Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts

Monday, February 8, 2016

THE GIVER // Nostalgia Tour #1


Rating: Five Stars—ajklsdflk (when words fail to describe how wonderful a book is)


Years and years ago, when I read THE GIVER (click the link for a summary) as a tiny, young person, I didn’t catch much of the detail and depth. Granted, I knew that it was good, and I could sense that it was deep, but my small mind wasn’t large enough to go beyond that. So this time around, I was really excited to delve into the story and figure out why it stuck with me. 

The Symbolism. Oh my goodness, there’s so much I could talk about under this category, but I’ll limit myself to a couple points. For one thing, Jonas’ job and his subsequent isolation from his peers quite accurately depicts the way many children feel growing up. After all, it is a common mark of childhood to feel lonely and separated from the rest of the herd, whether for reasons real or perceived. Alongside this, the pain Jonas must experience in his job mirrors the pain of growing up and losing innocence—the pain of seeing the world for what it really is. Like Jonas, as we become adults, we often learn a great deal of stuff we wish we didn’t have to know, and it weighs on us in much the same way that the Giver’s memories weigh on him. 

Emotions. With their feelings-sharing exercises, the people in THE GIVER seem rather focused on emotions. But for such emotions-oriented folk, they are rather callous and unfeeling. In the same way, they maintain strict rules about avoiding rudeness but do not hesitate to be insensitive. Asher gets laughed at for his inability, as a three-year-old, to differentiate between the words “snack” and “smack”, and while that may not seem like such a big deal, the circumstances around that resulted in a painful period of his life—not something that should be joked about. If these people were truly feeling and truly considerate, they would care about details like that. 

Harshness. Beneath the polite surface, these people offer very little mercy and very little true kindness. Back to the unfortunate trouble with Asher—as a three-year-old, he was punished rather severely for innocent linguistic mistakes that are natural to young children. A society that would put so much pressure on its toddlers is twisted, regardless of how squeaky clean it appears from the outside. This overboard punishment extends to the elderly as well—people who should be afforded leniency and respect at their time of life. It’s quite evident that the government requires perfect behavior, even when that expectation is unreasonable. 

Death. In a community that suffers few accidental or unplanned deaths, you would think this would mean they value life more. After all, they have figured out how to keep people ticking. But this is not the case. It’s quite evident they value life even less now. I won’t expand on the major details, in case you haven’t read the book, but their most unsettling problem is hard to miss, even in some of the smaller circumstances. Take the reference to the little boy, Caleb, who once fell into the river and drowned and was then replaced by another little boy with the same name, as though humans are just interchangeable parts of machinery. 

The System. Their system does work—to a point. They have less crime. The streets are safer. People are more polite and more careful with their language. Everyone makes sure to be politically correct. But all of these “improvements” have come at great cost. In order to achieve this level of peacefulness, humans have had to surrender their humanity—their free will, their emotions, and their thoughts. They have had to remove all the spice of life—sunlight, weather, heat, cold, different skin tones, different features, history, everything. They have become mindless cattle that embrace their oblivion as they calmly wait for the slaughterhouse at the end of the road. And all of this begs the question—is the commonly idealized Utopia just another from of dystopia in the end? 



What about you, my little coffee beans? Have you read THE GIVER? What are your thoughts on the story? Do you agree/disagree with me? What are some points I missed?

Friday, February 5, 2016

Books that Shaped Me // Round Three


Well, my little coffee beans, today’s post will be the final installment in my “Books that Shaped Me” mini-series. Over the past few weeks, I’ve shared with you eighteen of the books that helped form the person I am today (the links are here and here), and it’s been a lot of fun to reminisce and compile a list of the books I specifically need to reread this year. While there are so many I could include, enough to fill a bunch of other posts, I want to share only a few more with you. Perhaps as I near the end of my nostalgia tour, I will add a couple posts to this series, but I make no promises. 




I’ve mentioned this several times before, and I’ll probably mention it a bunch more over the years, but THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA is one of the few books that kept me up past my self-imposed bedtime during high school. The story gripped me with its music and beauty. It hurt to watch Erik long for affection, and it hurt to see him sabotage his chances of receiving actual love. More than that, I was moved by the contrast between the beauty of his voice and his music and the ugliness of his face and his heart.




Of all the books I was exposed to as a young person, Winnie-the-Pooh is my earliest, strongest memory. Right from the get-go, I was struck by Winnie-the-Pooh’s innocence and curiosity, Tigger’s energy, Piglet’s spunk, Owl’s wisdom, Rabbit’s crankiness, Christopher Robin’s imagination, Kanga’s motherliness, Roo’s adventurous spirit, and Eeyore’s struggle with clinical depression. Their adventures captured my mind in a way that many stories haven’t, and I think it’s high time I revisited this chapter of my life. 



It strikes me as rather funny that I wasn’t intensely interested in reading PETER PAN, and the major reason I ended up buying it was because it’s a classic and I was on a classic reading kick. I’m even a little more confused with myself because I had already fallen in love with PETER AND THE STARCATCHERS, which is a Peter Pan retelling. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the thought of reading PETER PAN, I just hadn’t spent any time seeking it out. Regardless of my initial hesitation, I adore this book to Alpha Centauri and beyond. Somehow J.M. Barrie manages to capture the spirit and wonder of childhood while also including the cruelty and thoughtlessness of youth. His characters are simultaneously wise and naive, guilty and innocent, clever and foolish. But I think what struck me most was the idea that the fairies in PETER PAN represent childhood dreams and that the ticking crocodile represents the passage of time and the eventuality of growing up. 




1984 scared me more than THE HUNGER GAMES and more than THE SHADOW CHILDREN. In George Orwell’s famous dystopia, we have a government that has long been under the grip of Socialism. People are helpless and mindless. No one outside of the inner governmental circles is afforded even a shred of privacy. With his all-seeing eye, Big Brother watches everyone, and he has such control that a revolution would be purely impossible. Worse, few would even think to rebel because the government controls all forms of thought—books, music, news articles, historical records, language, and expression. That’s what really got me—nothing frightens me quite so much as the suppression of free ideas and free speech. 


At the time when I read this, I had already been sucked into the Si-Fi universe, but OUT OF THE SILENT PLANET and it’s two sequels were something else entirely. I think the aspects that struck me most were the peaceful introspection and the way C.S. Lewis made thinking out of the box comfortable and enjoyable. Many Christians tiptoe around the concept of aliens because that tends to be seen as at war with the Christian worldview, so I really appreciate how Lewis makes it evident that, if they do indeed exist, it doesn’t mean Christians have to throw out the Bible. 


Through a rich and beautiful retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, TILL WE HAVE FACES makes it evident that sometimes our issues with God aren’t what we think they are, and if we want to bring our accusations and our grievances to God, we first have to make sure we know what we’re talking about. 


As with A WRINKLE IN TIME, I fell in love with the movie before I read the book. At that time, I had already been going through a prolonged phase where I felt as if I didn’t belong in this century, and LORNA DOONE tapped into my desire for life in the 1600s. I wanted to travel to Exmoor and experience everything for myself—the peaceful lifestyle, the misty moors, the threat of the Doones always looming over the land. Granted, the story was a little slow, but it was a beautiful slowness, and for a few years, I wasn’t willing to travel anywhere without a copy of LORNA DOONE on hand (which is why I have two copies). While I have since learned to be content with all the benefits this century affords (for the most part), I still get incredibly nostalgic about LORNA DOONE, and I will always love it for the needed escape it gave me. (I am also still waiting for the Doctor to come in his big blue box so I can at least visit the 1600s.) 


DRACULA showed me horror/paranormal at its classiest. But I find it oddly telling that I remember the mental patient and his strange habits more vividly than I do the vampires and the threat they present. Ever since I read it years ago, I have been fascinated with the old insane asylums of that period, as well as the antiquated understanding of mental illness during that time. I don’t know if DRACULA instilled that interest in me or if it just awoke a sleeping dragon, but either way, suffering minds fascinate me. 



Before reading THE KILLER ANGELS as part of my history course, I had never considered the Civil War in such a deep light. But this book opened my eyes to the poetry of war—the beauty in the midst of horror. More than that, it illustrates perfectly that war is not a matter of black and white morals—that the people on both sides are equally human and equally sympathetic, regardless of whether their views are entirely correct or not. 


Several years ago, my mom owned an ARC of this, and I convinced her that I needed it more than her because, yeah, I seriously love that book. While I had already been exposed to heavy doses of Fantasy before I sunk my teeth into this one, CHILD OF THE DARK PROPHECY opened my eyes to a whole new sort of Fantasy. I’m not sure how else to explain it, since I haven’t read it in forever, but compared with other Fantasy novels, CHILD OF THE DARK PROPHECY just has a different feel to it. Maybe it’s that it retells the Arthurian legend, and I was a big fan of King Arthur growing up. Or maybe it just feels safe, and I like books that make me feel safe. Either way, I think about it a lot (especially the mood of the story), and I need to reread it and its sequels. 



There are a ton more books I would love to share, but I also have other posts I want to get to, so I’ll just content myself with listing the honorable mentions: 










Well, that’s it for today, my little coffee beans. What about you? Have you read any of these books? What are some of the books that helped shape you? 

Monday, January 18, 2016

Books that Shaped Me // Round One


I don’t reread books often enough. Out of the 118 books I read last year, only 48 were rereads. Now, before you start squinting at me like I’m crazy (which I am) or really bad at math (which I also am), let me just say that I realize 48, in comparison with 70, is not a pathetically small number. But it’s not a large enough number for me either. I love rereading books. In fact, I love rereading books even more than I love reading them the first time around. Each time I reread a story (unless it’s poorly written and not worth a second glance), it gains more meaning and more emotional significance because, for me at least, stories are like scrapbooks for thoughts. Scrapbooks aren’t worth much if you don’t revisit them from time to time and pore over the pages to reacquaint yourself with all the memories you’ve preserved there. 


So I have decided to go back and reread all the books that helped form me—the ones that shaped my childhood self, opened my mind, and taught me to love imagination. I think it’s valuable for me to come full circle. 

As I take this nostalgia tour of my life, I want to share at least a part of it with you. Which means, over the next few months or so, I’ll post more about other books that shaped me, and I’ll review some of them here. I will also try to review the rest of them on Goodreads  because I’ve made an impromptu resolution to post more reviews there. (My Goodreads account has been sadly neglected.) But, as I do this, I don’t want to take credit for the idea of a nostalgia tour. A while ago, Victoria at Stori Tori’s Blog wrote a lovely post on her top ten most influential books (which you should check out). And even further back, Veronica Roth did her own nostalgia tour which struck me as a brilliant idea (before you ask, yes, I love her blog, and I’ve probably read the whole thing five times). 

All that being said, I’ve set my Goodreads 2016 reading goal to 175 books. If I can do more, that’s wonderful, but I want to read at least 175. And, more importantly, I want at least 88 of those books to be rereads. I could talk forever about the value of rereading, but I plan to do a post on that subject soon, so right now I’ll just share with you seven of the books that impacted my younger self. Who knows, maybe some of these were important to you as well. 




Before I read the book, I watched the movie several times and fell in love with the feel of it. In fact, the only reason my younger self even touched the book (the edition my mom owns has a seriously ugly cover) was because I loved the movie so much. Although the movie and the book are different in terms of smaller plot points (as far as I remember—it was a long time ago), I still recall them both sharing the same tone—the same deep, inexplicable sense of unease. The best way I can describe the atmosphere is as a darker, more concentrated form of that spine-tingling coziness I feel when the rain is falling hard outside and the wind is shrieking around the corners of the house. (Here’s a link to Veronica’s lovely, but spoilery, review.)




This was another book that felt heavy with a deep sense of unease (although it’s a different sort of unease). It was the book that taught me not to take people and society at face value—it taught me to distrust the appearance of beauty and peace and perfection until I’ve seen beneath the surface. I don’t remember much of the actual events, beyond the major plot points, but I do remember Jonas’ conversation with his parents about love and how they only understand love through selfish terms. (Veronica discusses this same conversation in her review, so you should totally check that out.) In this story world, true love has become a foreign concept, which is terrifying to put it mildly. More than that, the sterility of the environment branded itself on my mind—the way these people are basically cattle, and the way they celebrate their bondage. In other words, this book is one of my top priority rereads. 




I reread and reviewed this one last year, so my memory is a lot fresher on the details (I still plan to read it again this year). It’s one of the few books that has kept me up past my self-appointed bed time. It is also one of the very few books that can lay claim to making me cry. The aspect of this story that grabbed me the most is the way it handles the question of what it means to be human (and the way villains can be genuinely nice and considerate but still do awful things). 




This book is one of my most beloved childhood stories. On some deep level, I felt that I really connected with Chiaroscuro and the way he has an ugly heart because it’s been broken and he’s had to stitch it back together (metaphorically speaking, of course). As a young thing, I also wanted to be like Despereaux—someone brave enough to break the mold and do noble, courageous things in the face of a society built on fear. 




I reviewed this one just recently, so I may or may not reread it this year. We’ll see. But this list would be missing an important element if I didn’t include it. After all, Hazel taught me a lot about good leadership skills. 




Growing up, I often fantasized about what it would be like if everyone else on earth were to disappear suddenly and leave the world to me, myself, and I. Aside from the danger of wild animals (if those were still around), this thought was very appealing to me, and it was especially fun to imagine ways to stay alive. (My plans involved eating all the perishables in the abandoned grocery stores and gas stations first, and then rationing the other stuff, like flour and canned goods. For shelter, I figured a grocery store would make the best living arrangement because I could build walls of cans and have plenty of room to store all the food I’d scavenged in my travels.) Z FOR ZACHARIAH was a way for me to appease that desire for solitude in a harmless way—to experience what it feels like to think you’re the last remaining person on earth. So many fond memories. 

I’m also very upset about the movie version that just came out because, from what I’ve seen in the synopsis, they kept approximately two of the major plot points, chucked everything else, introduced a new character and a love triangle, changed Ann’s relationship with Mr. Loomis, altered the ENTIRE point of the story, and just generally did their level best to ruin it. Like, I can’t even tell you how upset I am. As much as I would love to see one of my all-time favorite books played out on the big screen, I think it will be better for my blood pressure if I just skip this one and wait until someone honors the actual story. Although, come to think of it, it might be satisfying to watch the movie just so I can rant more effectively about it. *sulks*




You can read my review for this one here. LIFE AS WE KNEW IT appealed to me in the same way that Z FOR ZACHARIAH did. It has the same sort of idea—a worldwide catastrophe has culled the population (though potentially not as much, in this case), and survival is now a higher priority than entertainment and culture. (I have only read one of the sequels, and I only own LIFE AS WE KNEW IT, so I want to get my hands on the rest of the series this year, if I can.) This story also has somewhat symbolic significance to me in that I read it during my biggest library binge phase. At that time, I didn’t own all that many books, and I hadn’t read all that many either. Sure, I had had my school library before that, but this time I felt freer and wilder, like the world was opening up before me. I think that’s really when my love of reading turned from a little candle to an unfortunate but beautiful house fire. (Saying this, I realize I should probably, at some point, write a post explaining why I’m no longer quite so enamored of libraries.) 



Well, that’s it for today, little coffee beans. What are some of the books that shaped you? What are some of your all-time favorites? What are some books you plan to reread this year? If you’ve watched Z FOR ZACHARIAH, what is your opinion of it?

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

I Won't be Home for Christmas

 
If you’ve been reading my blog for the past month or so, you’ll know that I just recently moved to a different state. Since I relocated from Maine to Virginia, travel back and forth can be an interesting affair. Plane tickets, especially last-minute ones, tend to be expensive, and driving there and back presents a significant time investment. Not to mention the fact that my sister (who I live with now) has to work on Christmas Eve. So, all that to say, I won’t be going home this time around.

This will be the first year either of us has been away for Christmas, and it will take some adjusting. Of course, we will try to maintain some of our traditions, like binge-watching Doctor Who and waking up to goody-stuffed stockings. We will make wassail and buy sparkling grape juice (and we’ll cross out the “non” on the label where it says “non-alcoholic” because yeah, we live on the edge like that). A couple weeks ago my sister bought a Christmas tree and brought it back strapped to the top of my little Ford Focus, and now it graces our kitchen with its loveliness (the tree, not the car). So we’re doing all right.

But in case you were wondering, Virginia is not Maine. It’s not really anything like Maine. It has different grocery stores and different restaurants and different people. Maine is rather rural, and the county where I spent most of my childhood is known for being one of the poorest counties in the US. Now I live near the richest county in the country, so saying things are different here would be a bit of an understatement. In Maine, winter has always been a snowy affair. Last year was especially bad, and the snowbanks at the ends of the driveway got to be taller than me (I’m almost 5’7”). It felt like I spent more time shoveling than breathing. Here, though, the prospects of having a white Christmas are next to nil.

So yes, Christmas here will not be the same as Christmas there. I will miss the magical feeling of looking out the window of my cousins’ house and seeing, yet again, all those fluffy snowflakes floating down to kiss the earth on Christmas day. I will miss the sugar cookies my aunt usually makes and the grand selection of pies in the pantry. I will miss watching It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve with my cousins, and I will miss waking up early and sneaking downstairs with those same cousins to open our stockings in the dark even though none of us are little children anymore. I will miss the people.

This year the two of us will have to forge our own Christmas path. It will be much quieter here, since even my sister’s college friends will be home spending the holiday with their families. We’ll have to occupy ourselves some other way. We could take a walk among the trees around our cul-de-sac and pretend the branches are laden with snow instead of deer ticks. We could make imaginary snow men. We could even throw pieces of store-bought ice at each other and pretend we’re having a snowball fight. The possibilities are endless.

Either way, we’ll be okay. True, we’ll end up missing out on what the rest of our family is doing, and sure, it will be rather quiet here. But my sister and I haven’t forgotten the main reason why we celebrate Christmas in the first place. More than family and presents, Christmas is about gratitude—it’s about celebrating the fact that Jesus came to earth to pay the ultimate price for our sins. And I can’t be lonely when I’m thinking about that sort of love.  

What about you, little coffee beans? What are your plans for this Christmas?