Twilight & Om

"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!

• Bite Me! (Or Don't) - Bitch Magazine
  
• The Secrets of the Sparkle
  

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

Awesome Links!

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

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

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

- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

Recommended Tea: The Republic of Tea's Sip for the Cure Pink Grapefruit Tea with Pink Peony Petals 

(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.

Can't Wait To Read! Can't wait to Sip!

"Suck it!"

- Kathy Griffin

What I can't wait to read: Official Book Club Selection: A Memoir According to Kathy Griffin, available September 8, 2009. See Kathy talk about her upcoming book here!

What I can't wait to sip: The Republic of Tea's Little Citizens' Herb Tea Line

With fun flavors like Cherry Apple, Strawberry Vanilla, and Tangerine, I'm craving it and I haven't even tasted it yet! The packaging is beautiful, and a portion of all sales go to benefit Room to Read - only a tea SLASH book lover's dream combination! 

A bit about Room to Read's mission:

"We partner with local communities throughout the developing world to provide quality educational opportunities by establishing libraries, creating local language children's literature, constructing schools, and providing education to girls. We seek to intervene early in the lives of children in the belief that education empowers people to improve socioeconomic conditions for their families, communities, countries and future generations. Through the opportunities that only education can provide, we strive to break the cycle of poverty, one child at a time."

Dolly Parton & Country Peach Passion

"She's a sparrow when she's broken

but she's an eagle when she flies."

- Dolly Parton

Recommended Tea: Celestial Seasonings Country Peach Passion

The picture here is one that I took in my hometown. One day, my mama and I decided that we had an itch, and the only way to solve it was to go antiquin'.

So, we hit up what is locally known as "the antique district," about four or five huge shops in a row, full of everything you can imagine (and lots of things that you can't). 

In every single one of these stores was at least one copy of Dolly: My Life and Other Unfinished Business, Dolly Parton's autobiography. I'm not kidding. EVERY SINGLE ONE. 

Not only that, there were Dolly dolls, Dolly posters, Dolly cardboard cutouts, and Dolly PLATES. My immediate reaction was to laugh. 

And, of course, to take pictures so that people would believe me. 

Never before had I realized what an important role Dolly plays in Southern culture, especially in Tennessee. She grew up in the Tennessee mountains, dirt poor, struggling to make it day to day - just like my own grandmother. In Tennessee, she's not just "Dolly," she's "OUR Dolly."

But then, had I forgotten what an important role Dolly played in my own childhood? I had a framed, autographed (and personalized!) poster of her over my bed. I dressed up like her (complete with the pillows in the dress) almost daily. I recorded her TV specials on the VCR. One of my very first memories is me, in our kitchen, wearing tap shoes, dancing to "9 to 5" and "Here You Come Again." To me, Dolly represented everything glamorous - beauty, confidence, talent, femininity, womanhood. Cinderella Schminderella - give me Dolly!

How strange to find myself at 23 wanting to emulate her all over again.

We've all heard some of her infamous quotes - about how it costs a lot of money to look so cheap, how she left the mountains but took two mountains with her. I admit, I approached her autobiography with some reservations, fearing it would be sentence after sentence of gags like this (not that I don't appreciate a good gag). But I was so pleasantly surprised to find that in those pages, and in the heart of this woman, you find wisdom, humility, genuine love for others, and talent. 

This is a woman who knows who she is and isn't afraid to be exactly that. Who knows her strengths, knows her flaws, and isn't afraid to be blunt and honest about either. Who is so passionate about what she does that every single ounce of her energy is dedicated to honoring, furthering, and perfecting her craft. To put it bluntly, this is a woman with big boobs and even bigger balls. 

 I found out that all of those things that I believed to be true about her when I was 4 are - shocker - actually true. How many celebrities can we say that about? If nothing else, the book is worth reading just to hear her talk about calling Sylvester Stallone an, and I quote, "ungrateful son of a bitch," when he wouldn't help a homeless man who was cold and hungry. Later, after Dolly's talkin-to, Stallone went back to the man, gave him some food and some money, and told Dolly, "you were right." 

Putting Rambo in his place!? What did I tell you - BALLS!

Now, at 23, I want to be like Dolly more than ever before. And you can bet that I regret not buying that Dolly plate when I had the chance.

Into the Wild Berry Zinger

"Rather than Love, than Money, than Fame, give me Truth."
— Henry David Thoreau

Recommended Tea: Celestial Seasonings Wild Berry Zinger

When I was in college, all of my best friends were in the hippie fraternity. By this, I mean that most of them majored in Forestry, Geology, Bird Things, etc. Being a theatre major, this was not exactly something that I could understand. I was more interested in human relationships, in emotion, conflict. They found exhilaration in trees, adventure, solitude. 

One of my best friends freshman year was like this. I remember the day before summer vacation began, going with him to the grocery store to help him pack up for one of his epic adventures. 

"I'll need pasta," he said. "Lots and lots of pasta." 

"What else?" I asked him

"I don't know... kit kat bars?" 

I found out later that he had decided to bike - alone - from our little college in Tennessee to his home in Florida. That's right - FLORIDA.

"Do you have a place to stay during the nights?" I asked him.

"No. I'll just sleep wherever," was his reply. He ended up sleeping in people's yards after it got dark, and then leaving early in the morning before the sun came up so that they wouldn't know.  I think he may have been chased off of a few lawns. But basically, he survived on kit kat bars and packages of Ramen noodles. Later he looked back on that trip and told me that it was the most difficult (and borderline insane) thing that he had ever done. And that was with food, a map, a planned route, and a bike.

That is more preparation than Christopher McCandless had when he decided to go, as the title suggests, Into the Wild. No map, no compass, no money - just a bag of rice, a book about plants, a backpack full of literature, a few supplies, and a new name - Alexander Supertramp. His goal was "to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage." Chris ended up starving to death inside of an abandoned bus - a lucky find in the middle of the wilderness that he dubbed "the magic bus." 

Now, if you read this book, or have read it already, you will probably fall into one of two categories.

• Category one: The people who think that Chris was a stupid, arrogant kid who deserved his fate (this category includes most of my "outdoorsy" friends who have read it).
  

• Category two: The people who respect and admire Chris for being committed enough to his dreams to try to accomplish them.
  

I find myself in the second category. While most of my friends were unable to even get through the book, I found myself TEARING through it, eating it up,

 page by page. I finished it in a few hours. I found it completely gripping - partially because of the adventure, but mostly because of Christopher McCandless' heart. Yeah, I'm no Jeremiah Johnson, but I can understand passion, drive, trying to find out who you really are and what this crazy world is all about - especially after finishing college. I can also understand believing that a backpack full of books is more important than a backpack full of food. After graduation, you get this feeling in your gut that tells you, "Do something crazy, do something adventurous. This is the last time for you to find yourself before you officially join the world of adulthood." And joining that world, especially after four years of idealism and the search for truth, is a scary scary idea - because once you go down that road, that "adulthood" road, there's no coming back. It looks like a world full of pretense, hypocrisy, and lies. And after spending four years in the pursuit of truth, who would want to go down that road? 

I considered joining a hippie puppet troupe and living in a teepee for a summer after graduation (ME, who found girl scout camp too challenging). Unlike McCandless, I was a little too cautious (some might argue a little too scared) for that. And that is precisely why I loved this book, why I found myself crying at the end of it, why I feel as if Chris is a kindred spirit - because he had the bravery to actually DO that thing that so many people dream about but never do because of practicality, the need for a paycheck, or fear of the unknown. Now, I do wish that he had prepared a little more so that this amazing spirit of his would still be among us, but I love him for doing what scared him, for doing exactly what he knew was right for him, in spite of the criticism he received from others. I think he would have preferred to leave this world the way he did, in the wild, rather than to leave it as an 88 year old in a nursing home. His journey makes my puppet troupe teepee dream seem not so crazy.  

There's just something about these post-college years that make you want to see the world, test yourself, test all of the knowledge that you have acquired and see if it's really possible to survive out there, away from your safe cocoon - to see, essentially, if you can truly grow your wings. I think it's something we all feel.

"The sea's only gifts are harsh blows and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong. Now, I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing blind, deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your own hands and your own head..."

- Primo Levi (from Bear Meat)

Footage of the bus where McCandless spent his last days

Flush & Honey Vanilla Chamomile

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Recommended Tea: Celestial Seasonings Honey Vanilla Chamomile

Right before bedtime every night, I will usually snuggle up with (what else?) a good cup of tea and a good book. I will be right in the middle of a gut-wrenching declaration, or a revelation, or just a dang good plot twist when all of a sudden... I hear it.

"MAW!" 

It is my cat, Lizzy. Like the inspiration for her name, Elizabeth Bennett, Lizzy is beautiful, intelligent, active, and - most of all - talkative. 

"Maw! Mawmawmaw! Maw! Maaaaaaaw!"

If only life could be like Lassie. I struggle to translate Lizzy's cries. "Are you hungry? Do you want to snuggle? Do you need something?" Inevitably the thing that I try to comfort her with is the very thing she DOESN'T want. 

If only we could get inside of our pets minds and decipher their meaning.

That is exactly what Virginia Woolf (the object of my current literary obsession) has done with Flush: A Biography. Flush, a spaniel, is taken from a life in the country to live with Elizabeth Barrett Browning (who is at this point just Elizabeth Barrett) in London. The poetess is living as a recluse and as an invalid, and Flush - making the ultimate sacrifice that a dog can make - gives up his love for trees and fields for her. 

But hold on just a second! Before you even go there, let me tell you what Flush is not. Flush is NOT Lady in the Tramp, The Incredible Journey, or Milo and Otis. Flush is a very true, real, and beautiful love story. Flush and Elizabeth both sacrifice for each other, spend their time together, and ultimately must learn how to communicate their love without the luxury of speech. This love that exists between them, this love that must be felt more than it is expressed, is so deep, and Woolf writes it perfectly. There is not even a trace of Disney here. 

Another fantastic thing about this story is that we witness the courtship of Elizabeth and Robert Browning through Flush's eyes (Flush was, in real life, the only one who DID witness their courtship). BUT, though the Brownings are one of the most compelling couples in history, this is not a story about them - it is about Flush and Elizabeth, the depth and range of that magical thing "connection," the sacrifices that one will make in order to keep a connection alive and well. 

So what did Flush teach me? What I learned from Flush is that loyalty and love are things to be cherished - things that cannot be found easily. And when those two things exist in a relationship and they are real, you don't need words (not even Elizabeth Barrett Browning's).