
88. Gone back to school
89. Changed your name
90. Caught a fly in the air with your bare hands
91. Eaten fried green tomatoes
92. Read The Iliad
93. Taught yourself an art from scratch
94. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
95. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt
96. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
97. Been elected to public office
98. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
99. Had to see someone you love in hospice care
100. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
101. Had a booth at a street fair
102. Dyed your hair
103. Been a DJ
104. Rocked a baby to sleep
105. Ever dropped a cat from a high place to see if it really lands on all fours
106. Raked your carpet
107. Brought out the best in people
108. Brought out the worst in people
109. Worn a mood ring
110. Ridden a horse
111. Carved an animal from a piece of wood or bar of soap
112. Cooked a dish where four people asked for the recipe
113. Buried a child
114. Gone to a Broadway play on Broadway
115. Been inside the pyramids
116. Shot a basketball into a basket
117. Danced at a disco
118. Played in a band
119. Shot a bird
120. Gone to an arboretum
121. Tutored someone
122. Ridden a train
123. Brought an old fad back into style
124. Eaten caviar
125. Let a salesman talk you into something you didn’t need
126. Ridden a giraffe or elephant
127. Published a book (hope springs eternal)
128. Pieced a quilt (no, but I've hand quilted and tied them)
129. Lived in an historic place (define historic?)
130. Acted in a play or performed on a stage
131. Asked for a raise
132. Made a hole-in-one (does miniature golf count?)
133. Gone deep sea fishing
134. Gone roller skating
135. Run a marathon
136. Learned to surf
137. Invented something
138. Flown first class (and didn't pay for it!)
139. Spent the night in a 5-star luxury suite
140. Flown in a helicopter
141. Visited Africa
142. Sang a solo
143. Gone spelunking
144. Learned how to take a compliment
145. Written a love-story
146. Seen Michelangelo’s David
147. Had your portrait painted
148. Written a fan letter
149. Spent the night in something haunted
150. Owned a St. Bernard or Great Dane
151. Ran away
152. Learned to juggle
153. Been a boss
154. Sat on a jury
155. Lied about your weight
156. Gone on a diet
157. Found an arrowhead or a gold nugget
158. Written a poem
159. Carried your lunch in a lunchbox
160. Gotten food poisoning
161. Gone on a service, humanitarian or religious mission
162. Hiked the Grand Canyon
163. Sat on a park bench and fed the ducks
164. Gone to the opera
165. Gotten a letter from someone famous (From the person in #148)
166. Worn knickers
167. Ridden in a limousine
168. Attended the Olympics
169. Can hula or waltz (both)
170. Read a half dozen Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books (half a dozen! More like half of all that were ever written!)
171. Been stuck in an elevator
172. Had a revelatory dream
173. Thought you might crash in an airplane
174. Had a song dedicated to you on the radio or at a concert
175. Saved someone’s life
176. Eaten raw whale
177. Know how to sew
178. Laughed till your side hurt
179. Straddled the equator
180. Taken a photograph of something other than people that is worth framing
181. Gone to a Shakespeare Festival
182. Sent a message in a bottle
183. Spent the night in a hostel
184. Been a cashier
185. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
186. Joined a union
187. Donated blood or plasma
188. Built a campfire
189. Kept a blog (DUH...)
190. Had chicken pox
191. Worn custom made shoes or boots
192. Made a PowerPoint presentation
193. Taken a Hunter’s Safety Course
194. Served at a soup kitchen
195. Conquered the Rubik’s cube
196. Know CPR
197. Ridden in or owned a convertible
198. Found a long lost friend
199. Helped solve a crime (caught a counterfeit bill)
200. Received a professional massage

Follow Up

Remember this conversation? Or this?

Here is the aftermath. Interesting, but maybe not surprising.

Real Friends, Not Just Bloggy Friends

I spent a happy two hours with Desmama and Nemesis tonight at Desmama's lovely home. We spoke about pending weddings, mortgages, husbands, sex, kids, new babies and families. We ate a delicious key lime pie that Desmama got from Suburban Hippie's blog. (I did not say we ate a piece of key lime pie. We literally ate the pie. Desdad did help.) We talked until well past sunset on Desmama's back porch looking out over the fabulous pastoral scene the Desfam picked for their house-anyone-would-love-to-grow-old in. I can see them doing just that.

As we spoke about such life-changing events as weddings, babies and moves, I realized that as stressful and difficult as certain things are, there is also a lot of joy along with those things. As much as I would love to have a year of my adult life that does not involve at least one MAJOR life decision, I also realize that I would not change hardly anything even if I had the ability to. Our experiences form who we are, and for all the trials and difficult decisions pending, I really do like myself exactly the way I am.

And though the next year will undoubtedly bring more difficult choices: two days ago I slalomed skiied for the first time in three years and it was as though I'd never been away; tonight I sat face to face with two women I absolutely adore; Plantboy and I are still crazy-in-love after nine years; I spent the afternoon conversing with my mother; my kids were both adorable and adoring today; the stars shone so brightly over Bear Lake that ideas for stories are eating at the corners of my brain again.

I think today I was able to live in the joy of the moment.

A Family Reunion One Year in the Making

I know that it has been a good vacation so far if my latest batch of laundry smells like water, sand, sunscreen, and campfire smoke. There is also a healthy dose of musty, damp cave smell, sweat and fish. Even unpleasant smells are nice when the right memories are attached.

Pictures next week.

Trashy?

Christie made an interesting comment on my last post about how some of the people in her RS reading group found Austenland a little bit trashy. It was interesting to me because I had a very similar conversation with a friend this morning.


As an aspriring novelist who is first and foremost and LDS person, sex is a very tricky issue. If you are not going to treat it at all, then you are stuck writing novels that are only of the LDS variety, or ones that are completely devoid of romance (which is hard to do because we learn a lot about ourselves as we fall in love and work through relationships). Whether we like to admit it or not, sex and romantic love are pretty closely connected in our society. Even in LDS circles, there are plenty of young men surrounded by wonderful friend-girls who they are not attracted to and will never marry for that reason.


Shannon Hale's novel, Austenland, makes no pretenses of being for anyone other than adults. The protagonist is in her mid-thirties, single, un-religious and living in New York. This is not a novel aimed (necessarily) at an LDS audience, and certainly not aimed at teenage girls. Implying that a woman living such a lifestyle is automatically trashy because she is just following the rules of the culture she lives in is jumping the gun a bit, I think.


In fact, Hale works very hard to let the reader draw their own conclusions. Other than a little descriptive making-out, she avoids the sex question entirely, by merely implying there are times this main character was okay with it and times that she wasn't. No descriptions, no titilating details, no smokin' hot love scenes. . . .


Now, the Twilight saga (the word used on Amazon) on the other hand . . . (I promise, I'm not getting holier than thou here. I've read them all and probably will read the next as well. I'm just trying to make a point.) Stephanie Meyer has kind of painted herself into a corner. These books are obsessesed with descriptions of physical attraction (and physcial attractiveness) and she is never shy to put her characters into very close and compromising situations. After all, any Bishop worth his salt will tell you that merely not having sex is really not enough, and having your boyfriend sleep in your room every night is definitely over-stepping the bounds of what is and is not appropriate. When it comes time for Edward and Bella to finally just get past the tension, marriage or not, she will have to alienate a certain portion of her readers. Her younger and/or more conservative fans (read: LDS) will mostly be disappointed if she includes the gory details, feeling like she sold-out. Still, they will probably comfort themselves with the fact that "at least they are married." On the other hand, her older, non-LDS readers will be disapointed if she allows the great consummation to take place behind closed doors. "What!?! 1500 pages of passion burning the pages up and she leaves out the undressing of Edward!!!!???????!!!!!!!" It is almost like the whole abstience thing in the Meyer books is just a way of obsessing about sex.

It is an interesting question, but I have to admit I found Austenland, for all of its implied sexuality, much less trashy than Eclipse, with its relentless sensuality. As LDS authors (and actors) become more and more mainstream, it will sometimes be hard to make choices about what is really appropriate. And make no mistake, LDS authors will have to bear closer scrutiny than their less religious peers. There is no getting away from it: our culture affects everything we do, even when we are trying to operate outside our culture; and those outside our culture watch us very carefully.



In an unrelated news item, did you guys know this is called the "Dead Star." That's what Patchy Pirate says. Of course, Scallywag tells me that Patchy is still a padawan learner, and not yet a full Jedi.

Austenland?

A friend whose book-sense I trust asked me Sunday if I had read Austenland. I said no, but replied that now I'd gotten a taste for Shannon Hale I wanted to get my hands on more of her stuff and that Austenland had been on the to-do list for a while. She shook her head saying that she couldn't get through more than half of it, thought it was intensely boring and could hardly believe it was the same author.


Still, just the title was too appealing for me to give it a pass, so yesterday I read it in one sitting (or as much as a mother of three CAN read anything in one sitting). I did not think it was intensely boring, and Hale's voice, her wit and her charm was just as distinctive as in the last book I read. The common thread in both Austenland and in Goose Girl is this idea of looking in a mirror and wondering who exactly is looking back at you. This is never more apparent than in perhaps my favorite moment in the book. (CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD)


Jane Hayes has gone to a place where fantasies play out, but unlike the other women present, she is unable to completely lose herself in the role-playing. Even as she tries to "catch" various suitors, she knows it is all pretend and can't quite figure out which Jane she is the most often, or even which one she likes the best. She finally convinces the most Darcy-esque of the actors to fall for her. (Or does she? Does he? Isn't it all pretend?) During the ball, with various desperate older ladies fawning all over him, he grabs our intrepid heroine's arm (not the first time he has done this) and pulls her into a small room off the ball room. After some pacing, during which he looks all sexy and tortured,


"He wildly combed his hair with his fingers. 'I can't bear to be out there with you right now, all those indifferent people watching, admiring you, but not really caring. Not as I do.'

"Jane: (hopeful) Really?

"Jane: (practical) Oh, stop that.

"Mr. Nobley sat in the chair beside her and gripped its arm.

"Jane: (observant) This man is all about arm gripping."


Re-creating the punctuation in the above passage is awkward, but if you followed, you see that Jane didn't actually SAY any of these things, though she could have said any one of them and been perfectly herself. He then professes his love, she sees the ridiculousness of it all (or does she?) and refuses him. Walks away. Knowing that for once and for all she is over the Darcy-fetish. Yeah right.


So while I really liked much about this book, at the end she gets the man that you knew from the opening scenes that she had to get all along. For a moment, Hale makes the reader believe that it will not work out that way and it will still be okay, but I was feeling a bit cheated until about nine pages from the end until Hale, of course, righted everything. And though the book is supposed to be all about coming to terms with what is real and imaginary(?), in the end, she does get "Mr. Darcy." And what does he sweetly reply to her protestations that it had all been fake? "We are cast as actors that are closest to the parts we play, since we had to stay in character so long." Ah ha! So he is Henry Jenkins and Mr. Nobley and Mr. Darcy all at once! Lucky girl.


In those last nine pages, he says some intensely beautiful things to her, and this time we are to believe that they have moved from scripted to un-scripted, but you just know that Hale poured over this dialogue for a long time to get it just right. People don't just say things off the cuff like this: I'm throwing myself at your feet because I'm hoping for a shot at forever, have you stopped to consider that in fact you are my fantasy, etc. And don't even get me started on the kissing that Hale so perfectly describes.


Anyway, for a book whose jacket claims to be about a woman learning to separate fantasy from reality, our main character only gets about 10 minutes to decide she can do that before fantasy-man walks right into her life. And true to the Darcy Effect, he is giving up everything for her, stepping on the plane with nothing but a vest and cravat. Oh, and we assume he has a passport.


Like Mr. Darcy and Miss Jane, this plain governess once found herself looking into a pair of fine eyes and falling in love against her will. The night before our wedding, my delicious Gardener gave me two things: a beautifully huge hammock and the Complete Works of Jane Austen. (I refrained from tearing right into it shouting, "Jane Austen! Your works complete me!") I've always loved that gift. I think, in his way, that Plantboy was telling me that he knew he wasn't the Perfect Man I had long dreamed of, but that he would never begrudge my escape with my books as long as I came back to him at the end of the day--refreshed and ready for another round of reality.