To Kill a Mockingbird

A keeper of a story, be it on paper or screen, because it comes from the heart and it grips the soul.

To me the best type of story is the one that never leaves you.  The one that lingers long after the last page has been turned and the cover closed.  The one whose story continues in your mind and you wonder wherever did the characters go from there...  it haunts you and invades you and becomes you.  And again and again, you return to it, in your mind and in your heart, it's magic ever present, it's lessons ever learned and long remembered.  That is the type of story I want to write, that is the type of writer I want to be: one who reaches and touches and lingers long, long, long beyond the very last word: a story like "To Kill a Mockingbird," and a writer like Harper Lee.

There are so many lessons to be learned amongst these pages - so much so, I'm amazed by the innocent voice of this story.  Amazed ever still that the author never published again.  Such honesty and purity mixed together.  So thought provoking and entertaining and haunting...  Such a sadness I feel, and yet such a joy, too.  I have a surge of emotions running thru me but what most comes to mind are two of my favorite words ever:  bittersweet and melancholy.  I'm moody over the sadness of truth within it's pages.  I'm melancholy for the love between parent and child.  I long for the simplistic way of life in 1935, yet I rage over the injusticed way of life of 1935.  I'm bittersweet for the talent rampant thru the pages, wondering how Harper Lee pulled that off, how she succeeded in bringing that all together, and contemplating how will I ever, ever be able to do the same?  And if I can't should I even bother?  "Masterpiece" is not a strong enough word for me to capture exactly what I'm feeling and thinking about this phenomenal story - and I can't express it so I might as well stop trying.  It took me three days to pull my thoughts together from this book.  I had to re-read it once, then I read it again as I pushed thru this assignment.  And still my heart swells, as do my eyes, as I envision and relive every step of the way.  Every single step.

Despite being absorbed in the story itself, and oh-so-intent to "get it" (but did I really?  Soooo thinking of getting the Cliff Notes and doing a private study... hmmm... oh, but I digress!) - so, despite being absorbed in the story itself, and oh-so-intent to "get it," I captured some poignant points that relate to our world today - points about equality, and talent, and government programs, and morals, and values and human nature.  Amazing stuff!  And again, back to an earlier point of mine:  how'd she do it?  How'd Harper Lee know all that stuff, much less express it within the folds of an intricate story, woven so well you don't even realize you're getting the lesson...  Amazing, amazing, amazing!  I have a new hero today and her name is Harper Lee.   

To Kill a Mockingbird:

... that there were other ways of making people into ghosts.

Miss Caroline seemed unaware that the ragged, denim-shirted and floursacked first grade, most of whom had chopped cotton and fed hogs from the time they were able to walk, were immune to imaginitive literature.

Miss Caroline told me to tell my father to not teach me any more, it would interfere with my reading.

"It's best to begin reading with a fresh mind."

Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.  One does not love breathing.

"Are we poor, Atticus?"  Atticus nodded.  "We are indeed."

"...that is a sad house."

"Atticus Fince is the same in his house as he is on the public streets."

Furthermore, had it never occurred to us that the civil way to communicate with another being was by the front door instead of the side window?

The second grade was grim, but Jem assured me that the older I got the better school would be, that he started off the same way, and it was not until one reached sixth grade that one learned anything of value.

Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I'd have the facts.

There are no clearly defined seasons in South Alabama; summer drifts into autumn, and autumn is sometimes never followed by winter, but turns into day-old spring that melts into summer again.

...Jem and I  were trotting in our orbit one mild October afternoon...

"It's bad children like you makes the seasons change."

"... but from now on I'll never worry about what'll become of you, son, you'll always have an idea."

"...you just hold your head high and keep those fists down."

"Try fighting with your head for a change... it's a good one, even if it does resist learning."

"Simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started is no reason for us not to try to win," Atticus said.

"This time we aren't fighting the Yankees, we're fighting our friends.  But remember this, no matter how bitter things get, they're still our friends and this is still our home."

It was the first time I ever walked away from a fight.

When stalking one's prey, it is best to take one's time.  Say nothing, and  as sure as eggs he will become curious and emerge.

"When a child asks you something, answer him, for goodness' sake."

"No, the answer is she knows I know she tries.  That's what makes the difference."

Our father didn't do anything.  He worked in an office, not in a drugstore.  Atticus did not drive a dump-truck for the county, he was not the sheriff, he did not farm, work in a garage, or do anything that could possibly arouse the admiration of anyone.

"Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

"You're lucky, you know.  You and Jem have the benefit of your father's age.  If your father was thirty you'd find life quite different."

Nothing is more deadly than a deserted, waiting street.

"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents," said Miss Maudie.

"Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!"  (Jem Finch)

"...it's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name.  It just shows you how poor that person is, it doesn't hurt you."

"She said she was going to leave this world beholden to nothing and nobody."

"I wanted you to see something about her - I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand.  It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.  You rarely win, but sometimes you do."

...but one must lie under certain circumstances and at all times when one can't do anything about them.

When Aunt Alexandra went to school, self-doubt could not be found in any textbook, so she knew not its meaning.  She was never bored, and given the slightest chance she would exercise her royal prerogative: she would arrange, advise, caution and warn.

Somewhere I had received the impression that Fine Folks were people who did the best they could with the sense they had...

"Mr. Cunningham's basically a good man," he said, "he just has his blind spots along with the rest of us."

"A mob's always made up of people, no matter what."

"Atticus Finch is a deep reader, a mighty deep reader."

Our nightmare had gone with daylight, everything would come out all right.

"People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for..."

Never, never, never, on cross-examination ask a witness a question you don't already know the answer to, was a tenet I absorbed with my baby-food.  Do it, and you'll often get an answer you don't want, an answer that might wreck your case.

(regarding the phrase "All Men Are Created Equal")  "There is a tendancy in this year of grace, 1935, for certain people to use this phase out of context, to satisfy all conditions.  The most ridiculous example I can think of is that the people who run public education promote the stupid and idle along with the industrious - because all men are created equal, educators will gravely tell you, the children left behind suffer terrible feelings of inferiority.  We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would have us believe - some people are smarter than others, some people have more opportunity because they're born with it, some men make more money than others, some ladies make better cakes than others - some people are born gifted beyond the normal scope of men."

"Our courts have their faults, as does any human institution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers, and in our courts all men are created equal."

"Gentlemen, a court is no better than each man of you sitting before me on this jury.  A court is only as sound as its jury, and a jury is only as sound as the men who make it up."

A deserted, waiting, empty street, and the courtroom was packed with people. 

A steaming summer night was no different from a winter morning.

I saw something only a lawyer's child could be expected to see, could be expected to watch for, and it was like watching Atticus walk into the street, raise a rifle to his shoulder and pull the trigger, but watching all the time knowing that the gun was empty.   A jury never looks at a defendant it has convicted, and when this jury came in, not one of them looked at Tom Robinson.

"This is their home, sister," said Atticus.  "We've made it thsi way for them, they might as well learn to cope with it."

"I don't know, but they did it.  They've done it before and they did it tonight and they'll do it again and when they do it - seems that only children weep."

"Don't fret, Jem.  Things are never as bad as they seem."

"Yes, sir, a clown," he said.  "There ain't one thing in this world I can do about folks except laugh, so I'm gonna join the circus and laugh my head off."  "You got it backwards, Dill," said Jem.  "Clowns are sad, it's folks that laugh at them."

"We generally get the juries we deserve."

"Serving on a jury forces a man to make up his mind and declare himself about something."

"Atticus said one time the reason Aunty's so hipped on the family is because all we've got's background and not a dime to our names."

After all, if Aunty could be a lady at a time like this, so could I.

" 'Equal rights for all, special privileges for none'," I quoted.

Atticus said Jem is trying hard to forget something, but what he was really doing was storing it away for a while, until enough time passed.  Then he would be able to think about it and sort things out.

Occassionally there was a sudden breeze that hit my bare legs, but it was all that remained of a promised windy night.  This was the stillness before a thunderstorm.  We listened.

One's mind works very slowly at times.

She brought me something to put on, and had I thought about it then, I would have never let her forget it: in her distraction, Aunty brought me my overalls.

"Boys his age bounce."

His age was beginning to show, his one sign of inner turmoil: the strong line of his jaw melted a little, one became aware of telltale creases forming under his ears, one noticed not his jet-black hair but the gray patches growing at his temples.

"... - why, if we followed our feelings all the time we'd be like cats chasin' their tails."

"Mr. Finch, there's just some kind of men you have to shoot before you can say hidy to 'em."

People have the habit of doing everyday things even under the oddest conditions.

"Best way to clear the air is to have it all out in the open."

"If this thing's hushed up it'll be a simple denial to Jem of the way I've tried to raise him.  Sometimes I think I'm a total failure as a parent, but I'm all they've got.  Before Jem looks at anyone else he looks at me, and I've tried to live so I can look squarely back at him... if I connived at something like this, frankly I couldn't meet his eye, and the day I can't do that I'll know I've lost him.  I don't want to lose him and Scout, because they're all I've got."

"I can't live one way in town and another way in my home."

"Let the dead bury the dead this time, Mr. Finch.  Let the dead bury the dead."

"To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight - to me, that's a sin.  It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head.  If it was any other man it'd be different.  But not this man, Mr. Finch."

"Thank you for my children, Arthur," he said.

"Will you take me home?"

I would lead him through our house, but I would never lead him home.

His fingers found the front doorknob.  He gently released my hand, opened the door, went inside, and shut the door behind him.  I never saw him again.

Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between.  Boo was our neighbor.  He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good luck pennies, and our lives.  But neighbors give in return.  We never put back into the tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.

Atticus was right.  One time he said you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them.  Just standing on the Radley porch was enough.

As I made my way home, I thought Jem and I would get grown but there wasn't much else for us to learn, except possibly algebra.

"Besides nothin's real scary except in books."

"...Atticus, he was real nice..." 

"Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them."

And, probably my most favorite line of the whole book isn't within the story's pages, but lies upon the prelude page:  Lawyers, I suppose, were children once. ~Charles Lamb~

struggling...

I really challenged myself during Lent this year.  Aside from the usual sacrifices (chocolate, sodas, coffee, red meat, etc), I gave up leisure reading.

OMGosh, did I really???  What was I thinking?

Surprisingly, this is the one Lenten promise I kept - and it's been a struggle.

My bookshelves are filled with books that I intend to read - books of information on a variety of subjects:  religion, literature, diet, nutrition, exercise, psychology, career development, business...  I promise myself every year I'm going to tackle at least one.  But it never happens.  And this year I decided this would be the year I made changes, cuz if you keep doing the same thing you keep getting the same results, right?  So, in keeping with my mantra (not again in 2010), I decided I truly would read differently this year and I decided I'd start during Lent and I'd start with "Reading Like a Writer." 

Aaarrrgggghhh!!!!  Lent started Ash Wednesday and ended Easter Sunday.  Well, I'm still reading...  cuz I'm really struggling.  I think I'm on Chapter 3. 

This is more a testimony to me and my lack of discipline than it is to Francine Prose.  I'm really forcing myself to trudge thru this.  It's like being in school again, and this is my textbook...  Professor Prose is my teacher and I'm dozing off in class, missing the point, the purpose of her lectures and not going to get the "A" I thought would be so easy to get.  Ha!  College all over again.

One thing that really helped me is skipping ahead to the back... and finding an abundance of information, including a recommended reading list and an interview with the author (my professor!).  Knowing her intention and purpose helped me go back to my stopping point and forge on.  And it's sparking a ton of ideas - lots of dogeared corners and notes in the margins.  But I'm still struggling.

And I'll try to capture all that here when I finish it (if I EVER finish it!) but, for now, I just wanted to stop in and update on where I am and why.  And to try not to think about the fact that I could have been on Grafton's "I" by now! 

~sigh~

Temptation

I have absolutely NO willpower...  My latest attempt @ self-discipline is to NOT read any "leisure" books.  I have a pile - well, more than 1 pile - of books to be read packed with info of things I think I want to know, to understand.  But when I have a choice between one of them and a novel, the novel ALWAYS wins.  Well, my motto this year is "not again in 2010" so I'm tasking myself to read some of those books that are collecting dust on my shelves (and in boxes and on the floor).  I'm also tasking myself to NOT buy any more books until I knock a few of these out.

Well...  I could not resist temptation today.  Walked into a Big Lots in search of St. Patty's day wares and dead center, couldn't miss it, were 3 tables piled with books!  2 for $5 or $3/each...  I was just going to look.  Not buy.  And in truth none of these books were titles I recognized, but I snatched up quite a few (7 to be exact, but only because one was on $1) anyway.

So these 7 will join the piles collecting dust in various locations around my house because even tho I couldn't exercise discipline in not buying these books, I am going to exercise discipline in not reading them until I knock out a few of those other "educational" books.

Julie & Julia

OK, I admit, I don't just read.  I also watch.  Movies, that is.  I insisted on seeing The DaVinci Code before reading the book.  I insisted on reading the Harry Potter's before seeing the movies (and as of such, we've not yet seen whichever one was last out in the theaters - I am 2 behind in that series, so it must be #6?  Is it overly apparent I've lost interest?  ~sigh~).  Some books I am not interested in reading, deciding the movie is sufficient - as would be the case of "Julie & Julia."

The movie.

Let me explain...  I saw the book in the stores, complete with pictures of Amy Adams & Meryl Streep on the covers.  Hmmm, loves me a good book and thinks Meryl Streep can do no wrong, I pick up a copy, read the back cover and know instantly, "this is not for me."

I am not a "feel good reader."  Sassy, silly Chick Lit falls far down my priority pole, HOWEVER, I will, occassionally, engage.  Usually out of necessity because I've worn myself flat-out reading too many Dennis LeHane's and John Sandford's in a row and need something light and mindless to give my sensation overload a break.

This was not the case with "Julie & Julia."  I put it down, turned away and indulged my book buying habit on other titles.  However, with the movie trailers shortly thereafter, and all the hooha over the opening day, "Julie & Julia" was, pretty much, everywhere.

Somewhere along the way, I looked into it again.  Again I decided, "this is NOT for me."  I know me pretty well and I know, with this, I was right.  And honestly, to this day, I really don't see how a book about following recipes can truly be interesting...  Would a book about a reader writing about what she's read be any better???  Uh, no, it would not.  Since I am such (a reader writing about what she's read) I can say that honestly (and, no, I'm not fishing for compliments, 'k?).  But in my investigation, something sparked an interest.  A flicker of an interest.  Just enough of a "ting" to have me contemplating skipping out on work for a few hours to catch the premiere.  Which is what I did.

What was the "ting"?  It was the word "blog."  This girl wrote a blog.  An interesting enough blog to get readership, to get a book contract, to get a MOVIE DEAL.  I had to know more.

So, I cleared my afternoon calendar on the fateful Friday of the Atlanta premiere.  I found the closest theater - less than 10 miles from my office, WTH?.  Start time was a little after 1p.  I breezily walked past the receptionist, casually said I had some errands to run and would be a couple of hours.  See her in a bit & would be on blackberry if she needed me.  Then I headed out.

So exciting to be bad and skip work!  So exciting to go to a movie ALONE.  At 1p in the afternoon.  The theater was not empty, but it wasn't full.  There was a guy sitting behind me that was also alone.  A group of older women met there, all giggly and beaming, with copies of the book in hand (a book club, perhaps?).  Some people had cameras, including a guy I thought might be with the media.  OH CRAP!  Are you kidding me?  All I needed was to be caught on film standing in line for the 1p premiere of "Julie & Julia" in the middle of a work day!  For once I was relieved to be invisible, ignored, inconsequential, unnoticed (that doesn't happen often; I usually pout for days when I'm so blatantly disregarded, but today it was a blessing). 

Settled in, blackberry on vibrate (I dropped it once & couldn't find it in the dark!), I eagerly waited the start of this "lesson" I was about to learn:  how to be a successful blogger! 

Question answered (Just write.  Well, huh.  What do you know?).  Giddy from being bad, complete (still giddy over it - feel like I pulled one over on everybody, heehee - including my husband, who to this day, does not know I went to see that movie by myself, hahahahahahaha).  Happy with my decision:  yes.  And no.

I didn't "get" it.  Loved Meryl Streep, thought she did a wonderful job.  I smiled thru every scene with her in it - every one!  That movie could have been about nothing but Julia Child, starring Meryl Streep, and I would have left the theater in love with Julia Child and on a quest to Master the Art of French Cooking.  Amazing.  Simply amazing!

What I didn't get was Julie.  Which is a shame because it was really Julie I went to "get."  She was the successful blogger, author, now movie-deal-awardee.  She is who I was looking for inspiration from...  So what happened?  I don't know.  Can't blame Amy Adams.  I think she's delightful - an enchanting princess, a perfect Amelia Earhart... but I gotta tell ya, she did nothing for me in this role.  I did not like Julie.  I did not bond with her.  She had no charisma, no warmth.  She fell flat on the screen.  She was too easily hysterical, overly egotistical, totally unreasonable, so unappreciative and undeserving of her devoted husband...  and please tell me, what was the big deal about boning a duck?  I mean, really.

I'm not disillusional.  I know it's not easy to cram so much - especially 2 key personalities - into a 2hr time frame, but considering my reaction to Julia vs my reaction to Julie, I'm thinking "something's missing here."  And then, over the next few weeks, to hear my mommy-friends and other cohorts just gush over the movie, some seeing it several times...  well, I just cringe.  And when they wanted my take on it - expecting me to gush right back...  uh, not so easy.  Time for my Oscar worthy performance.  I say, "I thought it was cute."  or "I did enjoy it."  Cuz I did.  Skipping work, stealing time, getting away from it all for a few hours - definitely enjoyable. 

Feeling cheated I swung by the bookstore on my way back to the office - at 3:30p on a Friday afternoon, whatever was I thinking? - to consider buying the book "one more time."  I picked it up, read the back and put it down again.  However, I did linger longer over a copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" by Julia Child and if not for hefty price tag, I may very well have bought it.

Sue Grafton's ABC mysteries series

Awhile back - years ago! - I decided I would read Sue Grafton's ABC series in it's entirety.  Even though, at that time, she wasn't yet complete.  Today, 2010, she's still not complete, but she's near done!  I think she's on "U" and it's time for me to start reading...

I actually started last year.  And I have to admit, I didn't seek out the books to start reading them - in other words, altho they've been on my "to-read-list" for quite sometime, they hadn't yet become a priority.  Truth is, my to-read-pile was (is) quite excessive and I continually challenge myself to read those books I've already acquired before I go buying more.  Well, that's my intention.  But, I can't seem to help it: I get a craving to wander thru a bookstore "just to look" and end up adding to the ever-growing to-read collection.

The ABC series moved up the motivational ladder by accident - and thanks to F. Scott Fitzgerald  You see, I had decided to read "a classic" and 2009, I picked "The Great Gatsby."  I don't know why but I expected it to be inexpensive @ the bookstore.  I decided I wasn't paying full price.  Instead, I would go to the library (another goal of mine...  ~sigh~).  Then, I had an Eureka! moment:  check the Goodwill store!  Unbelievably, they had a copy - so for $2.00 I was able to check off a resolution.  Well, once I actually read it I could.  But I also discovered something AMAZING!  Rows upon rows upon rows of donated books!  Some were barely touched, others dogeared and devoured.  I was absorbed as I scanned EVERY SINGLE TITLE...  and found "'A' is for Alibi," "'B' is for Burglar" and "'C' is for Corpse," among a few others... (Perri O'Shaunessy, James Patterson, John Sandford...  I had hit the motherload!!!).  I truly have to curb my urge to stop every other day to see what might be newly in stock.  Since that miraculous day, I've found some more of the alphabet series - starting "'D' is for Deadbeat" after I finish "To Kill a Mockingbird" (my classic for 2010) and "48 Days to the Work you Love" (a must for me in my current state of flux with work... ~sigh~). 

I so enjoy reading for pleasure but have a plethra of non-fiction reading material - and always try to motivate myself to read a few "educational" books in-between:  spiritual, business, finance...  It's tough for me.  I'm not one to do what I should do.  More what I want to do or have to do.  So, while my intentions are good at the time I'm buying the material, or when I'm setting the goals, the actual motivation part falls flat at the crucical point.  I'm following Dr. Phil's "don't do it again in 2010" mantra, tho, and have left - begrudgedly - "'D' is for Deadbeat" in the to-read-pile, altho I did pick it up earlier this week and carry it around with me for 2 days!  ~sigh~  So, with Dr. Phil's mantra running thru my head, I've added (and may possibly require them to be MUST reads before I get to anything enjoyable - here it is again: ~sigh~ because of something else I'm doing: self-imposed restrictions):  "QBQ: The Question Behind the Question" by John G. Miller, "How to Read Literature like a Professor" by Thomas C. Foster and "Naturally Thin" by Bethenny Frankel, to my 2010 reading list...

With that declared, it's possible I may not get to "D" anytime soon - and if I stick to a 3-ABCs a year, I've calcutated it out that it will take me 8+ years to finish the entire series!  Something to look forward to, thru the years, I suppose...

Without further digression, because I so do seem to get sidetracked!, I venture on to A, B & C:  easy reads with a fairly likable character.  I've become enthralled with the private investigation profession (enough to pick up a copy of "Private Investigation for Dummies" or is it "the Idiot's Guide to Private Investigation"?  Not sure which but there's a copy of it waiting in the "to read pile" ~sigh~).  Originally published in 1982 (A is for Alibi), I feel like I'm reading a Perry Mason novel from the 1950s!  It is laughable how much life has changed in less than 30 years:  not realizing HOW old the book was initially, I pondered WHY doesn't she use her cellphone instead of stopping @ a payphone.  And "pulling out her typewriter"?  What?  No computer?  Either the PI business doesn't pay well or Kinsey is an old-fashioned diehard!  Perhaps the most giggly to me was the need to get a map out of the glove box to search out an address.  Me, giggling, even tho I only got my GPS a year ago!  My, how progress spoils us - and quickly at that! 

As for the stories - well, they're not necessarily enlightening and full of notable quotables.  Sometimes Grafton has poetic prose, but I found this annoying rather than enrapturing.  We're talking about a gritty, street wise, twice-divorced, not-looking-for-love, somewhat aloof but quite savvy female detective so these random - very random - descriptive lush wording is lost on me here.  Almost out of nowhere they come and make you do a double take.  Kinsey is not a bored housewife who decides to snoop on her neighbors.  She's a former cop, tough, direct, upfront and ballsy.  All that's needed is the facts, nothing but the facts, and to be given straight.  Save the poetic prose for another character, please.

Despite this, I do have some dogear marks in every book - altho C has only one.  Makes me wonder if I got a little too used to Grafton by that point - I did practically read 3 back-to-back.  After flipping thru, I see that its a mix of a clever line and ideas I want to capture.  I did already mention that the investigative practice really struck me... and I'm fascinated by Grafton's imagination and well-organized business sense.  Maybe, sometimes it's too business-y.  Almost lecture-ish.  And there were times when I thought her course lack of action was totally a useless waste of paper & ink: paragraphs of nothing new to the case, just tedious tasks and unimaginative descriptions of daily routines...  drawing closer to the end - pages to the back cover becoming less thick, leaving me to ponder "I don't know what's going on but she's running out of (pages) to get me there."  She always delivers, tho.  In the end.  We get there but more than once I was scratching my head trying to figure out how! 

A is for Alibi:

I have a system for consigning data to 3x5 index cards.  Most of my notes have to do with the witnesses: who they are, how they're related to the investigation, dates of interviews, follow-up.  Some cards are background information I need to check out and some are notes about legal technicalities.  The cards are an efficient way of storing facts for my written reports.  I tack them up on a large bulletin board above my desk and stare at them, telling myself the story as I perceive it.  Amazing contridictions will come to light, sudden gaps, questions I've overlooked.

I went into the office early to type up my notes for Nikki's file, indicating briefly what I had been hired to do and the fact that a check for five thousand dollars had been paid on account.

A visit to the county clerk's office, the credit bureau and the newspaper morgue gave me sufficient facts to dash off a quick sketch of Laurence Fife's former law partner.

If you wait long enough, anyone's opinion about you will be reported back.

I started out nuts so I'm getting sane.

People get careless when they're feeling safe.

Whenever there is sex, we work to create a relationship that is worthy of it.

B is for Burglar (this one was particularly interesting to me because I realized there was more than one burglary going on...  identity theft and impersonation along with an obvious crime involving arson & murder...):

I'd never seen anyone so self-absorbed but it wasn't unattractive stuff.

Insecure people have a special sensitivity for anything that finally confirms their own low opinion of themselves.

The life of a private eye is short on gun battles, long on basic research, but there are times when a ballpoint pen just doesn't get it.

C is for Corpse (once again, double entendre, if I spelled that right - there is an obvious corpse, which is Kinsey's client, but then there is an unidentified corpse in the morgue AND an unsolved murder from years before - so interesting how Grafton does this... makes me curious enough to re-read 'Alibi' to see if there is dual/triple reference there... hmmm...):

Besides, 'stupid' is after the fact.  I always feel smart when I think things up.

the dirt

I was not excited to read this book...  it was thrust upon me by a well-intentioned neighbor who realized I was a child of the '80s, same as her, and thought I'd lavish it.  I took it reluctantly because I realized, in order to not be rude, I'd have to read it.  In its entirety and I'd have to discuss it when I returned it.  So I'd better know what I was talking about.

Prior to reading this book, I thought I knew who the band was.  Well, I knew Tommy Lee - he was married to Heather Locklear, then Pamela Anderson and he did a funny short series called "Tommy Goes to College" a few years back that I still giggle over when I remember some of the episodes (I didn't see them all - just happened upon one or 2 before it ended).  I also caught one smidge of an episode of some contest he was hosting searching for a lead singer for his newly formed band.  If memory serves me right, a girl won (good for her).  Couldn't tell you the name of the band, the name of the singer but I think that Dave Navarro was involved.  I had never heard of him before then.

I remember he & Pamela had their names tattooed on one another's ring fingers instead of going with the traditional wedding band, and once, while he was married to Heather, I caught a picture of the 2 of them on the beach and they both made me cringe... including Heather, who I always thought was such a doll (and I have come to love in the last 10yrs or so).  Sadly, I also remember Tommy had a tragedy during one of his kid's birthday parties when another child drowned.  I wondered, "can this guy not get a break?" and wondered why I had any sympathy for him at all back then.  I guess because I can only imagine the absolute heartbreak of the parents & the guilt of poor Tommy Lee.

Had you asked me anything about Motley Crue before I read this book, I would have THOUGHT I had something to say, but it would have all been about Tommy, and all about him outside of the band.  I couldn't have told you the name of any other band member, not even Vince Neil, who I'm familiar with but had no idea he was the lead singer of the band until I started reading...

I realize I never intended to know anything about Motley Crue - they obviously weren't my thing back in the day.  I have a funny memory from college - back in '84 I would guess - of a friend of mine & I in the Student Center and he asking me, "Who's your friend in Motley Crue?"  I look to where he's pointing & there is my long-haired friend Brian with 3 other long haired rowdies walking by.  I asked him what made him think I knew those guys and he said, "one of 'em just said, 'there's Dawn.' "  Oh, ok, I guess I do know them, I told him smiling.  I still laugh when I remember Pete calling them that - and of course I replayed that scene in my head over & over again as I read the 428 pages of this monster...

Monster book for a monster band...  they lived hard, played hard, rocked hard - truly.  I got alot out of this book - a truly NEW appreciation for them, altho, still, aside from "Girls, Girls, Girls" (and only then the chorus), I still can't tell you a name of any songs. 

But now I can tell you who is in the band:  Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars, Vince Neil &, of course, Tommy Lee.  Nikki was the brain & heart of the band.  The biggest drug-head but the best business man.  He truly took it seriously.  Mick was the sullen & mature one.  A few years older, a bit more rock-experienced, he was quiet & shy, stayed out of the limelight, didn't get caught up in the trash - and if he did, he didn't say much about it.  Ready to admit his shortcomings, he deals with his limitations very, very well.  And seems to have no expectations whatsoever.  Vince, the beauty, ended up being the most level-headed, altho he could not stay off the booze...  he knows his heart & follows it so I say good for him.  Tommy... oh, Tommy...  the little boy, the romantic, the big silly kid.  He had (has) natural talent and if not for him and his energy, Mick would not have given them a second thought and Vince would not have given them a try.

As with almost every book I read, I found some profound thoughts and words.  Here's what "the dirt" had to stay that I want to keep with me:

Vince (quoting David Lee Roth):  Don't just sign with any manager.  Don't take a deal only for the money.  You have to watch where the money goes, and how it comes back.

Mick:  I guess I always felt like I was too old, even at seventeen.

Mick:  I had taken a long time to go nowhere.

Mick:  Grown men who cry in the middle of a fucking crisis will die, because you can bet your ass that the enemy won't be crying.

Vince:  I often imagine that Skylar is still with me - sitting next to me in the car or lying in a warm lump next to me on the bed.  I guess that makes me crazy, but it also keeps me sane.

Mick:  If there is one thing I've learned, it's that overconfidence is the same thing as arrogance.  And arrogant, egotistical people are the weakest, most feeble-minded people ever.  If you've got it, you don't have to flaunt it.

Tommy:  And silence equals death.

Nikki:  After all the heroin, cocaine, and alcohol, I was finally waking up to who I really was.

Vince: It's important to be true to yourself, and not lose your identity by trying too hard to conform to everyone else's expectations and rules.


I'm not bitter.  I'm just better.

Acknowledgements:  to do something the Motley way is to do something the hard way.

I almost hate to return the book.  It's a keeper.

Starting Out in the Evening

I pick a book based on a few criteria... a recommendation, familiarity with the author, an interesting title. This came to me with 2 of the above (a recommendation but of the movie, not the book, and an interesting title). I was never captivated by the story, in fact, I got frustrated quite a few times. I didn't necessarily find Morton's dialogue convincing but the story was engaging. And anything that gives me insight into a literary life is worth plugging through, so I kept on.

I by no means believe I am literary. As a matter of fact, I realized, thru this story, that I am FAR from it. But this story prompted this blog and caused me to be sincere and authentic with myself. I am not a scholar but I do know what I like in literature. And what I obviously don't like in literature is anything too intellectual, too profound or too un-obvious (that is most likely NOT a word but I'm going with it anyway). I get the feeling I was supposed to close this book with an "aha!" but that did not happen. It was more like a, "well, damn." Finished, yet unfinished, with unanswered questions that I'm sure are supposed to not be answered. It takes me back to a few years ago when I read John Grisham's "A Painted House." Now that was unfinished! This story didn't have that same feel. This story was finished as it was supposed to be - in the literary, profound, intellectual world. Not in the Jae Halam world. This is how I concluded I am not a literary scholar and will never, ever be.

I just don't know what the purpose of this story is supposed to be... I guess it's fair to say, "I didn't get it."

Too bad. I think there is something in here that is supposed to be "got."

Despite my frustration with Morton's prose, I did find, quite surprisingly, tons of quotes that spoke to me. And so this blog developed... because I'm forever collecting quotes but I hate to write them down. So to pay tribute to them here seems like a great blog idea to me... and Heaven knows I'm in need of a great blog idea. Trust me on this...

This book made me feel old, or rather aged - and aging - and it made me think about death. I guess I should be grateful that it made me think. Right? Right.

~ quotes ~

If you really listen, you find that most people tell you their life stories as soon as they meet you.

It was strange, the way a new person can bring out a new, unpleasant side of someone you love.

"We should unite stoicism, asceticism and ecstasy. Two of them have often come together, but the three never." Yeats

She'd once heard that when you have heart surgery - your chest sawed open, your ribs cracked, the action of your heart replaced for hours by the action of a machine - the suffering you undergo for the next few months, that peculiarly spiritual sorrow, is the sorrow of your body in mourning for itself, a body that believes it has died.

Her father had been hiding out for thirty years in his writing room, thinking that the war of high culture versus low was still raging away. He hadn't gotten the news that the war was over: that high culture, which he had cherished, fought for, given his life for, had been crushed.

even her imperfections had style.

How did that little girl get ahead of me, when I had a fifteen-year head start?

There was something uninspiring about him,

Levin didn't have much time left, but this hadn't dimmed the joy he took in learning.

and the very spareness of his output had finally begun to seem a mark of his intellectual delicacy, the fineness of his discriminations.

Every writer writes with mixed motives, with some combination of purity and self-aggrandizement;

His world was ending, and it was hard not to feel as if the world of intelligent discourse itself was coming to an end. the younger generation seemed so bent on celebrity, as opposed to lasting achievement. But of course, every generation believes itself to be the last truly cultivated generation. It's a form of vanity that's hard to resist.

I don't feel like an old man. I feel as if I'm still ripening. I feel as if I'm just starting to understand things. But what's the use of this ripeness? It doesn't give birth to anything. It doesn't nourish anything. It just disappears.

Freedom has always been my theme in life, she said,

she didn't understand that she was only the occasion for it, not the cause.

Sometimes, said Thoreau, you can date a new era in your life from the reading of a book.
what she's giving up is much clearer to her than what she is seeking;

I start with a character. With Tenderness, I had a picture of a woman being asked to leave a museum because she'd run her hand over one of the statues. I had no idea who she was or why she was touching the statue. I wrote the book to find out... You just sit down at the typewriter and follow the character around. It's like being a detective. You write page after page after page just finding out who they are. You wait for them to do something interesting.

You remind me of Lawrence in the way you give your characters room. Room to reject things - even the things I suspect you value. Like the way Ellen walks away from her marriage. I had the feeling that you sympathized most of all with Ira. But you let Ellen walk away from him without portraying her as cruel.

I have this old-fashioned idea that art and commerce are at war.

If you stick to your guns in life - this was the moral she drew - you become strong.

Even in your smallest gestures, you express your sense of honor, if you have one.

"Man can embody the truth but he cannot know it." Yeats

She gave joy more often than she felt it.

writers shouldn't talk about what they are writing; that one was all too likely to talk one's books away.

"A man resembles his time more than he resembles his father." Arab proverb

with his lifelong immersion in the work of the Great Dead - Thoreau and Whitman and Melville and Faulkner and Hemingway and Dreiser - he'd barely looked up at the living.

who were too preoccupied with their own personal questions to shed any light on the larger problems of the time.

let's just say I was concerned with the perfection of the work, not of the life.

We congratulate ourselves on having abandoned our vices, when it is they who have abandoned us.

Maybe you only feel things strongly when you're young.

Certain writers managed to stay fresh, even in old age. Yeats, for instance, grew younger as he grew older: his work grew stronger and more muscular as he aged. George Eliot got steadily better: more intelligent, more original, more daring. DH Lawrence and Virginia Woolf may not have gotten better, but they continued to experiment restlessly as long as they lived.

everyone who fades fades for his own reasons.

It was curious, the intimacy of a conversation conducted in shouts.

She felt very much in the disorderly middle of life.

It takes a long time to die, he said.

She was thinking that she was foolish to hope that someday, if she found the right path, she would be continuously happy. No one is that fortunate. The moments of beauty, the moments when you feel blessed, are only moments; but memory and imagination, treasuring them, can string them together like the delicate glories on the necklace her father had given her.

Everything else passes away; that which you love remains.

One makes one's mark according to one's capacities.

anything, anything, to leave an image of yourself in other people's minds.

You have to write honestly... if you don't do it honestly it's not worth doing.

You'll be speaking with conviction, and when you speak with conviction people notice.

Heather was the only one who wanted the ball when the game was on the line, the only one who wanted to meet the moment.

- a creature of bare crude wanting, a creature who lunged after things she desired and tossed them aside after she no longer wanted them.

It was sad to think that it may have been precisely his single-minded devotion to his art that had drained his art of its freshness.

She kept this part short, because there was no point in dwelling on what he had failed to accomplish.

Her point was that although James may have been the grater craftsman, Lawrence was the greater artist, precisely because his passion for art competed with other passions. The richness of his life enriched his art.

He was heading off to Paris in a week, to keep a fool's appointment.

When you've been a writer for a long time, you develop an uncanny sensitivity to barely perceptible verbal signals of rejection.

The thought crossed his mind that if greatness had eluded him as a writer, perhaps this was why: because he'd never wanted to make a scene. Subtlety and indirection are important tools, but you can't scale the highest peaks with these tools alone.

Not that the world was under any obligation to appreciate the gifts he'd tried to give - but the question remained: if what you offer the isn't needed, then why continue to bring it your offerings?

Nothing has meaning in itself: all the objects in the world would be shards of bare mute blankness, spinning wildly out of orbit, if we didn't bind them together with stories.

a writer isn't the best judge of his own work.

He was a Zen master, she thought: ... because he lived in a kingdom of purely spiritual struggles and purely spiritual rewards.

He was somewhere far away, taking a walk with Henry James.

But after ten years, fifteen years, you haven't accomplished the grand things, and you start to realize that what you've been doing in the meantime might be all you'll ever do. And then you have to decided - do you really want to go for the grand things, or do you just accept the life you've already made?

He had grown too old for Paris.

a strange place helped you find the poetry in everyday life.

But now he realized that it didn't really matter. She was gone, and he would follow soon enough, and it would be as if neither of them had ever been.

Sitting on the little stone wall, he waited for her ghost to come, but it didn't.

Sidney Hook - used to say that most of the difficult decisions in life don't involve right against wrong, but right against right. That's why life is tragic.

"I stopped when I realized it wasn't going to lead to an exciting life."

Love, during the middle years, is in great part a matter of accompanying your beloved through life's disasters.

She had once read that an artist is someone who stands outside in rainstorms hoping to be struck by lightning.

She didn't know if he was a hero or if he had wasted his life.

He knew that Ariel was at the beginning of the great and terrible journey, the journey into the experience of death. But everyone's journey is different, and there was no way he could accompany her on hers. How lonely everyone is!

She felt as if she were at a fork in the road, where you have to choose between becoming a grown-up or remaining a child.

How did it get so late so early?

She watched them making their way across West End Avenue - very cautiously, like two small boys who had only recently learned how to cross the street on their own.

~ end of quotes ~

OK, I think, after going thru this exercise I appreciate the book more... may even pull it out & read it again... but, at the same time, I've reinforced my original impression that I didn't get what it had to give. I'm still fuzzy on the point. What, exactly, is the point, Mr. Morton?