Tag: classics

The Secret Life of Gone with the Wind

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From this list of Gone with the Wind trivia:

“Though Mitchell spent the next decade working on characters and plot development, almost no one knew she was writing a book. She went to extreme lengths to hide her work from friends and family, including hurriedly throwing a rug over pages scattered on her living room floor once when company showed up unexpectedly.”

I don’t talk a lot about my writing with people who are non-writer friends. It can even feel weird if they ask “What’s your book about?” or “How’s the writing going?” Usually they ask out of genuine interest and enthusiasm, but it can be hard to explain the writing process to someone who hasn’t done it before. (Plus the day-to-day work  of me sitting at a computer isn’t glamorous.) And I don’t tend to show my work to people who are non-writer friends.

I think there’s a lot to be said for keeping your work private. Once it’s published and out in the world, it belongs to other people. It’s not yours anymore. But while you’re still writing, it’s yours in a very special way. Sharing that with lots of people can dilute your enthusiasm in some way.

Or maybe that’s just Margaret Mitchell and me. Do you tend to share your work with family and friends?

More Matter, Plus Art

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First there was a podcast of David Tennant in Twelfth Night; now his Hamlet is available to watch online? What an awesome week for Shakespeare (and fans of the Tenth Doctor)!

You can also check out this video on the making of this version of Hamlet. English teachers, take note.

Side note: the scene with Hamlet holding Yorick’s skull is probably one of the best-known images in theater, so it’s easy to forget what’s going on in the scene. I took a Shakespeare class in grad school, and our professor reminded us that Hamlet is holding the skull of probably the only person who ever really cared about him. The skull isn’t just a prop–it’s what’s left of the head of someone he loved. That scene suddenly became so sad for me! Shakespeare knew what he was doing, guys.

(image: The Guardian)

It’s a Classic–So What?

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When I was little, my mom would suggest a particular food and say “Have some. It’s good for you.” Shockingly enough, this was not the best way to increase my culinary palette. (What would have worked? “Broccoli–they’re tiny trees you can eat!”) Bookshelvers Anonymous makes the point that this kind of argument doesn’t work for literature, either:

“When kids come into my store for classics, it’s because a teacher has given them a reading list. They’re being forced to read books that are presented to them as “classic,” which probably brings up the same caustic definition in their minds that I presented at the very beginning of this post. They don’t want to read these boring old books where everyone talks funny! And by “kids,” I mean everyone from elementary-schoolers to grad students.”

This brings up all kinds of issues about what books kids should be reading in school and is it possible to enjoy homework, anyway? Bookshelver suggests a certain level of autonomy for students:

“The books I loved most as a kid were the ones I found myself – the classic Beauty and the Beast, the full and unabridged Treasure Island, And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. I picked them, not teachers or professors. Even if schools aren’t willing to give kids full autonomy, partial autonomy is still possible. Some schools, instead of giving kids a list of ten books they must read, instead give the kids a list of thirty and tell them to pick ten. The kids pick things that interest them, the teachers still get to feed their students classics, and who knows? Maybe the kids will even start swapping books with fellow classmates, because what’s more contagious than a good book (just ask Harry Potter and Hunger Games)?”

My middle school did something similar. In 7th and 8th grade, part of our curriculum allowed us to choose books from a fairly extensive list, and create projects/write essays in response to our individual readings. As a result, I picked up A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, and Of Mice and Men, all of which I loved.

But if I hadn’t loved these books, that would have been okay, too. You don’t have to read or love a book just because it’s a classic. I tried Anna Karenina and didn’t get much out of it; I can’t stand Hemingway; I spent part of my 11th grade English final arguing that Willy Loman was a jerk, so Death of a Salesman was a theatrical failure. Some classics just won’t work for you–just like any other genre. It’s good to be exposed to books you might not pick up otherwise, and having a good teacher guide you through the text can be a huge help, but extolling the classics just because they’re “classic” is useless.

I subscribe to a “no book guilt” policy. If I don’t enjoy something–whether it’s a YA novel, a classic, or a volume of poetry–I can stop reading. There are way too many good books out there to waste time on ones that just aren’t working for you.

(image: Cambridge, King’s College Library by Cornell University Library)

Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood

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The next time someone tells you that the road less traveled by makes all the difference, you can tell them that Robert Frost didn’t really care what path you took:

“Frost is actually using an old technique known as the “unreliable narrator,” and he isn’t even being all that subtle about it: in spite of the famous quote’s insistence that one road is “less traveled by,” the second stanza of the poem clarifies that both roads are “worn… really about the same.”  Oh, and also, Frost himself admitted that he was actually mocking the idea that single decisions would change your life, and specifically making fun of a friend of his who had a tendency to over-think things that really weren’t that big a deal.”

Click through for more misunderstood lines in famous poems/plays/books. And heckle the next graduation speaker to use them incorrectly.

More Loving

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I stumbled across this poem by W.H Auden the other day and thought it would be a good one to share for National Poetry Month:

The More Loving One
by W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Inspiration for a YA novel, anyone? I feel like sections of this poem could be fantastic as a title or epigraph.

A Big Year for Epic Book Adaptations

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Like pretty much everyone else in the YA world, I saw The Hunger Games this weekend, and I was very satisfied by the adaptation. Overall I think they edited well in terms of what they could/couldn’t add into the movie (even if it got a little exposition-heavy at times; tracker jackers, anyone?). The performances were all fantastic. I’d been hesitant about Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss just because she looked older than I’d imagined Katniss to be, but she was fantastic. Lots of the more minor characters were excellent, too. (Rue destroyed me!) I’m very excited to see upcoming versions of Catching Fire and Mockingjay.

Another big movie adaptation coming up this year is The Hobbit, which is set to be released in December. The trailer for this one looks great, so hopefully it’s going to be an excellent year for book adaptations.

If you’re so excited about these movies you just want to squish them together into one giant epic, check out this fun quiz, which examines your knowledge of quotes from The Hunger Games and Lord of the Rings. Probably not too hard for fans, but I like getting validated for my knowledge of movie/book trivia.

Your thoughts on The Hunger Games or The Hobbit adaptations?

Into the Woods

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When I was five or so, Disney was able to release The Little Mermaid. I was intrigued by the trailer and asked my brother what the story was about. His version: the little mermaid falls in love with the prince. To stay human, she has to stab two holes in her feet and throw herself overboard. I had great fun throwing my dolls off the couch, cheering about their sacrifice. Of course, when the movie came out I realized that my brother’s version wasn’t entirely accurate. (I was obsessed with the movie, by the way.)

Even though my brother missed a lot of major points, it’s probably closer to the original tale than the Disney version is. Most fairy tales from Hans Christian Andersen, the Grimm brothers, or any other pre-20th century storyteller are a lot darker than the stories we tell children today. Granted, these were folktales, and not specifically children’s stories, so it would make sense that they’re a lot more violent or scary than most picture books. In a recent article, the Globe and Mail took a look at what it means for fairy tales to be dark and gritty or sanitized and safe. One point I liked:

“In his 1976 book The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, the late child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim argued that the frightening elements of fairy tales helped children “grapple with emotional problems,” as Prof. Zipes puts it. Fairy tales give children a symbolic space, removed from reality, in which to deal with – and conquer – their anxieties safely.”

I think the idea of using stories as a safe way to grapple with personal fear and anxiety is huge. The evil stepmother can be scary, but she almost always fails and is brought to justice. This can help kids understand that even if things scare us, that doesn’t mean we can’t face our fears, like going to school or sleeping alone.

Still, it’s wise to understand that not all children are always ready to hear scarier stories:

But many feel that young children are too vulnerable to be exposed to the gory details from the original stories – such as Snow White’s stepmother being forced to dance in red-hot iron shoes until she died. “As adults we can see the innocence in fairy tales, but a five-year-old with an overactive imagination could take things too literally,” Steve Hornsey, of the television channel Watch, which commissioned the British study, told the Daily Telegraph”

As with any media, it’s necessary to know what your child’s personal boundaries are, and to talk about potentially scary topics with your child in a safe setting. And maybe some fairy tales are best held until a child is a little older and can understand better what stories are. I thought it was cool to find out that the Disney fairy tales, which I loved as a kid, weren’t the same as the stories they were based on. I was much older by that point, and it didn’t ruin the “safer” versions either–it expanded the world of fairy tales.

Check out the rest of the article for lots of other good points about presenting fairy tales for modern audiences.

(image: Arthur Rackham, via Fantasy Art Workshop)