Tea and Virginia Woolf Before Bedtime

A Week Without Reading

2011-07-17T16:56:00.000-07:00

Recommended tea: Bingley's Teas' Marshmallow Dreams

I'm a creative person. I always have been, and I always will be. My mother says that I came out of the womb that way. As I child, I taught myself how to play the piano, the guitar, the harp, and the autoharp. I painted. I drew with charcoal and with pencils. I made things out of clay. I wrote short stories and one book. I wrote plays and songs and performed them for my parents, my brother, and our next door neighbors. This is always something that has been a huge part of who I am.

But then you grow up. The world tells you to choose one thing - one profession - that you will be good at. You will pursue that one thing, go to school for that one thing, and, hopefully, find a job allowing you to do that one thing. The one thing that I chose to do was acting. As someone who has always enjoyed juggling lots of different creative things at the same time, this was ideal. I could play a hooker with a heart of gold, then I could play a rich uppity British lady, then I could play a witch, then I could play a fairy sprite. I love finding infinite selves within my one self - finding things that I didn't realize were in me. It's the pisces in me - being able to change and shift like water. I also love building relationships with other actors onstage. People in real life get to fall in love once. As an actor, I get to fall in love over and over again, and with the most genuine, open, loving people. These people are my family.

So what happens when your family doesn't cast you? When you don't get the job? When you have an eight month gap between one show and the next?

Your creativity screeches to a halt, that's what. And I have found that when the number of creative outlets goes down, the emotions and the depression go up, along with the hours of sleep, the amount of food eaten, and the amount of crap watched on television.

I was in this very scary place when a lovely friend of mine suggested a book called The Artist's Way - A Spiritual Path of Creativity. The back of the book says:

The Artist's Way is an empowering book for aspiring and working artists. With the basic principle that creative expression is the natural direction of life, Julia Cameron leads you through a comprehensive twelve-week program to recover your creativity from a variety of blocks, including limiting beliefs, fear, self-sabotage, jealousy, guilt, addictions, and other inhibiting forces, replacing them with artistic confidence and productivity.

This is a pretty spot-on description of what the book does. I write what Julia Cameron calls "morning pages" everyday - three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing. At first this was difficult. Now, on week four, I crave that outlet like prayer or meditation. Every week, I take myself on an "artist date." I go somewhere, alone with my artist, and do something to help fill the "creativity well." I've painted pottery, I've taken myself on an ice cream date, and I've taken myself to the movies. The program has inspired me to start writing in this blog again, to start working on a play that I want to produce and act in, to re-decorate my bedroom, to start learning French, to give clothes away, to get an agent, and to let go of past hurts that I've been holding on to for too long. It has helped me more than I can adequately describe.

Until I read this week's assignment.

If you feel stuck in your life or in your art, few jump starts are more effective than a week of reading deprivation. No reading? That's right: no reading. For most artists, words are like tiny tranquilizers. We have a daily quota of media chat that we swallow up. Like greasy food, it clogs our system. Too much of it and we feel, yes, fried.

What was that, Julia Cameron? No reading? No reading... for a WEEK!? I don't know if you noticed, but this blog is kind of... um... dedicated to reading? So yeah, I like reading a lot. I'd say that's what I do with the majority of my time.

About 25% of that time is reading books. The other 75% is made up of facebook, twitter, google+ (I don't get it, but I'm already addicted to it!), tumblr, blogs that I follow, magazines, text messages, e-mails, and the list goes on and on! Reading is what I use to communicate. Also, I have about a dozen books on my nightstand and I'm reading all of them at the same time.

So what, pray tell, should I do with all of this time if I'm NOT spending it reading, Julia Cameron? WHAT?

Her response:

Listen to music. Knit. Work Out. Make Curtains. Cook. Meditate. Wash the dog. Fix the bike. Have friends to dinner. Sort closets. Watercolor. Pay bills. Rewire the lamp. Get the stereo working. Write old friends. Paint the bedroom. Sort bookshelves (a dangerous one!). Repot some plants. Rearrange the kitchen. Go dancing. Mend.

Alright... I don't have a dog, I don't work out, I don't know how to knit or rewire things, and I'm not Laura Ingalls friggin' Wilder!!!

But then I take a deep breath and tell myself that I'm committed to this program. I am! I can do this! I can TOTALLY do this!

The truth of it is - if this is what I need to do to get back to that 8 year-old self - the one who writes plays and paints and dances and sings without care or judgment - it's a small sacrifice. I would gladly sacrifice much more to be her again.

So I'm doing it, dear readers. I'm going on a reading fast. I've made the facebook and the twitter announcements that I will be gone for a week. I've had heart to hearts with the books on my nightstand.

And you, Cranford... I think I'll miss you most of all!

Now the reading fast begins. Once more unto the breach, dear friends!

Pray for me, dear readers. Pray for me. If you don't hear from me in a week, send a librarian.

Hey! Look at This!

This is what you have done to me, Julia.

The Louisville Jane Austen Festival!

2011-07-10T16:58:00.000-07:00

"'You are in a melancholy humour and fancy that anyone unlike yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from friends will be felt by everybody at times, whatever be their education or state. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience; or give it a more fascinating name: call it hope.'"

- Jane Austen, Sense & Sensibility

I am crazy about Jane Austen. Have I made this point before? Even if I have, it's worth reiterating.

I am crazy about Jane Austen.

I have grown up surrounded by Jane Austen. I have a Jane Austen finger puppet. Yesterday, I bought a regency dress on ebay. ("When and where are you going to wear that?" I can hear you thinking. WHO GIVES A SH*T, I reply! I NEED IT!)

I was not always this way. My mother, a woman with excellent taste, had the Colin Firth Pride & Prejudice on VHS - the nine (okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration) video tapes pretty much took over her dresser. When I was young she used to watch them all the time and I would think, "BO-RING! I'm going to go pretend that I'm Jo March and turn down perfectly good marriage proposals in the backyard..."

In high school, Pride & Prejudice was required reading. I looked at that book, one of the first truly lengthy books I had ever read, and thought, "I think it would be easier to watch the nine (exaggeration alert!) video tapes than it would be to read all of that book." But, being the school teacher that she is, my mother would have none of it.

We reached a compromise - each time I would finish a chapter, my mother would let me watch the mini-series up until the point where I had stopped reading.

After seeing Mr. Darcy in that cravat (ZOMG!) I was hooked.

We went on to Sense & Sensibility and Emma and I thought, "Okay, this romantic world full of dreamy dudes is DEFINITELY for me." I would imagine that I was Marianne Dashwood, fainting in the rain only to be saved by Willoughby and nursed back to health.

"WILLOUGHBY!" I would sigh in the back yard and faint.

(Yes, I was in high school at this point. And yes, I still do this.)

I went on to read Pride & Prejudice again for a college English class. This time, the teacher made us watch the Keira Knightley version. I watched it. "Psshh! B*tch, please," was my reaction. "NO ONE is Elizabeth Bennet but Jennifer Ehle. NO ONE is Mr. Darcy but Colin Firth." And I looked down my well-cultured little nose at all of my friends who enjoyed it. "YOU just haven't seen the REAL version..."

It is of note that this "real version" that I was referring to was the Colin Firth movie, not the book.

Then, after I graduated from college with my theatre degree (and my empty wallet), I got that call that is every unemployed actor's dream.

"We're doing a production of Pride & Prejudice. The girl who was playing Lizzie can't do it. Could you come in and read for us?"

To which I replied, "F*#$ yeah!!!!!!"

Now, this was a challenge. I had Jennifer Ehle TATTOOED on my brain. She was and is Elizabeth Bennet. I decided to re-read the book again and banned the movie versions to cleanse my mental palate.

An extraordinary thing happened. This Austen film fast introduced me to Jane Austen - the real Jane Austen that had been there all along. The Jane Austen that is more David Sedaris than she is Charlotte Bronte. Jane Austen the witty, satirical genius. Jane Austen - the badass.

At this point, I broke up with Mr. Darcy. It was Jane that I was in love with. Jane's voice - the voice of Pride & Prejudice's narrator. The voice that is muted in the movies. It was like heroine. I had had a shot of the real stuff and I couldn't settle for less.

I went on to read Northanger Abbey, Persuasion, and the annotated Pride & Prejudice. I was invigorated because I discovered that this woman deserved a place on my shelf next to Shakespeare and the Bible. I was infuriated because the only thing that I saw originally, as a result of the movies, was how dreamy the dudes look and how important it is that the women end up with the dudes at the end. Jane Austen, in all her powerful glory, had been invisible. Her characters, like Shakespeare's, are extraordinarily gifted and also extraordinarily flawed. They are human. As far as I can tell, Shakespeare and Austen are the only two authors who have achieved this amazing feat.

This weekend, my mother and I decided to make the drive up to the Jane Austen Festival in Louisville for the second year in a row. Squeal! To be quite honest, this is probably the only place in the world where I feel really, REALLY understood, like a Trekkie at a Star Trek convention. We learned how to do hair, how to fight a duel, and how to start a Jane Austen book club.

The best part, by far, was high tea. High tea always makes me a little nervous because you are forced to sit at a tiny table with strangers, and there's really no way to get out of talking. I was worried that the girls at our table would say, "Oh, I just LOVE Pride & Prejudice! Mr. Darcy is SO hott and I love him in the movie when he comes out of the pond with the wet shirt and I have to find a man like that and Jane Austen didn't become a good writer until that Tom Lefroy dude helped her and ZOMG! LOL!"

To my relief, the exact opposite happened. The ladies we chatted with were extremely intelligent, loved Austen for her intelligence, her wit, and her writing, and not because of the clingy pants.

Then my mother asked that question that all Austenites ask - "Which Jane Austen character are you?"

We went around the table one-by-one. "Elizabeth Bennet," one girl said. "Elinor Dashwood," another said.

My brain was going about a thousand miles a minute. "Which one am I!? Which one am I!?!? I want to say Elizabeth Bennet, but I know that's not true. I'm not pretty or wealthy enough to be an Emma. I'm not practical enough to be an Elinor. I don't have enough self-control to call myself Anne..."

And then it was my turn.

I remembered fainting in the backyard. I thought about myself gushing over sonnets and flowers, walking in the rain, crying for no reason, giving my heart so completely to so many who said they would treat it well and didn't, and eventually finding love in the place where I expected it the least.

As I said it, I realized that it was still true.

"Marianne Dashwood."

Who cares why or how you fall in love with Austen? Her characters are still true, whether you read them as a teenager or as an adult, for the love or for the wit. Maybe I thought that my tastes had matured and that my brain had become more discerning, but my heart is still the same heart. I am thankful for that.

I sat there, sipping my "Marianne's Wild Abandon" tea, and hoped that this would never change.

Hey! Look at this!

Sad Trombone

2011-07-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Please imagine me groveling at your feet, dear readers. I did not mean to be away so long AND I did not mean to completely abandon my awesome New Year's resolution and leave you hanging (how David Lynch-y of me!). After a while, I ran out of steam and got a little tired of writing posts every time I finished a book.

But never fear! Lazy Amanda is no more! I've decided to give this blog the love and attention it deserves again. You can expect weekly updates from now on. Huzzah!

Sorry, dear readers. I have virtual (aka imaginary) flowers and candy for you to ease the pain.

Hey! Look at this!

New Year's Resolution

2010-02-20T14:42:00.000-08:00

"When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, 'Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.'"
— Virginia Woolf

Yes, I am aware that it is almost March and maybe a little late to start making New Year's Resolutions. But in this case, I have a truly extraordinary one - one that I've wanted to accomplish for a long time - and because it's so awesome, I think it's okay that it's a little late.

I have decided to read all of the books on the BBC's list of the best 100 books ever. I have already read 27 of them, so that's 73 books to read. I will read them and then blog about them when I finish.

Pretty awesome, eh? I think so.

SO (drumroll please...) here's the list! I've crossed out those that I've already read. Join me if you like. It'll be a fun adventure!

See you next time, when I'll be blogging about Gone With the Wind. Happy reading!

BBC's top 100 Books

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
~~2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen~~
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
~~5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling~~

~~6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee~~
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
~~9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis~~
~~10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë~~
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
~~12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë~~
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
~~15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger~~
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
~~17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens~~
~~18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott~~
19. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell - reading right now!
22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
~~30. Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll~~
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
~~35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl~~
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
~~40. Emma, Jane Austen~~
~~41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery~~
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
~~43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald~~
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
~~56. The BFG, Roald Dahl~~
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
~~58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell~~
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
~~60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky~~
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
~~74. Matilda, Roald Dahl~~
~~75. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding~~
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
~~99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot~~
100. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie

J.D. Salinger & The Catcher in the Rye

2010-01-28T13:51:00.000-08:00

Today, the world has lost one of it's greatest treasures - J.D. Salinger has passed away.

It's difficult to put into words, even to comprehend, the great effect that Salinger's writing has had on the world. Every good book that comes out now that deals with disillusionment is compared to Catcher in the Rye, every book that deals with the intense pain of growing up. I've just finished reading Looking for Alaska, Paper Towns, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower - all three reference Catcher.

Catcher is my husband's favorite book - one that he asked me to read when we first started dating (he was shocked that I hadn't read it already). For his birthday, I gave him a hardcover second edition of the book.

Everyone who reads this book feels connected to it. Everyone who has ever felt disconnected from the world feels connected to it, which to me is a miraculous thing. Everyone who has read and has felt one with Holden Caulfield feels one with Salinger, yet Salinger hid from the world - hid from the press, from photographers, from publishers, from everyone. This man who worked so hard to stay away from the rest of the world is still so very much at the center of our consciousness - still someone that teenagers AND adults wish that they could talk to, years and years after Catcher was published.

Catcher in the Rye is to the literary world as Led Zeppelin is to music. You listen to Led Zeppelin and you think, "This still sounds new. This still sounds fresh, modern, and innovative. This is what so many of our contemporary musicians are TRYING to sound like but will never be able to."

When you read Catcher, you think "Oh... THIS is what all of those other authors were trying to say."

I think that John Green describes the beauty of The Catcher in the Rye better than anyone when he explains that Holden is human, Holden has no one to talk to but us, and we love him for his humanity, for his imperfections, for his frailty and his loneliness.

We love him because he isn't a character - he's a human being. He is us. He is me.

J.D. Salinger, the hole that you have left will never be filled.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower & Awake

2010-01-21T22:24:00.000-08:00

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." — Stephen Chbosky

Recommended Tea: Tazo's Awake

So, my very very best friend is studying to become a teacher. She's quite good at it, I suspect. We were talking about her experiences student teaching the other day - about how being around high school students makes us uncomfortable sometimes, takes us back to those feelings that we felt when we were in their shoes. Feelings that you couldn't pay me money to experience again.

Naturally, we started talking about Young Adult books (like we usually do). She recently attended an awesome young adult book convention extravaganza thing, and got to meet (GASP!) Sarah Dessen (we're not worthy! we're not worthy!).

She was particularly moved, she said, by a speech that Stephen Chbosky gave about how "changing one person is like changing the world entire." (Please tell me, BFF, if I misquoted that)

"Who's that?" I asked.

"GASP!" I felt the room reply.

"He wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Read it. Read it now. It saves lives."

So, I decided to check it out from the library. I've recently finished Paper Towns and Looking For Alaska by John Green, which are both BR-IZ-ILLIANT books, but I have to admit I was kind of thinking, "Hmm...are three quirky YA books about being awkward in a row going to be a little too... angsty?"

Again, that feeling that I get when I think about high school came back. Do we really want to re-visit those feelings too much? Like I said... not enough money in the world.

But I started reading anyway. And I didn't stop until I finished it, my face wet with tears.

I have to say, I usually enjoy most of the books I read. Finishing a book makes me feel like I've gone on a journey - each has its own experience - so at times, I have a little trouble judging the "goodness" or "badness" of books.

This time, I had no trouble at all. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful - which is a phrase that I use often, but never has it been more appropriate.

Rarely does a book make me feel the way that this book made me feel.

Charlie, the novel's narrator, is such a real character. I struggle to even use the word "character" because he feels like a friend. You fall completely in love with him - and not because he's sparkly and dreamy. He is vulnerable, painfully honest, deep, intelligent. Small. My heart literally hurts when I think about him - the same way I feel when those Sarah McLachlan commercials about the kitties and puppies come on.

It hurts to be unable to reach through the book and hold him, hug him. It hurts not to be able to scream at everyone around him, "Pay attention to this one! PLEASE tell him how special he is!"

I found this book so relatable. Not in the "Oh, I went through that in high school. Poor kid! I really feel for you!" kind of way, but in the "I think these things all the time. I worry about these things. I feel things like he does. I'm not the only one who feels things this deeply?"

And that's the thing that I love the most about Charlie - the way that he feels things. Here is someone who is quiet and shy, (again, "small" is the best word I can think to describe him) with more than a few communication problems, but he really FEELS things. He lives. He soaks up the world. He sees the beauty in the people around him, and he isn't afraid to care about them and to tell them so, and in a completely pure way. He cries often - but wouldn't we all if we hadn't been so conditioned not to?

The experience of reading Charlie's story is like being baptized. You are completely submerged in his world, in his head, in his feelings. After the last page, you're reborn in a way. And by "reborn" I mean that you look at the world - at the people around you - with different eyes. Moments in your life that were just moments become "infinite." Human beings become family, in that realization that we all feel.

It reminds me of Jane Eyre, when Jane says to Mr. Rochester:

"Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? ...Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! ...I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!"

What would the world be like if we took that word - "feel" - more seriously? If we weren't afraid to feel, to feel new things, to feel scary things, and to express those feelings, unashamed of how we look or what people think?

I want to shout as loudly as my body would let me, "What would the world be like if we all took a minute to think about the fact that everyone around us FEELS things?"

Honestly, I think that this concept is one that we forget - one that we make a decided effort to forget. That girl you went to high school with isn't just a "diva" or a "bitch," that boy not just an "ass" or a "nerd." They are human beings with the same capability to feel as you - no better or worse.

What would the world be like if we didn't reduce everyone around us to such soulless name-tags?

Wake up!

John Green & The Great Gatsby

2010-01-14T15:39:00.000-08:00

Okay, this youtube video is so awesome that I've posted it in every place postable, and this blog is no exception.

THIS is why reading is so important! THIS is why learning how to analyze, to read and to think critically is vital in order for us to exist together.

Check it out!

And if you like what John Green has to say, check out his books Paper Towns, An Abundance of Katherines, and Looking for Alaska.

My favorite reads of 2009

2009-12-31T16:51:00.001-08:00

"Books" print by Jessica over at pinestreetmakery. Check out her awesome work!

"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph. I am a proud non-reader of books."

- Kanye West

Oh, 2009. What a year you were. The year that introduced us to "pulling a Kanye" and regretsy.com (one of my very favorite websites).

This was a year of growth for me - mentally, personally, professionally - though unfortunately not physically, as I still remain just a little over five feet. Happily, my library grew by leaps and bounds!

So here, dear readers, is weelittleactress' (drumroll please) Top Ten Books That I Read in 2009 (in no particular order)!

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Okay, please don't judge me for not having read this earlier. I've always been a Wuthering Heights kind of gal, so I had always assumed that Jane Eyre wouldn't really be my style. That is, until my friend Lindsey challenged me with the words "Whatever, Charlotte's better."

SO, I pulled my copy of Jane Eyre (which had never been opened) off of the shelf and decided to give it a try.

WOW! Just when I thought that no book could be better than Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre... um... was. Just when I thought that Elizabeth was the strongest of the strong, Mr. Darcy the drooliest of the drool-worthy, Jane kicked Elizabeth in the shin and Mr. Rochester induced a river of droolage. Their complete, gorgeous humanity - their flaws, their honesty, their mistakes - made me fall in love with them. Jane was not only strong and admirable, but relatable. We watch her grow stronger, learn to speak her mind, learn how to get what she really wants from the world. And we watch her do the most difficult thing - walk away from the love of her live - in order to maintain her dignity and her honor.

Also, I think that the scene where (SPOILER ALERT!) Jane comes back to Mr. Rochester after he has lost his sight is one of the most beautiful scenes ever written - along with the scene where Mr. Rochester disguises himself as a gypsy fortune-teller. A billion bajillion stars!

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

If you are one of the few people in the world who didn't read this book this year, go buy a copy and read it now. It is the definition of "unputdownable," the best of the best of young adult literature. The Hunger Games takes place in the future, in a world where every year a child from each district is picked at random to participate in a fight to the death. The children are dropped into what is basically a large wooded pit, where their fight for survival is filmed and watched by the rest of the world. The one survivor remaining at the end of it all wins. Go read it!

The Death of the Moth and Other Essays by Virginia Woolf

Of all of her works, I think that The Death of the Moth is my favorite piece by Virginia. The image of the moth, using Virginia's paintbrush, is the best little picture of mortality, of the fight for life, that I've ever seen.

"He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life."

We're all moths, fluttering in our little windows, struggling to understand the greatness of the world around us.

It's Always Something by Gilda Radner

I have been wanting to write a post about how much I loved this book for awhile. Gilda has been one of my heroes since I was a child. I always admired her bravery onstage - there was nothing that she was too embarrassed to do. I didn't realize what a strong person she was until I read her book which, rather than being an autobiography, is mostly about her long battle with cancer. It was painfully honest, sometimes even painful to read, but that's what was always the most beautiful thing about her - her willingness to share, to expose all of life's funny and tragic facets.

Columbine by Dave Cullen

Now, I've already written a whole post about how much I loved this book, but I can't emphasize its greatness enough. Back to the honesty thing, Dave Cullen seems to understand that we can't really face a tragedy until we've faced it honestly. He debunks so many of the myths and stigmas that go hand in hand with the word "Columbine," and reveals how dangerous, how powerful the media and word-of-mouth can be. I read the whole thing in one sitting.

The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen

Alright, there is something very important that you should know about me. I friggin' LOVE Sarah Dessen. I own all of her books and a signed hardcover first-edition of her newest book. She is one of my favorite authors. And guess what? I hadn't read any of her books until this year. Guess what else? Her books are young adult books. The Truth About Forever was the first of Sarah Dessen's books that I read, and it is still my favorite (even though all of her books are excellent and they all deserve a read - especially Someone Like You). Her imagery is lovely, her themes run deep, and her characters are so beautifully human. I wish so much that I could have had her books when I was a teenager, but they're so wonderful that they teach me and move me even in my twenties. Forever deals with grieving, facing loss, taking risks, letting your heart heal and feel after it has experienced the worst that life can offer.

The Song is You by Arthur Phillips

The second that I saw this book on the shelf, I knew that I had to read it and I knew that I would love it. Another one that I read in one sitting. It's a story about music, about love, and about a love that exists because of and exclusively through music. The two main characters use music to communicate and to speak, revealing their hearts nakedly to each other before they're even able to have a conversation. I was surprised when I didn't see the copies flying off of the shelves at the bookstore. Pick it up - you won't regret it!

The Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann

I expected to hate this book, to tell you the truth. I read it reluctantly as it was chosen for the book club that I was a member of. For some reason, this book carries some kind of repellant stigma. I, however, was completely absorbed. The characters were complex, the story compelling. I expected to find fluff but this book has a gutsy heart.

Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates

Of all the great books that I have read this year, this is definitely the greatest and has become one of my favorite books of all time. The dialogue in this book is art, pure and simple, as are the characters. It seems, from the outside, to be a book exposing the realities of suburban disenchantment in the 1950's. While this is definitely true, there is so much more to this book. The opening scene in the theatre is worth the price of the book alone.

Me Write Book: It Bigfoot Memoir by Bigfoot (and Graham Roumieu)

Never thought you would see Richard Yates, Charlotte Bronte, Virginia Woolf, and Bigfoot in the same book list, did you? What can I say? I like funny things - and this book is definitely, definitely a funny thing. Bigfoot's autobiography (with an introduction written by the Lochness monster) is handwritten and illustrated by Bigfoot himself. Go along for the ride as Bigfoot rises to magnificent heights and then learns that fame is a fickle, fickle friend indeed.

Here is a particularly touching selection:

"I am not Chewbacca. Me think Chewbacca jerk. He no can act. He ride Bigfoot coat tails. he think he cool, but he not. He phoney loser with no class. He all messed up on crack me think. People think me Chewbacca sometimes. No! Me have job. Bad wookie. Bad."

And there are no words more appropriate to ring in 2010.

Here's to a whole new, book-filled year!

The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance & Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride

2009-12-30T20:43:00.000-08:00

"Believing in God is as much like falling in love as it is making a decision. Love is both something that happens to you and something you decide upon."

- Donald Miller

Recommended tea: Celestial Seasoning's Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride

I remember the moment that I fell in love with God.

I was born and raised in the South, which means that I was also born and raised in the church. A Southern Baptist church, to be precise. Believing in God was like believing in the sun - it's always there, why question it?

Then, as the story always goes, I grew up. I moved away from the safe, cozy bubble that never asked questions into a world where questions filled every second of every day - (dun dun duuuun) college!

It didn't help that one of my very first college courses was centered around examining and questioning images of Jesus Christ in the Gospels, in cinema, in art, and in our cultural makeup.

I remember the first paper that I wrote for that class. One sentence, and I quote, said, "My God is bigger than facts!"

To which my professor replied, in red ink, "um...what!?"

In a matter of weeks, my faith went from being the center of who I was to being virtually nonexistent. I had trouble justifying everything that I used to believe with everything that I was starting to learn in class. It felt like a knife, stabbing me over and over again, slowly chipping away at the thing that had made me... me.

But then, one day in class, we read Matthew 22:37-40:

Jesus replied: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

"Mind" - that tiny little word made all the difference in the world. Could it be that this examining, this questioning, was exactly what I was called, as a Christian, to do? Could it be that God wanted me to ask questions? To use the mind that he gave me? To reason and to think?

All of this time, I had thought that examining my faith under a microscope was wrong. Turns out, it's what I was called to do all along.

That's when I fell in love with God.

Elna Baker writes about all of this in her new autobiography The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance. Now, I have been looking forward to this book for awhile. Last year, after coming home from a grueling day at the bookstore, I sat down to listen to NPR with my husband and happened to catch one of Elna's stories, Babies Buying Babies. This story follows Elna's journey as a recently graduated theatre major who takes a retail job in a kids' store in order to support herself.

"Holy shnikes," I thought. "That's...um... me."

So I went to Elna's website, where it said something a long the lines of "Hey! Elna has a book coming out soon and the title is a really long, complicated one that you won't be able to remember when you get to the bookstore, and also one that booksellers will hate you for not being able to remember."

I searched, using all the high-tech (ba-dum-bum-CHING!) bookstore tools that were available to me as a bookseller.

"Um...New York...Mormon...Dance...Singles"

"Search Results: 0"

"Mormons... in New York... Dancing"

"Search Results: 0"

Needless to say, I jumped for joy when, about a year later, I found Elna's book on the shelf and realized that it was, in fact, real and not something that I had dreamed or hallucinated. It took me about a millisecond to buy it and about a few hours to read the whole thing.

Not only is Elna a recently graduated theatre major who takes a retail job in a kids' store in order to support herself, but she is also a Mormon living in New York City.

And I thought being a Christian at an Episcopalian university was hard.

I loved this book even more than I thought I would (which was a lot). Elna's honesty is enlightening and refreshing, and I found myself wanting to be her best friend so that we could write shows and plays and be actors and Christians and friends and, ya know, cool stuff like that.

But what I liked most about her book was how empowering it was. She loses 80 pounds, she goes on adventures, she stands up for herself, she makes out with a Hollywood star that she calls "Warren Beatty" but who isn't actually "Warren Beatty" (and, for the record, I think it's Sam Shepard... hey Elna if you read this and you want to be my friend you could TOTALLY tell me who it really was. Cool? Cool).

Elna is someone who loves her life and lives it - truly lives it. She seizes opportunities, she says what she thinks, she takes risks. And she does all of these things because of - not IN SPITE of - her faith.

In spite of all of the white noise, all the madness, there is that still, small voice inside. The voice that encourages you to seek, to ask questions, to strive for the best, to strive for the truth. To love your life, to love the world, to love others. The voice that says, "I'm here, and I understand."

It always makes me think of Sylvia Plath's words (as out of context as they may be),

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."

Hey! Look at this!

Twilight, Wuthering Heights & Celebration Love

2009-11-30T17:30:00.000-08:00

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger"

- Emily Brontë

Recommended tea: Love & Tea Company's Celebration Love

Recently, I was visiting the old bookstore where I used to work.

Now, unless you've been living under a rock for the past year, you know that the newest movie in the Twilight saga New Moon just came out. Seriously, you would HAVE to be living under a rock because everyone on the planet who owns some kind of business is using the success of Twilight and the release of New Moon to sell sh*t. And it is exactly that - sh*t!

New Moon 3-D puzzle balls:

Sneakers (care of regretsy):

BAND-AIDS!

The dress that Bella wears in the new movie (which is actually really cute...did I say that?):

So, obviously, no one can resist jumping on the Twi-wagon (twagon?) to make a buck... not even (gasp) Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and Emily Bronte?!

I walked into the bookstore, expecting to see hundreds of mass-market copies of New Moon, tables dedicated to it, vampire merchandise galore (which I did) ...but THIS? The classics re-released, endorsed by Bella and Edward?

And then I thought "Holy crap... is it true? Are people REALLY not reading these books anymore?"

In this day and age, does Shakespeare need Stephenie to sell?

So, after I stopped twitching and regained consciousness, I thought "Hey, Stephenie... Suck it! I just bought an awesome new version of Wuthering Heights with cover art by Ruben Toledo (see the picture at the top of this post... GORGEOUS!) and I'm gonna read THAT and NOT New Moon (more like New Schmoon) and you're not getting any of my money and I'm gonna show you HA!"

So I started reading Wuthering Heights, what I have been told is Bella and Edward's very FAVORITE book of all tiem for reelz guyz, for the first time in a long, long time.

Guess what I realized? Cathy and Heathcliff... um... not much healthier than Bella and Edward.

Edward is a vampire. Heathcliff digs up Cathy's corpse (years after she has died) and cuddles it.

Bella hangs out with Jacob for awhile (I assume?). Cathy MARRIES someone else.

Bella tries to kill herself so that she can see Edward. Cathy...um... actually kills herself. Albeit in a roundabout way, but she does. AND, she kills herself just to piss Heathcliff off.

And then Heathcliff prays that she will not go to heaven, but stay on earth as a ghost, haunt him, and drive him mad so that they won't be separated (you would think that if they loved each other THAT much they would've found a way to be together... yes? But I digress).

So yeah, Bella and Edward are in an abusive relationship (yes, this has been confirmed). But if Bella and Edward are in an abusive relationship... Cathy and Heathcliff? They're on a whole other level of abusive that hasn't even been named yet. Like, worse that Jerry Springer abusive if you really think about it.

So what's the deal here? I was thoroughly, honestly confused with myself. Why, you ask?

Because I friggin LOVE Wuthering Heights. I eat it up. I think Heathcliff (that JERK Heathcliff) is super duper dreamy.

And at the same time I loathe a book like Twilight because I'm afraid it will send young girls the wrong message about relationships.

So what sets the two apart? What makes one a classic and one brain candy? What makes one thrilling and the other sickening?

I could think of only two explanations:

Emily Bronte is a darn good writer. Stephenie Meyer is not.

Emily: "My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being."

Stephenie: "Fall down again, Bella?'
'No, Emmett, I punched a werewolf in the face.'"

(need I say more?)

Heathcliff and Catherine are equals in their relationship.

Yes, Heathcliff, like Edward, yells at the girl he loves and tells her what to do. But you know what? Catherine yells right back! She doesn't say, "Okay, now will you please chew my food for me because I lack the ability to do anything myself? Oh! And did you remember that I'm clumsy?"

Other than abusive relationships, there is one other thing that they have in common. These books - Twilight, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet - reinforce the idea that there is such a thing as enduring, everlasting, life-shattering love. Love that makes everything else unimportant. We all want to believe that there is something bigger out there - that there is that one person who will make all of the trivial things... trivial. In Wuthering Heights, the power of their love destroys them and (almost) everyone around them. In Twilight, I think it destroys Bella and her ability to be a free-thinking, powerful woman.

So yes... to me, even though there are similarities, Twilight still equals suck and Wuthering Heights still equals awesome. But the way my heart leapt watching Cathy and Heathcliff made me understand why, to some people, Twilight equals awesome.

But, on a completely different note, these new "Twi-classic!" covers brought something else to my attention.

If Stephenie Meyer hadn't told these girls to read these classics, would they ever have done it?

How many of us Twi-haters have so often said, "GRR, Stephenie! We hate you! Why are you making our poor children read crap when they should read literature?"

But I think the reality (albeit, the sad reality) is that these children would be reading crap regardless of whether or not Twilight had even been published. And that crap would probably not make them want to read Wuthering Heights or Pride & Prejudice. This crap does. They could be using their gazillions to endorse thousands of things, but to endorse some of the best books of all time? Books that these pre-teens would otherwise have no desire to read? That's pretty awesome.

Stephenie, I still hate your books, but you've definitely earned some points with me.

Now go roll around in your pile(s) of money.

Hey! Look at this!

Kathy Griffin's Official Book Club Selection & Get it Going

2009-11-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

"I do not want to die until I have faithfully made the most of my talent and cultivated the seed that was placed in me, until the last small twig has grown."
- Kathe Kollwitz

Recommended tea: The Republic of Tea's Get it Going

Please excuse my absence from this blog. I do not have a note from my parents or from my doctor. But I think that my excuse is as good as that: I've been in a play. Well, I've been in a few plays the past couple of months. Needless to say, it has been taking up most of my time (and sanity... in a good way!).

Speaking of acting, you know, it's not easy doing that... acting, I mean. It's hard enough when you're in college and you're doing a crazy uncomfortable scene and you have an acting teacher yelling "step dance! STEP DANCE!" during your scene. It's even harder when you live in a city that isn't New York City, Chicago, or Los Angeles. Of course, I'm sure living in those cities is challenging enough, and presents other challenges that I'm not even aware of, but what's challenging about living here is that there isn't as much professional work to be done. There are three, maybe four major theatre companies in town, and if you don't get cast in a show with them then it's up to you to piece together work here and there.

What's even harder about that is when you're 5'1", not exactly skinny (something I'm working to change), and 23 years old but look 15. Somehow, there's something about that that just doesn't scream "ingenue!" or "Lady Macbeth!" It can be frustrating, it can be gut-wrenching, but it can also be breathtaking. There's nothing like that moment onstage when you're doing a scene with another actor and you're both completely, 100% invested. I've never done drugs, but I would imagine that it's a lot like that. It's what I breathe for, walk for, live for. Without it, I don't think I'd be able to speak. It is, hands down, the love of my life - and I would walk across the Sahara Desert to perform if that's what it took.

So what do you do when you have the drive, the passion, but no acting job?

What an act of providence that at this point in my life I would pick up Kathy Griffin's Official Book Club Selection. I have always loved Kathy for her honesty. I think that the most important thing about being an artist is being as honest as you can in whatever arena you choose. Not only is Kathy honest about the people around her, which is fantastic and deliciously SCANDALOUS! (exclamation point!), but when things happen in her personal life, she is honest and forthcoming about those, too. She doesn't just talk about celebrities in her book. She talks about her past - dark moments in her past. She talks about love, her losses, her embarrassments, her heartbreaks. She isn't afraid to be honest about herself.

What I didn't realize until reading her book is that Kathy is also a PRO. She has studied her craft, she has worked hard, and she never stops working hard. She attended the LEE STRASBERG INSTITUTE. Yes, the Lee Strasberg that reinvented "the method" and taught Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Marlon Brando. Yes, the Lee Strasberg that every serious actor has studied. She also studied with the Groundlings, the Olympics of comedy, and was a cast member there for a long time.

But this is the part that really hooked me. Kathy is a short gal, like myself. Not Brooke Shields. She doesn't scream "ingenue!" or "Lady Macbeth!" but she is EXTREMELY passionate about what she does. She knows that she's the Rhoda, not the Mary. What's more, she doesn't WANT to be the Mary (but who would prefer to be Mary when RHODA'S around? If you would, I don't think we can be friends). So what did she do when Lorne Michaels wouldn't give her a job on SNL? Or when she couldn't get the roles that she wanted? Or when audiences didn't know how to respond to her particular brand of comedy?

She blazed her own path.

She, along with Janeane Garofalo and some others, started a weekly comedy act called "Hot Cup of Talk." They brought a timer onstage, set it to 15 minutes, and when the timer buzzed your act was done and it was time for the next person to come onstage. You could perform whatever material you wanted for 15 minutes, but you couldn't go over your time and you could never repeat the same material twice (NEVER - not even months or years later).

Soon, audiences started taking notice. This was the gig - the gig she created herself - that got her noticed. She knew what her strengths and weaknesses were, and when she didn't see an available avenue in the entertainment industry she MADE ONE! Not necessarily for "fame," but because she had drive, energy, and the desire to work. People couldn't deny or ignore her talent, because she found the venue that suited it best instead of pretending to be something or someone else.

Kathy made people see that being different was an advantage.

Kathy, you are my hero.

I will always believe that hard work, creativity, passion, commitment, and intelligence are the most important qualities in an artist. I respect artists who own those qualities, and Kathy is one of them.

AND I believe that when you are passionate about what you do, you will find a way to do it regardless of the opportunities presented to you. That is success - finding a way to do what moves you.

So stop sitting around, waiting for someone to hand you your dream job! Assess your strengths and weaknesses. What can you do to better yourself? What can you do to make yourself stronger? It's time to take things into your own very capable hands and show the world your beautiful uniqueness.

Be a Rhoda in a Mary world!

Hey! Look at this!

Kew Gardens & Sweet Chamomile

2009-09-18T19:58:00.000-07:00

"Words, words, words..."

- Hamlet

Okay, there's something that you should know about me if you don't know it already - I have MAJOR anxiety problems. Major. Like, so major that one time I had to go to the hospital because I thought that I was having a heart attack.

It was a panic attack. So, anyway - note this

A few years ago I was in a car wreck. I wasn't hurt, my car wasn't hurt, but I did spin 360 degrees on the highway before going into a ditch and barely missing a cop who had pulled someone over.

Ever since this incident, I have trouble driving. Usually I'm okay to drive - I just get a little nervous or tense. When I have to drive long distances, it can get pretty bad. But if it starts to rain? That is when the panic attacks rear their ugly heads

(or when I am in a cubicle, but that's another story for another time...)

At the moment, I am rehearsing two shows simultaneously. One I am rehearsing 45 minutes from my apartment. The other I am rehearsing an hour and a half from my apartment. The second one is also going to be performed a few states away. Needless to say, this requires a lot of driving.

And what happened today? It rained like the devil. I turned on my air conditioning, because the cool air calms me down. Unfortunately this fogs up the windows, so I had to turn on the heat so that I could see. It went back and forth like this until it started raining so hard that I couldn't see at all, regardless of whether the windshield was foggy or not.

So I reached down, pushed a random button on my iPod, and hoped that it would play something to calm me down.

Is it just me, or does the iPod seem to know exactly what you need to hear exactly when you need to hear it? What did my iPod play? A recording of someone reading Virginia Woolf's short story Kew Gardens. This particular Woolf story I hadn't yet read.

This is the first sentence:

From the oval-shaped flower-bed there rose perhaps a hundred stalks spreading into heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves half way up and unfurling at the tip red or blue or yellow petals marked with spots of colour raised upon the surface; and from the red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat emerged a straight bar, rough with gold dust and slightly clubbed at the end.

I've never really believed in magic or spells, but it was as if these words held some incantatory power. Like when you listen to Shakespeare - essentially, it doesn't matter what the speaker is saying because their words are so beautiful. I felt the anxiety drain out of my shoulders, through my fingertips. I drove through the rain like Fred Astaire dancing. Easy, simple, beautiful.

Yet again, Virginia's hands reached through the pages (or in this case, the speakers) and held mine. She helped me. Maybe she saved me. What I do know for sure is that she took something terrifying and made it awe-inspiring.

I had a fantastic English teacher in high-school - probably the best English teacher on the planet. His favorite phrase was "the beauty of language and the power of words." He had us memorize it. This phrase was on every test, every quiz. It was taped to his door and stapled on his bulletin board.

"The Beauty of Language and the Power of Words."

My mind went immediately to that phrase. Really, this moment proved to me that spells, magic, incantations - all of those things are actually real. Words are that powerful. Language is that beautiful. Like a witch's brew, words can be deadly when you use the right recipe - the right combination. They can also give you life. The Psalms in the Bible are like that to me - they are so beautifully written, so powerful, that the words alone can make you feel God's presence, regardless of what God may be up to at the time.

As an actor, I make my living analyzing words. I use them to discover my character, to create, to awaken something in myself. The playwright uses his words to inspire truth and honesty in the actors and in the audience. The right combination can make a whole audience of people burst into laughter, simultaneously. Or gasp, simultaneously. There is nothing like being onstage, speaking the perfect combination of syllables, feeling the power that those words give you, feeling what they do to you and to the audience.

Words are so precious. Words are so powerful. And yet, we don't think about what we say. We don't take the time to make our conversations beautiful. Or even honest. Words can be like weapons in the hands of serial killers or sociopaths - we don't always understand how dangerous and how powerful they can be or what they can do to other people.

Words are our most powerful asset. Words are our best friends. Words are our greatest enemies. I think we live in words. I think God lives in words.

How do you use yours?

Fancy Nancy & Fancy Tea Sandwiches

2009-09-08T23:05:00.000-07:00

"My family is posh! That's a fancy word for fancy."

- Fancy Nancy

Recommended tea: Nick Jr.'s Fancy Tea (Sandwiches)

I've been acting my whole life. I have a degree in theatre. I've played roles in plays by Sophocles, Shakespeare, Moliere, Oscar Wilde, and Jean-Claude van Itallie. I've even won a few awards (the keyword there is "few").

Now, saying all that, I would like to confess, here on my knee before high heaven and you, that playing Fancy Nancy today at the bookstore where I work was probably the most challenging thing I've ever had to do.

I, the wee little actress herself, found myself in the back room, wearing a feather boa, a tiara, and fairy wings, shaking in my sparkly high heel shoes.

Then, I heard the dreaded words (it wasn't difficult - 14 little girls shouting at the same time is surprisingly loud) "FANCY NANCY, COME OUT AND PLAY!!!!"

Showtime!

I ran out in my little high heels. "Bonjour! Bonjour!" 28 eyes widened and fixed themselves on me.

Me: Can anyone tell me what "Bonjour" means?

Little Girl: My favorite color is pink, purple, red, blue, yellow, and turquoise.

Me: Really? Well... um... Ooh, la la! What's your name?

Little Girl 2: (shoves handful of popcorn in her mouth)

Me: Oh... emmm... let's read a story!

It was at this point that I realized that my hands were shaking.

"Why? whywhywhywhywhy?" I thought. I've done this about a billion times. I have a degree. Did I mention that I have a degree? Let me say that again - I have a degree. In theatre.

Then, as I started to read the story, and the room fell silent, and the cameras started flashing, I realized it - I was terrified of disappointing those little girls.

I remember the awe that I experienced as a child when I fell in love with my first storybook characters. They were my heroes, the foundation for who I would want to become later. What would it have been like to discover that Jo March was just too overbearing? Or that Anne Shirley was a little too clingy? To discover that they were... human? I think that I would've been a little disappointed, to tell you the truth.

But that's the beautiful thing about reading, isn't it? Our minds are so powerful, so beautifully made, that this world that a book creates inside of our heads can never be duplicated. Real life will never be as good - maybe good in different ways, but not in the exact way that you imagine. My Anne Shirley will be different from your Anne Shirley, and there are INFINITE Anne Shirleys flying around out there in the minds of little girls. No two will be the same.

So THAT was why the pressure was there! How could MY performance, regardless of my credentials, live up to the hopes and the dreams of a room full of girls with huge imaginations and even more admiration?

Amazingly - miraculously, even - I didn't have to worry about that. The second I walked through the door, the girls loved me and I could feel it. When I finished reading the story and asked them if they wanted to have their nails polished, they all rushed towards me in a mighty frenzy, fingers outstretched, hugging me and grabbing at my necklaces.

Little Girl Three: I have a cat!

Me: Really? I have two cats!

Little Girl Three: Me too!

Little Girl Four: Thank you for letting me come to your party, Nancy.

Little Girl Five: This is my invisible dinosaur. He has a purple polk a dot body, a pink face, and a blue tail.

I had nothing to worry about. Children's imagination muscles are so strong that they are constantly living in "suspension of disbelief" mode - the mode that we work so heard to create in the theatre business. All I had to do was be there and listen, and their imaginations did the work.

The day ended with me sitting on the floor eating invisible spaghetti that one of the girls made for me (with sugar, vegetable soup, mustard, and ketchup on top). Then we danced and twirled, hugged, shed a few tears, and said goodbye.

This is why I act. This is why I read. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." There is so much more to this world than what we can see with our eyes.

I think kids are really the ones who have it all figured out.

Hey! Look at these!

The Scarlet Letter & Dream by the Fire

2009-09-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

"I have often wondered...why high school kids almost invariably hate the books they are assigned to read by their English teachers."

-Stephen King

Recommended tea: The Republic of Tea's Dream by the Fire Red Tea

If the picture above isn't instantly recognizable to you, you obviously didn't read The Scarlet Letter in high school. I remember cracking that book open, spending hours trying to read it, wishing that I could be watching The Real World instead.

When we talked about it in class, nothing jumped out at me. Nothing about it seemed extraordinary. To me, it was a long, overly verbose book that a teacher made me read to make me suffer and to learn to do what I was told, no matter how painful.

Years and a college degree later, I heard a segment on NPR. It was a part of their incredible "In Character" series, which explores the most influential and memorable characters in American fiction. Some of these were Harriet the Spy, Cookie Monster, Darth Vader, and Hester Prynne.

Now, some of you might be thinking "WHY would they talk about cookie monster?"

I hate to admit, MY honest reaction was "WHY would they talk about boring ole Hester Prynne?"

And then, they read a selection from the book:

...she took off the formal cap that confined her hair; and down it fell upon her shoulders, dark and rich, with at once a shadow and a light in its abundance and imparting the charm of softness to her features.

Not too shabby, huh? Actually, to be specific, in the NPR segment they had John Updike read this selection, which he recited from memory, and which, he said, still makes him cry.

"Well, maybe I should try reading that sucker again," I thought to myself. Then, I saw that The Scarlet Letter was going to be released with a new cover:

You can't tell in this photo, but the "A" actually GLEAMS in the light.

I decided that it was time to give Hester and Mr. Hawthorne another chance. I gave away my old high school copy in favor of the new gleamy version, deciding that it was vital to see it with completely new eyes.

I was surprised by how instantly I fell in love with it. Actually, it was this specific moment in the first chapter that made me fall in love with it. Hawthorne describes the prison, saying:

The rust on the ponderous ironwork of its oaken door looked more antique than any thing else in the new world. Like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to have known a youthful era... But, on the one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity and be kind to him.

Holy crap. Our high school teachers were right!

This isn't the first time I've re-read a book that I hated in high school. When I read To Kill A Mockingbird in school, it went through and over my head. This year I read it again, laughing and sobbing my way through it. Now, it's one of my favorite books, and I think of Scout as one of my best fictional friends.

But, let's not forget that when I read it in school, I hated it. And I'd venture to say that most of us did. Something doesn't seem right about this picture. Am I alone on this one? Teachers were literally showering us with beautiful language and amazingly human stories. In one ear, out the other, to the back of our dusty closets.

Why do we hate the books that we were forced to read in high school? Maybe the keyword there is "forced." Is it because we were told to read them, and being a teenager means hating being made to do anything? Is it because we weren't mentally or emotionally developed enough to appreciate them? Is it because our teachers didn't take the time to help us understand WHY these books are important?

Most (NOT ALL) of my experiences with reading in high school were like this:

Teacher: Read this.

Student: Why?

Teacher: Because it's important.

Student: Why is it important?

Teacher: Because I said so.

Student: Is it good? Will I enjoy it?

Teacher: That's not the point. The point is it's a classic and that means you need to read it so that you can get into a good college.

This, of course, is probably not even close to what actually happened. But for some strange reason, when you're in high school, that's the way it feels - like someone is trying to force you to appreciate something antiquated that has nothing whatsoever to do with who you are.

You lose the wonder that reading gave you as a child and all of a sudden reading is a chore.

How is it possible that all of this amazing literature was before our very eyes, and we were completely blind to its beauty?

Maybe you can't be forced to appreciate art. Art's beauty lies in its ability to entice you, to draw you in, to make you look twice and ask questions. Art speaks to you in its own time, when you're ready to listen to it. But Art loses it's power when it is shoved under your nose. The whisper of a painting or a novel is much louder than the shout of the lesson plan or the report card.

Also, in high school you might feel sorry for a character like Hester Prynne, but you lack the hindsight - the memories, the scars, the good and bad choices you've made - to be able to meet Hester and ache WITH her.

As a child, I looked at Hester and thought "The moral of this story is that we shouldn't judge anyone. The End. Give me my test score."

As an adult, I look into Hester's eyes and realize that we are the same. She isn't a character - she is my friend, my sister, my neighbor.

Hester is me. Hester is you. Hester is all of us.

Take a moment to consider all of those classics you skimmed through at the last minute, the night before the test - Great Expectations, Moby Dick, Oliver Twist, Huckleberry Finn, Wuthering Heights - a whole treasure trove of books screaming, "Please, give me another chance! I promise that I have something valuable to say! We can relate to each other!"

Without the test looming after you reach the last page, these books have a new, alluring, shiny glow. Dig them out of the closet, approach them with newer, wiser eyes, and learn why your English teacher gave them to you in the first place.

...and then, give your English teacher the opportunity to say, "I told you so!"

Hey! Look at this!

Reading Rainbow & Cherry Apple

2009-09-01T01:48:00.000-07:00

My mom has been a teacher for over 30 years. She loves helping children discover that reading is wonderful, and that it is something that they can do well.

Some mornings, my mom would arrive at her school a little early. There would be parents there, with their little children, before the school had even been unlocked.

"Why?" I asked her.

"Because the kids haven't eaten anything all weekend. They get all of their food at school because their parents can't afford to buy it for them."

Forget about buying picture books at $17.99 a pop - some of these parents can't even afford to buy their children food. When our nation is made up of five year olds who have to focus on keeping their stomachs from growling, and parents who have to focus on feeding their kids, how can we expect them to focus on learning? Or even excelling?

Imagine, then, my lack of surprise when I learned that Reading Rainbow had been cancelled. Lack of funds is stated as the reason for the cancellation, but the Wall Street Journal adds, "Pointing to changes in educational programming funding... the Department of Education and PBS are spending more money on teaching kids how to read, not on teaching them to savor the act itself."

Our children aren't learning how to savor the act of reading. They're not making it that far. Now, apparently, we're happy if we can just get them reading at all.

Coincidentally, the Wall Street Journal had another article on their website called "Good Novels Don't Have to Be Hard Work." The article talks about how modern readers are putting down James Joyce and (blasphemy!) Virginia Woolf in favor of Stephenie Meyer.

Lev Grossman writes, "You'll find critics who say they have bad taste, or that they're lazy and can't hack it in the big leagues. But that's not the case. They need something they're not getting elsewhere. Let's be honest: Why do so many adults read Suzanne Collins's young-adult novel 'The Hunger Games' instead of contemporary literary fiction? Because 'The Hunger Games' doesn't bore them."

But is that really why? Are we putting away Woolf and Joyce because we're bored, or is it because our culture is slowly but surely being trained to turn our brains off? To do what we think is easy instead of trying to do what might be a little more difficult? To focus on just learning how to read instead of learning how to savor it?

My BFF (BFF here is a technical and absolutely appropriate term) Lindsey pointed out that this might seem like I'm implying that young adult literature is not valuable. Lindsey is usually right about most things, so I definitely take her opinions to heart.

I can't stress this enough: The Hunger Games is brilliant, and young adult literature is incredibly valuable!

If you haven't read The Hunger Games, I encourage you to do so (then read the sequel Catching Fire!). It is thematically challenging and thought-provoking. I do not have a problem with The Hunger Games or with young adult literature.

What I DO have a problem with, however, is the generalization that contemporary literary fiction (in the article he sites Woolf and Joyce specifically) is a "boring," and therefore not valuable, genre. In fact, I have a problem with anyone saying that any literary genre should be completely ignored in favor of another genre.

I adore young adult literature. Sarah Dessen is one of my favorite authors of all time (read The Truth About Forever and Someone Like You right now), right up there next to Ms. Woolf, and Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. But that's exactly my point - that Sarah Dessen and Virginia Woolf and Laurie Halse Anderson belong NEXT to each other on the shelf rather than having one on the shelf and one in the wastebasket.

Teachers should say to their students, "I'm glad that you enjoyed Twilight. You should try Pride and Prejudice" or "You should try Wuthering Heights."

Teachers should NOT say to their students, "Wuthering Heights is boring. Never read it. Here's Twilight."

There is something intoxicating - miraculous, even - about discovering not only that you can do something difficult, but you can do it well. It is vital in our development as intelligent, well-rounded human beings. Similarly, there's something divine about picking up a complex piece of literature and ANALYZING it. Go ahead and hate it, or go ahead and love it - but the important thing is to read it in the first place! And after you read that classic, read a biography. Then read a young adult book. Then read a science fiction novel. Then read a book of poetry.

Just don't buy into the idea that your brain is too small to handle or appreciate any collection of words. OR the idea that every book doesn't have something valuable to teach you. Sometimes, that takes digging - but the dig is worth it.

As a child, there is nothing better than that moment when the words on the page turn from gibberish into WORDS! When "C" and "A" and "T" become "cat!"

When faced with the task of reading for the first time, it seems daunting. It doesn't make sense (much like, some would argue, Joyce). But you keep picking away at it, syllable by syllable, and after all of the trying, nothing is more rewarding than the moment you realize that you can actually do it (much like, some would argue, JOYCE)!

I remember running into my living room, waving my picture book over my head like a flag, yelling "I CAN READ! I CAN READ!" It was like finding Narnia at the back of the wardrobe. I felt the same way after I read The Iliad for the first time.

A whole world that I had never seen before was now opening itself up before my very eyes. The world where I would meet my best friends - Anne (with an "e") Shirley, Jo March, Harriet the Spy, The BFG... and later Hector, Lizzy Bennet, Atticus Finch, and Orlando. Can you imagine being deprived of that world?

Similarly, as an adult, there is nothing better than wrapping your whole brain around a difficult or different book and discovering that you can relate to it or that it stirs something in you. It's like trying sushi for the first time - it seems crazy at first, but once you get your first taste you wonder how you lived without it.

We're accepting value meals instead of home cooked meals, e-mails instead of letters, and Cliff's Notes instead of the full text. Now, we're even accepting the idea that books that hurt our heads are not worth picking up.

When did we forget what life was about? When did we forget how to savor, and start doing just enough to squeak by? When did we lose faith in our brains and our ability to make the unknown knowable?

Reading equals freedom. Reading equals empowerment. Reading lots of different things equals tolerance. Loving reading equals loving life.

What will the world be like when no one loves reading?

Wishful Drinking & Spiked Sweet Tea

2009-08-31T10:45:00.000-07:00

"Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on."

- Bob Newhart

Recommended tea: Spiked Sweet Tea

Sometimes at the bookstore, customers can get a little upset. Sometimes it's because we don't have the book that they want, or because we haven't heard of something that they consider an essential piece of literature. Most of the time, though, it's because of something else - their husband snapped at them on the phone before they walked in, their mother is in the hospital. Usually they're already upset when they walk in the door, and we just happen to be in their line of fire.

One day, I was up at the registers and a very pregnant woman walked up with her two other children. One was a toddler, and the other was probably seven or eight. Now, for no reason that I've been able to understand, we have these very wobbly pedestals in front of the registers that are usually piled high with very heavy books. Attached to these pedestals are velvet ropes, which to children, look like swings. But what happens when a child puts any weight on one of these "swings"? Both pedestals will fall on top of them, along with all of the books on top of them. We do our best to keep this from happening.

Imagine my horror, then, when this particular customer's seven year old was holding the toddler up in the air, hopping over the velvet rope on one foot as if it were a jump rope.

Immediately I said, in my Kindergarten teacher voice, "oooooOOOOOOH! Be careful!"

To which, the very pregnant woman replied, screaming in my face, "YOU KNOW WHAT!? WE'RE DOING THE BEST WE CAN!!!!!!!!!!!"

She then stated that she would never shop in our store again, and left all of her merchandise on the counter.

I would like to say that I laughed this off. My reaction, of course - being the strong, independent, Stevie Nicks-esque woman that I am - was to cry. I tried to stifle the tears, of course, but that only made them all the more determined to come streaming down my face. While sobbing, I continued to ring up the customers.

"Did you-hoo-hoo f-f-find eve-eve-everything oka-a-a-ay?"

And what do you know? Those customers came to my rescue.

"What I want to know, honey, is are you okay?"

"Well, obviously, she's not doing the best that she can!"

"My goodness - she needs a vacation."

One customer came around the counter and held my hand. "Honey," she said, "I've been pregnant twice before. Don't you worry! It's not you. It's the hormones. I would cry too if I were you! Just let it out!"

Later, one of my co-workers - let's call her best friend co-worker - was on the phone with a customer.

"WELL, I wanted to get this book, but you, of course, said it was on (dun-dun-dun) BACKORDER! Tell me, please, do any of you know what you are doing? I would like to speak to a manager."

To which, best friend co-worker replied, "Ma'am, I am a manager."

Crazy customer then said, "PFUH! I HIIIIGHLY doubt that!" and hung up.

And you know what best friend co-worker did? She laughed, being the strong, independent, Stevie Nicks-esque woman that she is. I know that my reaction would inevitably have been tears.

This is when I realized - it takes more strength to laugh than it does to cry when faced with these situations. My reaction to problems has always been to look them in the face, sternly, seriously, and try my best not to let them break me. If they do break me, I usually cry. I usually cry even if they don't break me, to tell you the truth.

But what would my life have been like if I had laughed instead? How many warriors among us are hiding their battle scars with clown noses? Do you really think it takes more strength, more sacrifice, to wallow in victimhood than it does to climb the victim mountain, stand on top, and move on with your life?

Carrie Fisher is most definitely a mountain climber. When I have looked at Carrie Fisher in the past, I have always seen her as someone that didn't take herself too seriously, but had a pretty privileged, easy life.

HOO-DOGGY! I was way off. Ms Fisher has not only dealt with alcoholism and addiction (which she argues are the exact same thing), but divorce, death (her friend died next to her in her bed), Bipolar Disorder ("I'm a Pez Dispenser AND my picture is in the Abnormal Psychology textbook!" she says), and - oh yeah! - her dad, Eddie Fisher, leaving her mom, Debbie Reynolds, for Elizabeth Taylor. The kind of stuff we all have to deal with...right?

But in spite of all of this hardship, Carrie Fisher is able to look at it and smile, to laugh, to share these hardships with us wrapped up in a nice little chuckle package. It makes us as readers feel stronger, like we can get through anything. If she can survive, laugh, have a good attitude, and create something brilliant with these horrors... can't we?

She says, "If my life wasn't funny, it would just be true - and that is unacceptable."

Life of course hands you the bad, but the warriors - they take the bad and they turn it into something good, inspiring, something that can lighten someone else's load - something I like to call "art." In my opinion, this is the single most selfless act in humanity - to wipe off the tears, and bravely put on the clown nose or pick up the paintbrush or pick up the pen. What is art if not the ability to reach out to other humans and say "Hey! Look at this! I'm human, too, and we're human together!"

Ms Fisher has now officially been added to my "strong women I aspire to be/be like" list. And you know I want one of those knit Princess Leia hats.

Hey! Look at this!

I TOLD you it was real

2009-08-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

I found this when I was cleaning out my childhood room -

No, your eyes do not deceive you! That says,

"To: Amanda

Love, Dolly Parton"

I hate to say I told you so... actually, I don't. I told you so.

And I bet Dolly would've told you so, too, if she'd had the opportunity.

I have to find a place to hang it that the dreamy husband will approve of

(What's wrong with over the bed, hubby? Seriously...)

Now I've just got to work on the other (living) members of my "Strong women I want to be/be like" list.

(Stevie Nicks, I'm lookin' at you)

Columbine & Earl Greyer

2009-08-23T22:03:00.000-07:00

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places."

- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Recommended Tea: The Republic of Tea's Earl Greyer

Recently I was working at the bookstore and one of our regular customers approached me.

"Do you have the new Lucy Cousins book?"

This particular customer is a whiz when it comes to kids' books. He knows everything new, usually before we even know about it. Thankfully this time we happened to have the exact book he was looking for.

I love helping Mr. Enthusiastic, as I have dubbed him, because he is... um... enthusiastic.

"Look!" he said, "I have to show you this page..."

He flipped to a section of the book that told the story of Little Red Riding Hood. There, in this brand new children's book, written by the creator of Maisy, was a picture of a wolf getting his head chopped off with an axe.

"GEEZ!" I exclaimed.

"I know!" he said, "Isn't it fantastic?"

I started to tell him about an article that I recently read about fairy tales. About how in the good ole days, children's stories weren't all roses and sunshine. They were scary, graphic, terrifying, usually involving diseases and orphans and murder. Think the fire in Bambi (I still get a little shaky thinking about that) times one-thousand. The article argued that stories like this were important for a child's development. When introduced to concepts like violence and death at an early age, children, apparently, are able to process these things more easily later in life rather than being completely blindsided by them. They SHOULD learn about these things as children in a safe way rather than being raised to believe that in life, everything is tied up in a nice little bow.

It was at this point that he looked at me and said "Yes... in real life, there is no happily ever after."

It struck me as more than a coincidence that this encounter occurred while I was reading Dave Cullen's Columbine - a book that I had been eager to read for months.

I know exactly where I was when I found out about the shooting in 1999 (which, Cullen argues, was actually a failed bombing meant to kill hundreds). I was in my grandmother's living room, sitting in her big leather chair that is now my big leather chair, watching the footage on her television that was as old as stonehenge.

I remember seeing all of the images, now burned into our consciousness, for the first time. Children running with their arms above their heads. Heads thrown back in sorrow. The boy in the window.

Almost immediately, the media (as we liberals like to call it) started providing answers to the collective American question mark surrounding the horror. "Oh, they were bullied." "Oh, they listened to Marilyn Manson." "Oh, they were nazis." "Oh they were goth kids." "Oh, they were racists."

Then the heroic stories started to pour out. Cassie Bernall declaring her faith in the face of death. A modern day martyr. Then came the songs, the sermons, the books, the testimonies.

Guess what? None of these things actually happened.

Cullen's book, rather than being an exposé on the inner-workings of twisted, bullied, outcast kids serves as a means to show the world what they really were - kids. One introverted, lacking self-confidence, with a desperate need to feel loved and accepted. The other, a textbook sociopath. Both were popular, well-liked, and intelligent. They were desperate to go to prom, to get dates, to fall in love. Both had close friends that were Christians and minorities. Neither of them were goths or racists.

But this just goes to show what we as Americans are trained to do when a tragic, unimaginable event takes place - we pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and find the moral. Find the lesson learned. Find the happily ever after.

When I was about to turn 13, my older brother passed away. I thought that if I could find the lesson that this event was supposed to teach me (we Southern gals and our "sposed ta's"), I would be healed. If I could wrap it all up in a big bow, make it all make sense, it would be as if none of it had ever happened and my pain would vanish.

I took the standard "Well, if this had not happened to me then x and z would not have happened, either, so really, it was a good thing," approach. This made me feel "fixed," like I wasn't screwed up anymore, and didn't have to deal with all of the scary questions. I could now be the brave girl with her life completely together, better and wiser than she was pre-tragedy. At that age more than any other, you see the world in black and white terms. There is an answer to every question. Doubt is not okay. Doubt equals weakness.

Turns out, I'm just as confused now as I was then. The only difference is that now I'm able to admit it.

Later, I found an old brown paper bag with some of my brother's last wishes written on it. "Tell Amanda that it's okay to ask questions," it said. Only now do I fully understand what he was trying to tell me.

Usually when I blog about the books that I've read, I try to describe a moral or lesson that I've learned from them. But the very point of Cullen's book is that there aren't always morals. Trying to tie up all of the loose ends can sometimes cheapen the experience and nullify the humanity. It serves only to provide us mental relief - "okay, we've learned what that was about and now we can move on." But who wants to see their lost loved ones reduced to a lesson or a microcosm? What high schoolers want to see their school reduced to a symbol for what is wrong with young America? The truth is that truth - life - is more complicated than that, and reducing everything to something that you would read on a sampler doesn't do truth, or life, justice.

Our role as humans is to examine, to pursue, to use our minds and wrestle with what life hands us. Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, there is no black and white. And only through embracing and accepting the question marks, the grey, can we see ourselves as we really are - complex, terrifying, beautiful, irrational creatures.

Like Ms. Stevie Nicks says, "Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know."

I don't know. And guess what? That's okay.

Julie & Julia & Butter Tea

2009-08-16T20:19:00.000-07:00

"If I was going to follow Julia down this rabbit hole, I was going to enjoy it, by God - exhaustion, crustacean murder, and all. Because not everybody gets a rabbit hole. I was one lucky bastard, when you came down to it."

- Julie Powell, Julie & Julia

Recommended Tea: Tibetan Butter Tea

Recently a friend and I had a discussion about our careers.

"I'm so tired of working at a job that I don't care about! Well, I care about it, and it's a great job, but I'm so tired of not being able to do what I love," friend said.

"Well," said I, "maybe you would feel a little better about your job if you did some more stuff on the side that you really DID care about. Like, if I only worked at my job during the day and didn't do anything else, I would lose my mind. Which is why I act on the side. And blog. And volunteer. And act some more. And direct sometimes. And teach sometimes. And sometimes dress up as storybook characters and read to kids. And read. And garden. And write plays."

This is what my life has always been like. Student/bookseller/filer by day, devious actor/volunteer/playwright/director/gardener by night. This has been what has saved my soul and kept it in its little birdhouse. Since I was twelve I have always gone a billion miles a minute, have always done ten things at once. And I intend to keep it that way.

But there's something about working that post-college job that really, really depresses you. Sure, there may exist (in some alternate universe) a collection of people who were able to go right into the job that they always dreamed of. If those people exist, I have never met them. More power to them.

For the rest of us, there's that doomed phrase - "make a living." I touched on this a bit in my blog entry for Into the Wild. After college, after spending four idealistic years studying what you love so that you can do what you love for the rest of your life, you forget about all of the steps that it takes to get to the place where you CAN actually do what you love instead of doing it in your spare time.

This is especially true for the artists among us (and I proudly, maybe a little naively, throw myself into this category). There is no road map, no route to get to your dreams. But there is a light bill. And rent. And food. These are clear, touchable things that you can wrap your head around. Survival means eating and shelter. Eating and shelter mean money. Art and money, at least at first, do not...well... "mesh well."

So you apply at the restaurant or the clothing store or the (cough cough) bookstore. You think "I'll only be here for a little while - just until I can get started. Then it's DREAMTIME!"

Months or even years later, you're still there. And you're still not in dreamville. And the longer you stay OUT of dreamville, the harder it is to find your way back to your route. I am convinced that this is why the world doesn't have as many artists as it should - the artists get trapped in a cubicle and get so comfortable (or scared) that they never want to leave.

But for those of us with one foot in retail and one foot in the arts, there's an overwhelming need to create. To do something that matters. To do ANYTHING that isn't paperwork or folding or (cough cough cough) shelving.

This is what Julie & Julia is about - finding that thing that pulls your soul out of the deep, dark, "make a living" hole and puts it somewhere inspired. Whether that route is cooking your way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking or singing karaoke at Twin Kegs on a Saturday night, the creative have GOT to find ways to create, ways to stay connected to the muse, no matter what they may be.

And what better place to find inspiration than Mrs. Julia Child? Julia Child, in my humble opinion, should be right there on the "great, strong women" shelf next to Eleanor Roosevelt and Katharine Hepburn. She was able to find that thing that she loved more than anything, even though it took her 40 years to find it, and seek it with all of her heart while staying poised and positive. And when she found that thing, she threw herself into it heart and soul.

Julie Powell is similarly worthy of admiration. Not only because she threw herself into this extremely daunting project heart and soul, but because she was able to bring inspiration into her world, grab Julia's hand, and pull herself out of the cubicle ocean.

I also completely adore the idea of following in the path of a (my favorite phrase) "strong woman" in order to learn how to blaze your own. For Julie, that trailblazer was Julia. For me, there have been maybe a billion - Dolly Parton, Stevie Nicks, Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Jo March, Elizabeth Bennet, Sarah Bernhardt, and, the one nearest and dearest to my heart nowadays, Virginia Woolf.

One of the things that I love most about being a woman is the feeling that these women (be they fictional or real) are my sisters, my friends, my family members. That they sit on my shoulders like little angels, whispering their words of wisdom, completely ready and willing to help me drag myself out of that ocean of comfortable mediocrity and into the universe of my dreams.

Jo tells me to cut off all of my hair.

Elizabeth encourages me to speak my mind.

Dolly whispers, "If you don't like the road you're walking pave another one."

Stevie screams, "ROCK ON, Gold Dust Woman!"

Katharine shouts, "If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."

Virginia gingerly places her hand on my shoulder and says, "They say that one must beat one's wings against the storm in the belief that beyond this welter the sun shines; the sun falls sheer into pools that are fledged with willows."

And what have they all told me to do in unison? What did Julia tell Julie to do?

JUMP!

Jump into life! Jump into your dreams! Stop wasting your time, energy, and talent. Take a risk. Find a way to make your life about what is really important to you instead of about earning a pay check. Build a little birdhouse in your soul. Show the world that you are a force to be reckoned with instead of trying to play by the world's rules.

And that is exactly what I am going to do.

Hey! Look At This!

Julia Child shows you how to make an omelette

The Time Traveler's Wife & Passion

2009-08-09T19:02:00.001-07:00

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Recommended Tea: Tazo's Passion

Recently, my husband and I celebrated our one year wedding anniversary. We went to the site of our wedding, visited all of the important places. It was strange - strange because those places had changed.

"That Sonic wasn't there before, was it?" "When did they start doing construction here?" "It's not as humid as it was last year."

It was as if we believed the happiness that we felt on that day had the power to keep anything from changing.

It is this belief that leads millions upon millions of people to get married. The belief that what you feel is so strong that it will keep anything from changing. Ever.

Unfortunately, time doesn't freeze. Time keeps going. As it ticks away, things change. You gain weight, you lose weight. The house is clean, the house is a wreck. The fridge is full, the fridge is empty. You're getting along perfectly, and then you have a disagreement.

You're young, in love, and together... but then, one day, one of you is gone.

This is a fear that has haunted me since the day that I knew my husband would someday be my husband. The fear of never finding "the one" is immediately replaced with the fear of what will happen when "the one" is gone. Or you are gone. I cannot imagine anything more terrifying.

The reality of death hit me at a very young age, when someone in my family passed away. After experiencing the reality of that horror, death has turned into my noisy neighbor, the paparazzi hiding behind the bushes and peeking into my windows, wrecking moments that are supposed to be personal and private. I know that he is there. He knows that I know that he is there.

On the one hand, the knowledge of this keeps me thankful. I became aware, earlier than most of my friends, that we would not have each other forever. This gave me an appreciation for the people around me.

On the other hand, this has placed a shadow over much of my life. I could be watching the sunset with my husband, only to burst into tears at the thought that he, or I, could die tomorrow. Every time my mother travels, she calls me and tells me where her will is, where she keeps her valuable jewelry, and how much she loves me. Every doctor visit, every late night phone call, every time my husband doesn't come home when I expect him to.

The Time Traveler's Wife has a similar theme. When you love someone, time gets a bit warped. In my heart, the present day and my wedding day, the present day and the day I will lose my husband, all seem to blur together.

On my goodreads.com account, I gave this book three stars. I enjoyed it, I felt like I knew the characters (sometimes maybe even a bit more than I would like), but my response to it is (without going into specific details and giving too much away) ...meh.

The themes, however, and the concept... those, I give ten stars. The themes alone - regardless of the story - make this book worth reading.

Niffenegger's argument seems to be that time travel is a metaphor for differences in a relationship. When two people decide to live a life together, how can there ever be harmony when one of them has a mind that works like an actor and the other has a mind that works like a professor? Can they actually be at the exact same place at the exact same time, or is their whole relationship an attempt to reach across their differences, or, in Clare and Henry's case, time?

There's also the big scary thing called expectation, or what we in the south sometimes call a "case of the sposed ta's." I'm supposed to get married. I'm supposed to have a baby. I'm supposed to be happy. I'm supposed to have this job or that job. Clare and Henry are husband and wife. This is the future, this is what is supposed to happen. This is what we, and they, are told from page one. But, in my own humble opinion, they don't seem too compatible. You start to wonder "Hmm... would these two be together if they didn't think they were supposed to be?" And there's a good chance that they wouldn't be. Because Clare and Henry know that they are "supposed to" be together, they get married. And in life, the pressure of the sposed ta's rarely keeps things from happening... well... the way they're sposed ta.

Time travel could also be a symbol for that mysterious I-don't-know-what that keeps people together. One moment that I keep traveling back to is the night I had one of my first panic attacks. My husband and I had just started dating, and the panic set in while we were spending time alone together. I remember he had an important test early the next morning, but he drove me to my bed, tucked me in, and sat up all night watching me to make sure that I was alright. This was when I knew that I wanted him there by my side for always and always.

How many times have I visited this moment? Thousands. Maybe millions. It is visiting this moment that makes the crappy part-time job, the messy apartment, and all of those little-things-that-seem-big-at-the-time moments vanish into the background while my husband stays beautifully focused in the foreground.

Are all of these what Niffenegger was hoping to communicate in the writing of this book? I have no idea. And that is why it deserves ten stars. The theme is there, and it is brilliant. What it means... that's for you to figure out.

And in the meantime, we keep holding on to each other, keep watching those sunsets, keep traveling back to the past and keep anticipating, looking forward to, and dreading all that is to come.

The clock keeps ticking, and we hold on like hell.

Hey! Look at This!

Sad Day

2009-08-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

Rest in Peace, John Hughes

Thank you for understanding.

Confessions of a Shopaholic & Get Smart

2009-08-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

"I love new clothes. If everyone could just wear new clothes everyday, I reckon depression wouldn’t exist anymore."

- Sophie Kinsella, Confessions of a Shopaholic

Recommended Tea: The Republic of Tea's Get Smart

A genre exists in the book world that causes universal division. It is both loved and hated, praised and put down, and that genre has been dubbed "Chick Lit." Now, I am usually not one for "Chick Lit" books (did you miss that post on Twilight?). I picked up White Oleander (which I have heard is the queen of chick lit books) and at first I thought "This writing is beautiful!" After what felt like billions of pages later, I felt like I needed to see a shrink and quickly. In the bookstore where I work, most people ask for chick lit books than anything else. "Do you have the new Phillipa Gregory book?" "Where is Twilight?" "Where are your Nicholas Sparks books?" Usually we roll our eyes in the inside, and smile on the outside.

One morning on one of my days off, I was youtube surfing and found that the whole movie Confessions of a Shopaholic had been uploaded (and it will probably be pulled right about... now). So I grabbed myself a cup of coffee, some snacks, and sat down to enjoy the free new release.

It was cute! I can get behind cute. I also think that Isla Fisher is a brilliant comedic actress. I liked the movie so much, in fact, that it made me roll on over to the bookstore and pick up a copy.

Guess what? The book is absolutely nothing like the movie - it's about a billion times better. I've read other reviews that have called the book shallow and its heroine vapid, but this only leads me to believe that they have never experienced (dun dun duuuun) Shopaholism.

What I was an itty bitty girl, my family started going through some very serious stuff. If we had a particularly rough day, my mother and I could usually find a solution - shopping. We'd head on over to the local mall, pick up an Auntie Anne's pretzel, and go to work. Jewelry, posters, shoes, clothes - the sky was the limit. It was absolute bliss. You truly felt like that shiny new shoe, that unrolled Hanson poster wrapped in plastic, that new pair of American Eagle boot cut jeans would make your whole world turn upside down, make all of your problems vanish, and create a new, shiny life for you.

Unfortunately, like alcoholism, the high only lasts for so long. You get your shiny new thing home, put it in the closet or on the wall, and then... boom. The shopping hangover. But what's the best cure for a hangover? "A hair from the dog that bit you." SO, the next day, it's off to the mall again.

This problem snowballed as I grew older. When I got to college, not only was it clothes and posters, it was food, coffee, and most of all - BOOKS. There was always some reason that I NEEDED to buy these things. I need coffee so that I can study. I need good food so that I will be alert. I need new clothes so that I will look put together and smart. I need this book so that my grades will improve. Every month when my credit card statement arrived was a battle. Me, looking at the huge total that seemed completely unreal, and then going into defense mode. "I HAD to buy this! I HAD to spend that money! I needed it! I had no choice!"

Fast forward a few years to now. After graduating from college, becoming financially independent, and marrying the love of my life who was also a college graduate planning to save up for grad school, I knew that some financial changes would be in my future. I also knew that the man I was about to marry was super practical and super thrifty (not to mention super dreamy). BUT, that didn't stop me.

"Honey, I NEEDED this! I had no choice! I need new clothes for work! I need to be able to eat lunch!" Blah Blah Blah!

Being a shopaholic doesn't just hurt your wallet. It can also hurt your relationships. My dreamy husband made sacrifice after sacrifice to support my addiction. Several tears and very long credit card statements later, after trying desperately to justify, defend, and most of all hide my habit, I realized that something needed to change. This happened... oh... say... last week?

This is what I loved the most about Confessions of a Shopaholic and why, unlike Twilight, I think there is some real value here. Becky Bloomwood is a human being. We are allowed to live inside her head and meld our minds with hers (for me it wasn't that hard). But, despite her shopping weakness, she is a funny, talented, smart, resourceful, independent, confident woman. And what does she inevitably do? She uses her strengths, her convictions, and her MIND to solve her problems. She has support from her friends and her family, but really it is Becky Bloomwood alone who picks herself up off the ground, realizes that she has to stop making excuses and confronts her problems. She doesn't need anyone else to do it for her.

And she does just that! She is able to pick herself up, dust herself off, and recover. She grows. She flourishes. She creates a new life, a new mind, for herself. She has weaknesses AND strengths, and we are able to see both in a completely honest, real way.

I love Becky Bloomwood. I can relate to her. And if she can do it, well dammit, so can I.

Hey! Look at these!

See Sophie Kinsella show off her "Shoe-seum" below

Twilight & Om

2009-07-29T18:22:00.000-07:00

"Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man, at twice its natural size."

— Virginia Woolf

Recommended Tea: Tazo's Om Tea

(because if you're like me, you'll need something to calm you down after you're done with Twilight)

I work in the kids department at a bookstore. "Kids" doesn't just mean Eric Carle and Dr. Seuss - it also includes the "Young Adult" section - Tamora Pierce, Sarah Dessen, and (shortly after I started working here) Stephenie Meyer. I began my job at the bookstore a few months before Twilight hit the big screen. My first week there, I shelved two carts of Twilight books. That's two FULL carts of just Twilight.

My first thought was, "Geez, this Stephenie lady is rolling in the dough."

My second thought was, "What the crap is this series and what makes it so popular? And why can every book in this series also function as a door stop?"

Seriously, we had so many of these things, and they were so brick-like that I literally constructed a house out of them when we ran out of shelf space. "Just build something with them," my boss said.

"OH," said one of my co-workers. "Twilight is the most popular book right now. Think about when Harry Potter was at its most popular. That's Twilight now."

"Is it good?" I asked co-worker.

"It is the worst thing that I have ever read in my life," she replied.

Week after week, I watched eight and nine year old girls (and 50 and 60 year old moms) run into our department.

"DO YOU HAVE TWILIGHT?" they would scream.

I would start to lead them towards the shelf, when said co-worker would gain on us.

"NO! Nononononono, you don't want to read that. Believe me. You don't. Here, read this!" she would say, picking up a copy of Graceling or A Great and Terrible Beauty. "It's so empowering!" Sometimes she was even so desperate to keep these little girls from reading Twilight that she would work on the moms.

"It's inappropriate. Believe me."

Then the moms would nod appreciatively, dragging their girls away from the pictures of Robert Pattinson with copies of Graceling in their shopping baskets.

I would sit in the break-room and complain about it. "I mean, if the customer wants to buy the book, why talk them out of it? If they want it, what's the big deal? Stop being such a book snob! It's just good fun! You shouldn't expect these kids to be reading Jane Eyre. At least they're reading!"

Kids AND their mothers would GUSH to me about Twilight at the registers. After telling them that, no, in fact, I had NOT read it, their reply was always "WHAT!?!?! You have to!!! It's the best thing that you will ever read. I read the whole series in thirty minutes and then re-read them all in twenty. It's so much better than Harry Potter. It's the best thing that I have ever read."

Now that I'm not constructing Sphinxes and Taj Mahals out of copies of Twilight (in fact, we only order about four or five copies of each book in the series now), I decided to bite the bullet (or the neck), sit down, and read the damn thing. After all, it's kind of like a job requirement, right? How can I be a good employee if I am not knowledgeable about one of the most popular books we sell?

So, I checked it out at the library, cracked the brick open, and started reading.

About 100 pages into it, I was hooked. "Wow!" I thought, "This book is really enticing! I can't put this thing down." I went to work and gushed about it. "I'm sucked in! Why was co-worker so anti-Twilight? It's good fun!"

And then, Edward and Bella started dating.

All of my thoughts of, "it's just a fun book!" and, "at least kids are reading," flew out of the window. My copy of the book ALSO would have flown out the window, but I resisted destroying it because it was library property.

Here - one of the bestselling books of, well, NOW - is one of the most disgusting, sexist, chauvinistic things that I have ever read.

I hesitated to write ANYTHING about Twilight, because (a) I know that a billion things have already been written about how bad it is (b) some of my friends loved it and I don't want to question their intelligence (and I don't) and (c) I'm so angry about it that I don't want to waste anymore of my time doing anything that has anything to do with it. But never in my life have I had such a violently negative reaction to a book, and to me that justifies at the very least a blog entry.

This is not fluff, this is not fun, this is damaging, dangerous literature. Not that I'm pro-book-burning or pro-book-banning. I AM, however, pro-empowerment and pro-feminism.

The reasons that this book scares me are the following:

It encourages dangerous, unhealthy relationships

The relationship between Bella and Edward literally goes from first date to, "I would rather die than live without you," in about five pages. She says on several occasions that life would not be worth living without him, which to me is a fairly risky sentiment to be placing in the minds of young girls who are prone to obsession.

It encourages weakness

Edward is interested in Bella because she smells good and because he can't read her mind - not because of her intelligence, her convictions, her beliefs, or her abilities. He carries her - literally CARRIES her - everywhere that they go, as if she's incapable of even walking. In one scene, he seduces her into doing what he wants her to do. He yells at her, he tells her what to do, he treats her like she is five years old.

It sends the message that it's okay to leave your life behind for a man

Bella's life BECOMES Edward. She ignores her friends, her family, and good advice because "they just don't understand!" Her every waking moment is now centered around him - not developing herself, forging her own independence (which is such an important thing at that age), or embracing her individuality.

Essentially, Twilight's message is "You're nobody until a guy likes you."

Not that having a man in your life ISN'T great, but a real man wants you to be strong, wants you to improve yourself, wants you to stand on your own two feet, know what you believe in, and stand up for it. A real man loves your mind. A real man loves your independence. A real man gives you strength, he doesn't take it away.

What has happened to our society that has changed our heroines from people like Jo March and Elizabeth Bennet to Bella Swan? Anne Shirley broke a slate over Gilbert Blythe's head for calling her "carrots!" What would she have done if Gilbert tried to carry her everywhere? Why are we glorifying a weak, unintelligent lemming?

Bella's narration is very real, very much like the way an actual teenage girl thinks, and I will give Stephenie Meyer that. I felt like I was inside the mind of a 15 year-old. She is insecure, obsessive, and willing to please. Yes, this is what most teenage girls are actually like. BUT, does that mean that she is worthy of being looked up to? I remember admiring strong women and longing to be like them, but what happens when girls start admiring and emulating weak girls? Should girls strive only to find a man who will protect them, carry them, and tell them what to do and what to cook instead of developing their own abilities?

"Well, at least young girls are reading." Why is this our reaction? Why do we think so little of the younger generation? Why do we praise them for merely being able to pick up a brick book and read until the last page? Where have our standards gone?

What Would Virginia Woolf Do?

"Hey, 8 year-old customer, I know that Robert Pattinson is dreamy and all, but have you ever heard of A Room Of One's Own or The Second Sex?"

"I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee's life of the poet. She died young--alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the crossroads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh."

- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

Hey! Check these out!

Also, watch this! Patti Smith and Virginia Woolf. Strong women of the world, unite!

Awesome Links!

2009-07-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

Hey out there, book and tea lovers! Here are some awesome articles and sites that you should definitely check out:

Books!

NPR: "Checkout Girl" Anna Sam Cashes In With Bestselling Memoir

New York Times: Frank McCourt and the American Memoir

Well Medicated: 45 Beautifully Designed Book Covers

Chicago Tribune: The magical, mystical path linking book and reader

Nylon Magazine: Fashion illustrator Ruden Toledo makes it okay to judge a book by it's cover

Tea!

The Republic of Tea's Sip for the Cure Collection

The Teashop Girls: Tea and Youth Lit

peacelovetea

The Waves & A British Breakfast

2009-07-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

For now my body, my companion, which is always sending its signals, the rough black 'No,' the golden 'Come' in rapid running arrows of sensation, beckons. Some one moves. Did I raise my arm? Did I look? Did my yellow scarf with the strawberry spots float and signal? He has broken from the wall. He follows. I am pursued through the forest. All is rapt, all is nocturnal and the parrots go screaming through the branches. All my senses stand erect. Now I feel the roughness of the fibre of the curtain through which I push; now I feel the cold iron railing and its blistered paint beneath my palm. Now the cool tide of darkness breaks its waters over me. We are out of doors. Night opens; night traversed by wandering moths; night hiding lovers roaming to adventure. I smell roses; I smell violets; I see red and blue just hidden. Now gravel is under my shoes; now grass. Up reel the tall backs of houses guilty with lights. All London is uneasy with flashing lights. Now let us sing our love song - Come, come, come. Now my gold signal is like a dragon-fly flying taut. Jug, jug, jug, I sing like the nightingale whose melody is crowded in the too narrow passage of her throat. Now I hear crash and rending of boughs and the crack of antlers as if the beasts of the forest were all hunting, all rearing high and plunging down among the thorns. One has pierced me. One is driven deep within me. And velvet flowers and leaves whose coolness has been stood in water wash me round, and sheathe me, embalming me.

- Virginia Woolf's The Waves

Recommended Tea: The Republic of Tea's British Breakfast

When I think about explaining why I loved this book, I find myself completely overwhelmed. To put it as simply as possible, The Waves is probably the most honest, beautiful thing that I have ever read. I found myself sometimes reading a page two or three times, as if each sentence was a long hot bath that I desperately did not want to get out of.

Someone once said that Patsy Cline's singing voice was the voice that they always dreamed they had - the voice that, they felt, matched their soul. All I could think upon reading The Waves was - if my soul had a voice, I would want it to be Virginia Woolf's. The language is like music, the imagery is vivid, the characters are so real. Woolf once said that The Waves was not about different individuals, but rather about all of the different individuals that live inside of us that are provoked to appear at various points in our lives. There is the social butterfly, the great orator, the mother, the recluse, the outsider - all of these exist within us, and all of these are truthful as they exist within us.

Virginia Woolf understood that human nature - reality - is too complex to be summed up with words, but (miraculously!) she is able to do just that. With this work, Woolf has shown me, beautifully shown me, the truth about life - it is an ocean, and our souls are boats piled full of people attempting to brave the waves.

SPEAKING of The Waves:

Check out clips from The National Theatre's experimental staging of Woolf's novel

The Hours & Pink Grapefruit with Pink Peony Petals

2009-07-14T11:59:00.000-07:00

"Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself"

- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

(a bouquet of Pink Peonies wouldn't hurt, either)

I saw the film The Hours a few years ago. I will go ahead and bravely say that it went right over my head (imagine my hand sweeping over the top of my head right now, because that's what I'm doing and that's what the movie did to me). I knew nothing about Virginia Woolf, nothing about Mrs. Dalloway, and frankly only watched it because Nicole Kidman was awarded an Oscar for it.

So, after reading Mrs. Dalloway, after growing into Virginia Woolf, hearing her calling me from the bookshelf and then from the pages of Orlando and now from trees and flowers, it was still with a little trepidation that I picked up The Hours at the local library. Was it going to be better than the movie? Was it going to injure my newfound love for Virginia? Instead of hearing Virginia speak to me, would I be picturing Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose in my mind?

What joy, what bliss, then, to discover the beauty of Michael Cunningham's The Hours. I admit, I couldn't shake the images of Meryl Streep (even though the actual Meryl Streep appears in the book - surprise!) and Julianne Moore. But, I am happy to say, Nicole Kidman's nose took a back seat and I saw Virginia (and her own lovely nose), heard her voice, could even see through her eyes as she looked up through the beautiful and terrifying water.

For me, the beauty of this book lies in its truth. It explains so vividly what is so terrifying and similarly what is so wonderful about being a living, breathing human being. There is the beauty of the world, ecstatic errands, flowers, making cakes, throwing parties, stolen kisses. Similarly, these things can each hold their own terror. There are also the hours - all of those terrifying hours that stretch out ahead of you for who knows how long. On some days, those hours disappear into the horizon, making it almost impossible to get out of bed. On some days, that horizon seems all too close, uncomfortably close, and the terror comes from the realization that it's closer than you once dreamed.

But, that is the MOST beautiful thing about the human condition - we all experience that terror and that comfort together. We all both fear and respect death. We can all appreciate the beauty of the sunshine and the fear of the day when we will see it for the last time.

Michael Cunningham says it best himself:

There is just this for consolation: an hour here or there, when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning, we hope, more than anything, for more. Heaven only knows why we love it so.

I also find it worth noting that everything that I have just said, explaining why I loved this book, explains why I loved Mrs. Dalloway. That feeling of interconnectedness is so well presented in both, which is why I think it is so important to see The Hours as a companion for Mrs. Dalloway. They are like cheese and wine or oreos and milk - they bring out the best in each other. Michael Cunningham obviously has a great love for Virginia Woolf and her work, and this is a love letter to her and to the modern readers who love her but wish that they could see her take on the world as it is now.

So, I would suggest going to your local (independent!) bookstore today, picking up a copy of Mrs. Dalloway, and keeping enough money in your wallet to buy The Hours next week.

But above all else, avoid Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose.

Hey! Check this out! - Mrs. Dalloway's Literary & Garden Arts

Also, hear Woolf's actual voice below.