A New Philosophy

To Publish, Or Not To Publish

Anewphilosophy — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 23:14:25 GMT

After reading about Laurie's publishing experience on Amazon, I'm considering publishing my book of poetry that way, too.

I have enough poems for a decent book, and lots of them have been edited and read by serious writers. I also have cover art— my sister did a series of sketches for my chapbook back in my junior year of college, so I can just ask her if I can use one of them (or several of them) for the cover.

I wouldn't charge much— probably two dollars? Laurie is selling her book for $9.99, but her book is 1) a novel, and 2) much better than the rubbish I'm writing, so I think I'll have to try extra hard to entice people to want to purchase my stuff.

Pros: I think doing this would help me get moving on my work again— there's nothing like shoving old projects out into the world to inspire entirely new projects. Plus, it would be kind of cool to plan out the book's layout.

Cons: Who wants to buy a Kindle book of poetry by an unknown author?

What do you guys think? (Oh, and check out Laurie's novel here!)

On Chick Lit

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 02:32:13 GMT

In a recent post, I asked for book recommendations; a lot of people mentioned Sophie Kinsella, so I searched for her books when I went to the library. However, even though I had heard that her non-Shopaholic books were better, the only one available was Confessions of a Shopaholic, so I snapped that up for a quick read during my lunch break.

The book reminded me strongly of Bridget Jones' Diary, and the ending, wherein silly Becky Bloomwood falls for the serious, intelligent, somewhat condescending Luke Brandon, recalled an even stranger flavor: faint Twilight undertones. It's a classic chick-lit formula, after all: a silly-but-likeable girl blunders her way through life, finds herself attracted to a snotty, superior Byronic fellow, and accidentally does something splendid at the end of the novel that helps to fix everything.

Chick lit is fun because it's fluff and you can read it on the subway without needing to think too deeply, but popular literature is also interesting because of what it tells you about popular culture. After all, if these books are popular, then something in them appeals deeply to many, many people, and that can tell you something about your fellow readers. So what can books like Shopaholic tell us about women?

Well, for one thing, they're certainly incredibly insecure. Both Becky Bloomwood and Bridget Jones are hopeless at their jobs at the outset of their respective books, and they're miserably single (ever notice how these girls in chick lit books are never happily playing the field?), and they frequently feel like they're failures at everything. Doesn't that say anything about the way women in their twenties and thirties are feeling about themselves?

But in a certain way, you can also see these books as a somewhat nebulous expression of feminism. I mean, the women in these books may be similar to one another, but they aren't always similar to your average female stereotype. They like clothes and shoes and they long for a dark, handsome man to come along and sweep them up— but they're also independent women, who possess their own incomes, enjoy sex on their own terms, and hold careers in male-dominated worlds (Becky is a financial writer; Bridget works in publishing, then later as a TV news reporter).

Really, though, isn't that the point— that in the end, our heroines get to have it all? Maybe that's what makes these books escapist experiences for some— because they take the anxieties that lots of women have everyday (Where is my career going? Will I ever fall in love? Am I attractive? How can I balance career success with personal success?) and present scenarios in which women really can have everything at once. At the end of Shopaholic, Becky can have the clothes she loves, a job she enjoys (a job that also pays her oodles of money), a handsome man to sleep with, and plenty of great friends. In the end, Becky never has to choose between kids and a career, between home and the office, between intelligent and beautiful.

What's your favorite chick-lit/chick-flick/fun piece of fluff?

Pick My Books!

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 02:53:34 GMT

So this week I finally got my library card for the New York Public Library. I can't go get some books until Thursday (that's when the library is open late enough that I can go after work), but that's okay, because I'm not actually sure what I want to read right now.

Usually, when I hear about a good book or author, I think, "Oh, wow, I'll have to get that when I go to the library!" And then I forget all about it. So now I can't remember any of the books I wanted— only that I wanted them.

I'm currently feeling in a slightly non-fiction-ish mood (as a result, I suppose, of enjoying Michael Pollan's books so much), but I'm trying to stay away from political non-fiction/essays, as that sort of stuff tends to make me throw things and attempt to kill people. I also enjoy quirky fiction, decent poetry that actually contains relevant meaning, and fun, light page-turners that dissolve in your brain like cotton candy does in your mouth.

Help! Can anyone suggest some books for me to read?

(Oh, and also, in case you've been living in a sound-proof, internet-free cave and haven't heard the news: I HATE TWILIGHT. So don't even think about that. :D)

What's the story, Wishbone?

Anewphilosophy — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 03:35:05 GMT

The other day, I was flipping channels after work while I waited for Adam to get home from class, and I came upon some kid's channel that we get via our DTV box. Instantly, I recognized the current program's music: it was the classic PBS show "Wishbone," which my sisters and I used to watch all the time when we were little!

In case you aren't familiar with the show, the main character is a Jack Russell Terrier named Wishbone, who lives with his middle school-aged owner, Joe, and Joe's widowed mom, Ellen, in a small Texas town. Wishbone can "speak" (his mouth doesn't move, but a voice actor provides his running commentary on the action), but his owners can't hear him— only the audience and the characters in Wishbone's daydreams can. See, Wishbone often imagines himself in a great works of literature— Sancho Panza in Don Quixote, for example, or Odysseus in The Odyssey. The little dog links what is happening in his family's lives with a similar story in literature— like when Joe begins helping the lunch lady at school take cafeteria leftovers to the food bank despite a command from the vice principal to throw it all away, Wishbone imagines himself as Robin Hood and tells the story of that book as the action in the "real world" unfolds.

When I was little, "Wishbone" was one of our favorite shows in our house. My sisters and I would sing along with the theme song, and sometimes we'd act out our favorite parts of the story afterwards. I think what I really loved about the show was that it never talked down to me— it wasn't encouraging me to read kids' books or picture books (those are great, too, of course, but I was a pretty advanced reader), but real, classic, adult novels. As a result, I was never intimidated by classic literature, and I left all the local librarians nonplussed as I walked up to the checkout desk at age seven with thick novels stacked high in my little arms. I guarantee that I was the only nine-year-old whose Barbies suffered the cruelties of Lowood Institution before becoming governesses and falling for the charms of Mr. Ken Rochester.

But what I also liked about the show was that few of the issues or the actions in the books were sugarcoated. People died, or were kidnapped, or had babies out of wedlock in these novels, and the show didn't attempt to hide that fact. The sad parts of the novels— and the scary parts— were never edited out, but were usually just explained in ways that made them accessible to kids.

When I discovered the program again a few days ago, I sat down to watch, and was glad to see that the show was every bit as great as I remembered. It instilled wonderful values (generosity, kindness, independence, equality) without getting preachy, and it stayed faithful to the literary works it was discussing. I can see now why the show inspired me to pick up so many classic books— in many ways, "Wishbone" prevented me from being intimidated by the idea of reading adult novels, and convinced me that grown-up books could be just as action-packed and interesting as kids' ones, especially if I took the time to really read them in their entirety.

A few years ago, in college, I was in a survey course that I particularly hated; it was an infamous course in the English department, because it was the only class required of ALL English majors, and it was basically a "here are the great works of literature that you should have read by now" sort of thing, which obviously lent itself to dissent and disapproval (everyone was disappointed that at least one of their favorite works didn't make the cut, and was annoyed that some of the ones that DID make it in were books they had never really enjoyed). In that class, we were supposed to read Don Quixote, a book I had never actually read for myself before, and I found myself dreading it. But as I began reading, I realized that I couldn't imagine Don Quixote without Wishbone! The whole time I was reading, Wishbone was there in my mind, acting out the role of Sancho Panza with his adorable little doggie hat on his head. And I realized that the story was familiar to me— that it wasn't some dry, dull work I had avoided because it sounded silly, but rather a rich piece filled with humor and pathos, a story that I had known since childhood even if I had never before laid eyes on the actual book.

Wishbone has truly affected my life in a positive way, I think, and I believe this says great things for the potential of educational television. To this day, many facets of my personality come from the books I've read; I mean, a big part of my attempt to always be kind and friendly to everyone I meet comes from having read Francis Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess, which I read at age six or seven, I believe. And without that encouragement towards reading what I wanted to read regardless of what was considered "appropriate" for my age, who knows what I might have missed? And who knows if I would have developed as quickly and successfully as I did without the extra intellectual advantage that early serious reading gave me?

What are some of the TV shows, books, or movies that really helped to shape you as a kid?

Why I Write Accessible Poems

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 01:42:23 GMT

Yesterday we were all invited over to my great-aunt Lucy’s for dinner, and after the fabulous meal, we all sat outside and watched a glorious Florida sunset. The discussion turned to poetry, and I found myself feeling ashamed of modern poetry yet again for making people feel like it’s as inaccessible and unintelligible as a slab of granite.

My family members are not stupid, and they’re not uneducated, either. If my aunt and my grandma and my husband have difficulty with contemporary poetry, then there’s a problem with poets today, not with my family. And I feel partially responsible, being as I’m a poet and all.

A good poem is like a nice wine— with wine, there are several initial flavors that you taste when you first sip from the glass, but then as you drink more, or as you eat certain foods that have been paired with the wine, you notice more and more notes of varying complexities. Poems should be like that— there should be a layer that evokes a reaction in almost everyone, and then there should be layers that only other poets can see.

But a lot of modern poetry doesn’t include the former layer— only the latter ones.

Here’s my grandmother’s favorite poem:

The Virtues of Carnation Milk

(by anonymous)

Carnation Milk is the best in the land;
Here I sit with a can in my hand --
No tits to pull, no hay to pitch,
You just punch a hole in the son of a bitch.

It’s not deep, but it evokes a more profound reaction in her gut than any modern poem could. She at least gets a laugh out of it; contemporary poetry doesn't even give her that. And she’s not a layperson— she’s an English teacher.

Doesn’t that say more about the impoverished state of today’s poetry more than about my grandmother’s taste in literature?

A Writer's Lament

Anewphilosophy — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 04:31:09 GMT

I just spent the past two hours writing a brilliant post. Seriously, guys, it was amazing— a political piece about race and gender and modernity, all set against the backdrop of the Sotomayor hearings. By turns eloquent, poignant, and inflammatory, it was one of the best pieces I've written here to date. I linked to the New York Times and to videos of Pat Buchanan, I quoted the founding fathers and a few racist guys at my husband's ex-job, and I tied everything together with some fabulously poetic phrases. This was to be my big piece of the month, and I wrote the whole thing, edited it, and got ready to post it...

And then I accidentally deleted it.

In all honesty, I'm kind of crying right now. I can't believe that just happened. I spent two hours. I wrote until I was exhausted. I made my husband go to bed alone; I kept my cats awake with my typing; I thought until my head hurt. And now it's all gone, and I'll never get it back, and you'll never read it. All that time, all that energy, wasted.

All I can think of, by way of dealing emotionally with this situation, is to scream (which I can't do right now; everyone is sleeping) or to throw things (which I can't do because I can't afford to replace broken stuff). Or maybe to run down and jump in the river, but even that won't bring back my stolen moment of brilliance.

I guess the moral of the story is: DON'T COMPOSE WORKS OF GENIUS IN YOUR WEB BROWSER WINDOW. MICROSOFT WORD IS THERE FOR A REASON, BITCH.

How do you deal with intense frustration?

Romancing the Novel

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 03:11:30 GMT

My mother has proposed that I swallow my pride and actually make money as a writer.

That is, she thinks I should write a romance novel.

She is right that romance novels are big money makers. When we were on the phone today, she told me the name of the best-selling author in the US, and it wasn't a name I recognized. Why? Because it was a romance novelist.

Romance novels are apparently hot sellers, and on top of that, romance publishers usually aren't as snobby as other publishers seem to be. They take quite a bit of work from new, unpublished writers, and sometimes from people who read romance novels and then decide to write them themselves.

The problem? I have never read a romance novel. I don't even know what they're like. Don't they involve, like, sex and stuff? Would I have to write sentences like, "She gazed down through her raven hair, allowing her fingers to graze his throbbing member"?

Also, I was trained as a poet. While it says "English" on my transcript, I pretty much majored in poetry at Vassar. I'm a poet— that's what I do. I like metaphor, and I like complicated meter, and I like delicacy— the quietness, the coyness of language. Could I really write a romance novel?

Of course, as I just said, I've never read a romance novel. It could be that I'm terribly biased, and that my assumptions about these novels are unfair.

So this is where you come in. Have you ever read a romance novel? Do you think I could write a romance novel? Would you read a romance novel I wrote?

And, most importantly: what would my romance novel pen name be? Because if the people from my writing classes at Vassar ever found out I'd written a romance novel, I'd have to kill myself in shame.

I'm leaning towards Vanessa Hart. Or maybe MacKensie Firefly.

Of Presidents and Poetry

Anewphilosophy — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 09:35:54 GMT

Hey— did you know that Jimmy Carter, the ex-president, wrote POEMS?

Not just one or two, mind you. An entire book of them!

Well, I didn't know that, so I thought I'd share one with you. It's surprisingly humorous, and surprisingly spare, and surprisingly...good!

Progress Does Not Always Come Easy

by Jimmy Carter

As a legislator in my state
I drew up my first law to say
that citizens could never vote again
after they had passed away.

My fellow members faced the troubling issue
bravely, locked in hard debate
on whether, after someone's death had come,
three years should be adequate

to let the family, recollecting him,
determine how a loved one may
have cast a vote if he had only lived
to see the later voting day.

My own neighbors warned me I had gone
too far in changing what we'd always done.
I lost the next campaign, and failed to carry
a single precinct with a cemetery.

Is Poetry Dead?

Anewphilosophy — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 09:52:06 GMT

So apparently, according to Newsweek, we are witnessing the death of verse, as poetry readership has dipped to a 16-year low.

Bad news for us poets.

The part that bothered me the most in the above article is this:

Even if readership is down, not everyone is concerned. In fact, popularity is itself a fraught subject in the poetry community. In an address to the Association of Writers & Writing Programs this February, the president of the Poetry Foundation, John Barr, described how the popular poet writing for the common reader essentially disappeared with the advent of Modernism. The 19th-century model of poets publishing in mainstream venues such as newspapers was replaced by the 20th-century model, in which the increasing fragmentation and difficulty of poetry required specialists to discern it, moving it into the college classroom. Today, to call a poem "accessible" is practically an insult, and promotional events like National Poetry Month are derided by many poetry diehards as the reduction of a complex and often deeply private art form to a public spectacle.

A few years after the launch of National Poetry Month, poet Charles Bernstein wrote in a caustic essay that April is now when "poets are symbolically dragged into the public square in order to be humiliated with the claim that their product has not achieved sufficient market penetration." He added that "National Poetry Month is about making poetry safe for readers by promoting examples of the art form at its most bland and its most morally 'positive'."

I don't understand. Why would you make art if you're not interested in communicating something? If you just wanted to make it for yourself, you wouldn't feel the need to display/publish/screen/perform it; if you're showing it to other people, then you're trying to communicate something, and if that communication isn't working, then YOUR ART ISN'T WORKING, no matter how nicely structured it is.

When I write poems, I use the onion method. A decent poem should have as many layers as possible, but the top layer is always the Everyone Layer— that is, everyone should be able to understand the poem on a basic level. Then, the poem should work on a different layer that more thoughtful people can understand; then, it should work on a level that only students of poetry can understand. Right now, I feel like the world of poetry views each poem as being able to consist of only one of these layers, so they'd prefer that it be the more "sophisticated" one— the one only understood by other poets.

To hell with them. I write by wringing my heart through my head, so that I'm able to communicate what I'm thinking or feeling or experiencing, so I'm able to share that wonderful coincidence or moment or trauma that occurred in my life and that might change the way you look at your own life.

Through writing for other people, I write for myself. Does that make sense?

For those of you out there who love poetry— what poems/poets do you love, and why? For those who hate it— why are you so turned off?

An Awesome Blog

Anewphilosophy — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 12:45:12 GMT

Before I go off to bed tonight, I just wanted to post a little plug for my dear friend Cla— er, Mistress of Snark. She has a totally rocking PNN blog that is filled with sweet, sweet snark of the most sarcastic and biting wit known to man. Do please check her out.

And the bitter, poorly written comments from teen girls who object to Twilight mockery are totally hilarious as well!

King V. Meyer

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 09:08:22 GMT

While I'm not completely convinced that Stephen King represents the apex of American literature, I did have to cheer for him when I read this USA Today piece in which he disses Stephenie Meyer:

King, whose Stephen King Goes to the Movies collection came out last week, doesn’t know how much of an influence he had on Meyer, but he does know that Rowling read his stuff when she was younger. "I think that has some kind of formative influence the same way reading Richard Matheson had an influence on me," King explains. "People always say to me, 'Well, what about H.P. Lovecraft?' And the thing was, you read Lovecraft when you were a kid but I never felt that he was speaking my language. It was chillier than my heart was, and when Matheson started to write about ordinary people and stuff, that was something that I wanted to do. I said, 'This is the way to do it. He’s showing the way.' I think that I serve that purpose for some writers, and that’s a good thing. Both Rowling and Meyer, they’re speaking directly to young people. ... The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good."

HA! At least I'm not the only writer who thinks Meyer is a nasty hack.

Do Your Part To Stop Punctuation Abuse!

Anewphilosophy — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 06:09:29 GMT

Did you know that punctuation abuse is actually associated with real-life crime?

Check out this article: apparently using punctuation incorrectly can keep you from successfully carrying out an illegal caper. Police can often compare your poorly written ransom notes to other documents you've created, and prove in a court of law that you were the perpetrator of the crime.

At last— an excuse to strangle people who incorrectly use quotation marks in order to indicate emphasis.

A Possibly Finished Poem

Anewphilosophy — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 11:50:34 GMT

Here's something I've been playing with for awhile now. I can't quite decide if it's done or not.

The Annunciation

The angel went to her and said, "Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you." Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. (Luke 1: 28-29)

The night was wide and black and filled with stars.
I had just finished my prayers when it came
through my window like unexpected day—
a six-winged creature with hot liquid eyes
that burned like a salamander’s birth.
Its voice was a hundred thousand thunders,
and when it drew breath, the room contracted.

Terrified, I heard little that it said
until it mentioned God, for then I knew
things would soon be bad. When God sends servants
like that, he’s not asking for a favor;
he’s weaving the threads of the world tightly
around you, and you can only stay still.

And after it left a trail of glamour
in its wake, the darkness closed around me,
and never left.

Banished To The Realm Of the Cliche

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 22:25:18 GMT

It's my favorite time of year! That's right: Lake Superior State University has just released its annual List of Words to Be Banished from the Queen's English for Mis-use, Over-use and General Uselessness!

On this year's list are "green" ("Companies are less 'green' than ever, advertising the fact they are 'green.' Is anyone buying this nonsense?" -Mark Etchason, Denver, CO), "maverick" ("You know it's time to banish this word when even the Maverick family, who descended from the rancher who inspired the term, says it's being mis-used." -Scott Urbanowski, Kentwood, MI), and "bailout" ("Use of emergency funds to remove toxic assets from banks' balance sheets is not a bailout. When your cousin calls you from jail in the middle of the night, he wants a bailout." -Ben Green, State College, PA).

Interestingly, the list included, for the first time ever, an emoticon: that perennial favorite of Facebook users everywhere, the <3, which is supposed to resemble a heart. "Just say the word instead of making me turn my head sideways and wondering what 'less than three' means," said Andrea Estrada of Chicago.

You can view the full list of banished words and phrases here.

And if LSSU gets to make a list, why don't I? Here's my compilation of a few more words and phrases that need to go:

Change: Okay, when a progressive candidate says it, it makes sense. But when a conservative candidate like, oh, I dunno, every single Republican who ran for president this past cycle, it makes less sense. The whole platform of the conservative movement is ANTI-change, and PRO-tradition. If you're for "change" and you're a Republican, you're in the wrong party.

[Name] the [Profession] (as in "Joe the Plumber"): Um, how is stating your profession somehow a vindication of your earnest folksiness? If I called myself "Philosophy the Writer," would people give a damn? McCain supporters flouted signs declaring their names and professions ("I'm Sam the Steelworker!") at rallies, and it made less sense than McCain's crazy campaign suspension in the midst of the financial crisis...especially since Joe the Plumber wasn't actually named Joe OR actually a plumber.

Vaycay (short for vacation): If one more person insists on abbreviating a word that isn't long or cumbersome in the first place, I might kill myself. If you can't take the time out to say or write the full word, you have more problems than your supposed shortage of time.

Historic (when used to describe the present day): I know I've been guilty of this one myself, but so many commentators and newscasters have used this word to describe certain events this year (the Democratic primary, the election of president-elect Obama, the recession, the Iraq War) that it's been getting a little ridiculous. Pardon me, but I thought things became truly "historical" when remembered from the FUTURE. We can't really know what events will be considered monumental unless we're looking back from the comfortable position of hindsight.

Joe Sixpack: NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER USE THIS TERM AGAIN. Somehow, Sarah Palin is under the impression that stereotyping working class people as drunken men with bland names is a flattering compliment. The working class people I know? Not so flattered.

What words would you add to the lists?

Stephenie Meyer Ate My Baby!

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 02:31:18 GMT

...no, just kidding. I don't even have a baby. But wouldn't that be an unbelievably interesting news piece?

Anyways, now that I have your attention: Claire sent me this awesome article (though I think Olivia sent it to her first?), entitled How Twilight Is Destroying America and Harming Our Nation's Youth. Read it now!

Of course, I don't really think that Twilight is severely harming our children; to be honest, while I think the messages in the book are negative at best, I'm much more concerned about the effect the book's poor writing will have on the writing skills of our teen girls.

But I do have to agree that the book sends some pretty terrible messages.

Take this one, for example: the relationship between Edward and Bella is pretty durn abusive. As Lucy Mangan says:

"It sounds melodramatic and shrill to say that Bella and Edward’s relationship
is abusive, but as the story wears on it becomes increasingly hard to avoid the comparison, as she gradually isolates herself from her friends to protect his secret, and learns to subordinate her every impulse and movement to the necessity of not upsetting Edward and his instincts (”I could quite easily kill you, Bella, by accident”), until by halfway through she is trying to suppress her very pulse (”my blood was racing and I wished I could slow it, sensing that this must make everything so much more difficult”) and planning her movements like a chess game - “I worried that it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.” Whenever she responds physically to his kisses, he immediately draws away and berates her. Supporters will call this the erotics of abstinence. I call it fear and distaste for female sexuality and a poisonous message to be feeding young women."

I'm also upset by the message that Bella herself sends to girls. Bella starts off the first book as a very bright young woman; she reads Jane Austen for fun, she's already read all the books for her English class and done all the labs in her biology class, and she is dismissive of the vacuousness of high school in general. By the end of the series of novels, though, Bella has become her father's personal cook and housekeeper, and has (over her parents' objections) refused to attend college, preferring to marry at 19 and have a baby with her high school boyfriend.

Now, I don't think books cause people to do things. I don't think that allowing any daughter of mine to read Twilight would make her run off with some dashing stranger named Edward, and I don't think it would make her a misogynist in an instant. I think kids are smart, and I think kids are a lot more in touch with reality than grown-ups like to think. In fact, I often think that adults ascribe innocence to children because they themselves wish they were that innocent. I can't tell you how many kids in my elementary school classes pretended to believe in Santa Claus so as not to hurt their parents' feelings.

But I do think that kids need context when they read books that present sexist, racist, or disturbing material, because such material can be really confusing when reflected on later. The problem isn't that kids have access to shocking books— it's that once they read these books, they don't often have anyone to discuss them with, anyone to help them frame the books in the right ways. I don't think the kids who got hurt imitating Jackass or WWE wrestling did so because they watched the shows— I think they did so because they watched the shows and their parents or guardians weren't around to tell them, "Now, remember, that's not something you should be doing on your own, because it's very dangerous and not meant for you to try at home."

I would not expressly recommend Twilight to my daughter, mostly because I feel it's poorly written and fairly boring, but also because I think the things it says about the role of women in society are disturbing. But if my daughter discovered it on her own and wanted to read it, I would never stop her. I would simply request that she come talk to me after she'd read each book, so we could discuss which elements weren't acceptable in real life. "Edward does these things because he's not a human being," I'd say, "But it would never be acceptable for a real boy to camp outside your window and watch you sleep." Or: "Edward and Bella's romance lasted forever in the book, but that's because this is a fairy tale. Real high school romances hardly ever end in marriage and happiness, because you're not completely developed in high school— you change in your twenties a lot. And even people who do marry their high school sweethearts usually wait years to do so, and sometimes date other people in those intervening years." Or: "Real romance is based a lot more on character than on looks. The author of this book doesn't have time to show you how real romance develops, so she has to skip over a lot of stuff and concentrate on the physical attraction. But people who are really in love, like your father and I, are in love with what's inside the other person, not just what's on the outside."

This is kind of like what my mom did when I was younger. I was allowed to read anything I liked— in fact, my mom exchanged some heated words with a librarian who insisted that I should have a kids' card (which wouldn't let me check out any books that weren't in the juvenile section) rather than an adult card. Lemme tell you, she got that adult card for me, and I used it. And I read vociferously, and that's why I was so good in school, and why I'm so good with language today.

But she always made sure to talk to me about the books I was reading, even if it was just at the dinner table or while I was watching TV. She'd tell me about the author, where he or she was coming from, why certain characters did certain things. She helped me subtract from the equation the confusion that comes with entering the adult world. She gave me the context I never could have discovered on my own. And I hope I can do that for my child one day, too.