The Violent Bear it Away

Mary Flannery O’Connor. Let's make one thing clear. I love you. You had glasses, arm braces, and were an awkward wallflower. I had glasses, was heavy, and was not a wallflower (but probably should have been for all the comfort my awkward chatter could provide). Flannery O’Connor gave me tangible refuge during my last years of high school. Mr. Jones, my eleventh grade English teacher from Georgia, taught her with an admirable commitment. We were in Chicago but we were going to read a Southern writer. Case closed. And how grateful I was after reading “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” “Greenleaf,” and THE perfect “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” How expertly she depicted her peculiar world of South Catholicism, with dual devotion and contempt. How Mormonism needs a Flannery O’Connor!

That being said .. Flannery.. “The Violent Bear It Away” was one of the most labored, interminable novels I have read in my life. Completely unendearing characters and wicked irony work well in 10 to 15 pages. But 250 pages is nothing short of intolerable when you have to live with these characters on your pillow case, grasping for something (ANYTHING!) endearing or even interesting about them. Young Tarwarter, The Schoolteacher, and Bishop were each wholly unrelatable and dogmatic. Was I supposed to be feel something when each met a dismal fate? Was being victimized (in some cases, brutally) supposed to add depth to otherwise contemptible characters? I just did not buy it. If you need me, I will be in a cozy chair curled up with “Fifty Short Stories by Flannery O’Connor.”

Song on iTunes: Stuck in the Middle with You by Three Dog Night

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Dear Reader,

Charlotte Gray, that great Canadian author, once said: "You can kid the world, but not your sister." And she's right. Sisters understand us in a way that no one else can really broach. They have been with us through experiences that even our parents have only guessed at. When I think of my own relationship with my sister, it is a personal and significant one. She was there. She was there when I went through menarche and suddenly in unexpected pain, sobbing. She was a shoulder to cry on when the dreaded first boyfriend dumped me. She watched me walk across the stage at Brigham Young University. And I watched her walk across that same stage 9 years earlier. I watched as her best friend in high school wordlessly ended their friendship. I was her maid of honor when she married a wonderful man. The truth of the matter is, we respect each other's scars and celebrate each other's golden moments.

Shirley Jackson's "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" is the story of two sisters (young adults) who live secluded in a dilapidated mansion along with an invalid uncle. The sisters are utterly untrusted by the neighboring villagers, and perhaps with good reason. Their family (parents, a brother, and an aunt) were gruesomely poisoned at the dinner table years before the novel begins. It is a very chilling story about the nature of sisterly love and devotion, perfect for a rainy afternoon.

song on iTunes: Cinder and Smoke by Iron and Wine