Rest if you must. Yet do not cast all hope away. Tomorrow is unknown. -Tolkien

This will be an extremely short post to say that I read the sequel The Lost Boy and it is just as good.  It shows that the fight is by no means over as soon as a child escapes an abusive situation, but it does it with humor and perspective.  Again, an amazing man.  I would like to say more on the matter, but I don't dare right now for fear of failing Italian.  It's almost embarrassing that a summer course taken out of sheer curiosity is causing me to work so hard, but I imagine it's doing my overgrown ego some good.  Take care all of you, especially those who shared so generously last time!

I finally got up the courage to read A Child Called It this morning and am glad I did.  I nearly bought it when it first came out, but was scared off because it is about one of the worst documented cases of child abuse, and I didn't want to read anything depressing. So, while I felt a bit guilty reshelving it to go in search for lighter reading, I justified it with the thought that you don't have to read sad stuff just because it's there.  And the author would never know/care. 

 

I was wrong about the book being sad though.  Shocking and horrifying yes, but the author becomes such an amazing man that any sadness is superceded by awe.  This was a truly brilliant kid.  He had guts and determination beyond imagining and a survivor's instinct at 9 that surpasses mine at 22.  Also it's written in simple, fast-flowing language which spares the reader by not requiring him/her to return to the trauma again and again.  By the end, I was so curious how he (Dave Pelzer) accomplishes such a drastic change in life that I picked up the sequel The Lost Boy.

 

Already this is far more fulfilling than the Freud and Nietzsche I mentioned a couple posts ago.  It makes me realize that tragic and depressing are not the same thing.  One has a tendency to refocus you, remind you of your priorities and how trivial most of the things you concern yourself with truly are.  The other simply preaches a message of futility, perhaps with a few good lies thrown in.  You walk away semi-convinced that nothing is worth caring about, or at least nothing you've cared about in your more idealistic moments.  (I use the word idealistic loosely.  By this I don't mean storming off to random battles with windmills.  I mean those moments when we are willing to look at something with clear eyes and aren't blocking it with irony or cynicism, fun as those things can sometimes be.)

 

Another thing A Child Called It really impressed on me is how hurtful a thing it is to be a coward.  It may appear that cowards do no harm, or at least very little, but in fact, in the eyes of a victim, the one who stands aside out of fear can be even more devastating than the tormentor.  One comes to expect that the tormentor will show no pity.  Bystanders, however, are expected to be more human, to recognize that evil is being done, and, even if heroics are not possible, at least not to look the other way with a sigh of despair or worse, mild accusation for the victim.  Something for me to consider.  I don't believe I've ever had the opportunity to walk away from something so blatant as this story, but courage isn't exactly my forte either. 

 

Anyway, I've gotten lots of food for thought from this book and recommend it to anyone with two hours to spare.

 

You're The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!
by C.S. Lewis
You were just looking for some decent clothes when everything changed quite dramatically. For the better or for the worse, it is still hard to tell. Now it seems like winter will never end and you feel cursed. Soon there will be an epic struggle between two forces in your life and you are very concerned about a betrayal that could turn the balance. If this makes it sound like you're re-enacting Christian theological events, that may or may not be coincidence. When in doubt, put your trust in zoo animals.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

Freud, Nietzsche, Derrida, Diderot, and Kant.  Just a touch of Plato and Aristotle.

This handful of somewhat incongruent writers has conspired together to wear me out.  I've had steady doses of them for a good while now and particularly intense meetings this last week.  I never set out to get to know them though it's been a good (and often maddening) education.  I'm beginning to understand why the feminism movement of the 70s was so bitter, and to some extent, still is.  There were moments where I literally had to walk away in order to work off steam, maybe take a brisk tour of the house and yard to recover or pound on the piano for a few minutes.  (I do mean pound.  I can't play to save my life.)

Anyway, now in my sudden literary freedom, I am unsure what to read.  I have a good dozen books (maybe two) on my shelf that I haven't immersed myself in yet.  I could go book browsing in my own bedroom.  Also I'd be delighted to have suggestions.  Just so long as it doesn't include any of the above dead Europeans.  And of course nothing that suggests that all women are liars/pitiful/full of pity/jealous over a body part/complicit in their own denegration or any other nonsensical slander.  I am ready for a change.

This is such a strange place to live.  The police are circling with heliocopters at this moment shouting for someone to come out with their hands up, that they have the place surrounded and so on.  While it's not a daily occurance by any means, it's not unusual to have police 'copters overhead shouting something or another.  I haven't figured out how to react yet, particularly when they're looking for someone.  Going outside and staring seems crass.  Going about your business as if they aren't there seems callous.  The absolute worst is when they're looking for a child who's likely being taken into Mexico.  I want to help search and yet I know it would take 15 minutes or more just to run down my open street where they obviously aren't.  And if suddenly I ran into them, then what?  I have nothing to take the grown-up down with and now I've given away his (it's usually a he) position thus alerting him to move before the police can find him. 

I think the announcements are mostly meant to keep the pair unable to hide in anyone's home/yard and of course to alert border patrol, but that doesn't make a person feel much better about checking the yard, saying a prayer for the child and then going on with life.  How much time are we supposed to devote to people we don't know how to help?  How much guilt and anxiety?  Everything is too little in comparison to what is happening to the child, but that doesn't suddenly enable us to give more.  Cities are really wretched places for human beings.

Oh I am happy!  I found the spicy ginger beer I remember from childhood which burns your throat as it goes down, and if you are foolish enough to breath just before taking a sip, makes you sneeze.  It is my favorite beverage in the world.  I have gone in search occasionally and even been aided by friends, but none we found were as intense as what turns out to be called Stuart's.

This compensates for the fact that the novelty of attending a 8:00am class directly after graduation is fading.  Especially since it's nearly an hour to get to the 8:00am class.  I never thought I'd get up at 6 for a non-paid, non-required, non-medical emergency event.  Four times a week.  What a fool.  They told me I'd never stop learning after I got my degree, but I think they meant I was supposed to acquire wisdom, not random language credits.  Next time I'll ask for greater specificity.