Authors that visit your brain...
Jan. 14th, 2003 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenrileyI'm reading a book today, just picked it up, for my book club. The plot interested me from the begining, so I gladly put in my vote to make it the February meeting discussion book. It's called Stones From the River by Ursula Hegi and so far, it's fantastic. Only, there is one thing. I think this woman sent her brain on a trip and it, upon finding my brain, took bits and pieces of me and used it for her book. Now, normally I'll find myself taking on a characters personality traits for awhile, but rarely, extremely rarely, do I find a character taking on mine. I already sympathize with the main character. She's a zwerge, a dwarf. I'm not a little person, not a medical sufferer of achondroplasia (spelling?), however I am about the height of one. I'm actually only a few inches taller than most little people I've met. But I don't have the genes that give me achondroplasia, nor do I have any of the physical characteristics, other than being short. But boy do I have the same social repercussions for it. The little girl, Trudi, upon entering her first year of school, is described as
Trudi loved quickly, rashly- Sister Mathilde, whose voice would tremble with emotion when she spoke of the martyrs; Eva Rosen, who sat next to Trudi in class, her spine so straight that she was always held up as an example for good posture; Herr Pastor Schuler, who would hear Trudi's first confession and tell her not to forget that she was God's child- loved quickly, rashly, as she had once loved Georg, as though there were no air between her and the other person.
There was always one beloved- although that could change from one day to the next- and she would watch that person with her chaste, jealous love. It would devastate her when the Herr Pastor would visit her class and forget to smile especially at her, or when Sister Mathilde would frown at her for not sitting still, or when Eva Rosen would hold hands with Bettina Buttgereit on the way home from school.
[cut long ramble on Georg, best friend before school]
She'd stop wherever other kids played hopscotch or ball, wishing they'd understand that, inside, she was just like them. How she wanted to join in their games, but they didn't invite her- not even if she asked- and after a few months she ceased trying. She'd stand at a distance, watching the other children, keeping her wide face impassive as if she didn't care about any of this. She could feel their loathing. Could feel that they didn't want to touch her. But when they called her names- Zwerge- dwarf- and Zwergenbein- dwarf leg- names they knew would sting, she'd grab fistfuls of dirt to fling at their taunting faces. She'f fling names at them too- Schweinesau- pig sow, and Arschloch- asshole- vile names that earned her the reputation of having a dirty mouth and resulted in warnings from the nuns to control her temper, vile names that made her afraid that her soul was becoming as hideous as her body.
Even during recess the girls wouldn't let her play; they'd form circles, running and chanting: "Ringel Ringel Rose..." while she'd stand outside their circle, feeling a fury gather itself within her, a fury that would drive bright tears to her eyes and make her want to hurt those girls.
Dear God that was me as a child. I still love like that, wholey, innocently, quickly, and often times with devestating consequences for myself while the other suffers nothing. But criminy... I've never read a character in a book like that. It made me feel good to think a character is like me, but also very very vulnerable. It's just... I don't know. It's a good book, but it seems to be eerily following my childhood (minus the death of her mother) with strong forshadowing to my adolescence as well. It's a good book though. Has anybody else found themselves in a book they were reading?
On another note, have grown rather attached to the Stone Roses. Upon request of a friend, I listened to some of their music. I like it. :)
Have much to do in way of dishes and cleaning before I go to bed, so I best get to it.
Trudi loved quickly, rashly- Sister Mathilde, whose voice would tremble with emotion when she spoke of the martyrs; Eva Rosen, who sat next to Trudi in class, her spine so straight that she was always held up as an example for good posture; Herr Pastor Schuler, who would hear Trudi's first confession and tell her not to forget that she was God's child- loved quickly, rashly, as she had once loved Georg, as though there were no air between her and the other person.
There was always one beloved- although that could change from one day to the next- and she would watch that person with her chaste, jealous love. It would devastate her when the Herr Pastor would visit her class and forget to smile especially at her, or when Sister Mathilde would frown at her for not sitting still, or when Eva Rosen would hold hands with Bettina Buttgereit on the way home from school.
[cut long ramble on Georg, best friend before school]
She'd stop wherever other kids played hopscotch or ball, wishing they'd understand that, inside, she was just like them. How she wanted to join in their games, but they didn't invite her- not even if she asked- and after a few months she ceased trying. She'd stand at a distance, watching the other children, keeping her wide face impassive as if she didn't care about any of this. She could feel their loathing. Could feel that they didn't want to touch her. But when they called her names- Zwerge- dwarf- and Zwergenbein- dwarf leg- names they knew would sting, she'd grab fistfuls of dirt to fling at their taunting faces. She'f fling names at them too- Schweinesau- pig sow, and Arschloch- asshole- vile names that earned her the reputation of having a dirty mouth and resulted in warnings from the nuns to control her temper, vile names that made her afraid that her soul was becoming as hideous as her body.
Even during recess the girls wouldn't let her play; they'd form circles, running and chanting: "Ringel Ringel Rose..." while she'd stand outside their circle, feeling a fury gather itself within her, a fury that would drive bright tears to her eyes and make her want to hurt those girls.
Dear God that was me as a child. I still love like that, wholey, innocently, quickly, and often times with devestating consequences for myself while the other suffers nothing. But criminy... I've never read a character in a book like that. It made me feel good to think a character is like me, but also very very vulnerable. It's just... I don't know. It's a good book, but it seems to be eerily following my childhood (minus the death of her mother) with strong forshadowing to my adolescence as well. It's a good book though. Has anybody else found themselves in a book they were reading?
On another note, have grown rather attached to the Stone Roses. Upon request of a friend, I listened to some of their music. I like it. :)
Have much to do in way of dishes and cleaning before I go to bed, so I best get to it.
