Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts

With the release of the eighth and final Harry Potter movie this July (Deathly Hallows II), it seemed as if an era had come to a close. My friends and I had grown up with Harry Potter, and I remember eagerly awaiting the release of the last few books and devouring them as soon as they came out. It seemed appropriate to mark the occasion of the last movie's release by going to a midnight showing with a group of friends and dressing up like the nerd that I am. (Nowthat was a fun night.)

As I am writing this blog post, I am sitting in the auditorium of the Schottenstein Cultural Center, hearing Hamlet's desperate voice ringing from the stage. Rehearsals for Stern College Dramatics Society's spring 2011 production of Shakespeare's Hamlet are in progress, and we actresses are scattered across the empty auditorium, while Hamlet paces and ponders onstage.

People spend their whole lives looking for meaning, trying to find something that will justify their existence and give them a reason to continue working and striving, to continue fighting for what they know is right and not to give up even when it seems as if everything is falling down around them. We often have such moments when we are ready to give up because nothing is going right and it looks like all our efforts are worthless and bring no results. As we realize the insignificance of a single human life in the context of the entire world, we despair and make the mistake of thinking that what we do does not matter.

There is an interesting passage about it in Chaim Potok's The Chosen. Chaim Potok is a brilliant writer and I really enjoy his books for their depth and their understand of human (and particularly religious) nature. I love the way he explores issues that relate to our religious community and have meaning for us, and his novels are so easy to get into because we can connect with the characters based on our own experiences.

Reuven, the protagonist of The Chosen, is worried because his father is putting what he feels are unnecessarily long hours into his work and his efforts to support a Zionistic state (this takes place before the establishment of the state of Israel). His father works late every night and barely sleeps, and when Reuven sees that it is taking a toll on his health, he feels the need to protest and to urge his father to see the doctor and to "take it a little easy." This is his father's response:

"Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye? ... I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that the blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one's life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here."

Little pieces of wisdom from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, by Choderlos de Laclos

On passion and prudence:

"What you call happiness is but a tumult of the senses, a tempest of passions of which the mere view from the shore is terrible. Ah! Why confront these tempests? How dare embark upon a sea covered with the debris of so many thousand shipwrecks?" -- Madame de Tourvel

On principles and individuality:

"I say my principles, and I say so decidedly; for they are not, like those of other women, the result of chance, received without scrutiny, and followed out of habit; they are the fruit of my profound reflections; I have created them, and I may say that I am my own handiwork." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

On virtue and sacrifice:

"What would virtue be without the duties which it imposes? Its worship lies in our sacrifices, its recompense in our hearts. These truths cannot be denied except by those who have an interest in disregarding them, and who, already depraved, hope to have a moment's illusion by endeavoring to justify their bad conduct by bad reasons." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

On falling in love and blind passion:

"It is not for the illusion of a moment to settle the choice of our life. In fact, in order to choose, one must compare; and how can that be done, when one is occupied by a single object, when even that object one cannot know, plunged as one is in intoxication and blindness?" -- Marquise de Merteuil.

On vanity and its consequences:

"To what lengths will vanity not carry us! The wise man was right, indeed, when he said that it was the enemy of happiness." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

On the risks of bad influences and dangerous acquaintance:

"Who is there who would not shudder, if he were to reflect upon the misfortunes that may be caused by even one dangerous acquaintance! And what troubles would one not avert by reflecting on this more often!" -- Madame de Volanges

Don Luis: Are you not ashamed, to be so unworthy of your origins? What right have you now to take pride in your birth? And what have you done in the world that would prove you a gentleman? Do you think that it suffices to bear the name and the coat of arms -- that we may glory in our noble blood and at the same time wallow in infamy? No, no, birth is nothing if virtue doesn't attend it. We share the glory of our ancestors only in proportion as we strive to resemble them; and their splendid deeds, which shed a lustre upon us, oblige us to honor them in kind -- to follow in their footsteps, and not to forsake their fine example if we wish to be their true descendants.

~Don Juan, Moliere. p. 115

I think most of us have heard the idea that our yichus is like a string of zeroes, and if we have nothing with which to recommend ourselves, it is worthless, while if we are the 'one' in front of all those zeroes, it amounts to a lot.

~~~

Don Juan: It's no longer shameful to be a dissembler; hypocrisy is now a fashionable vice, and all fashionable vices pass for virtues. The part of G-d-fearing man is the best possible role to play nowadays, and in our present society the hypocrite's profession has extraordinary advantages. It's an art whose dishonesty always goes unchallenged; even if the whole world sees through the imposture, no one dares denounce it. All the other vices of mankind are subject to censure, and anyone is free to upbraid them roundly; but hypocrisy is a privileged vice which knows how to silence every tongue and enjoy a perfect impunity. The hypocrite, by means of pious pretenses, attaches himself to the company of the devout, and anyone who then assails him is set upon by a great phalanx of the godly -- wherein those who act sincerely, and have a true religious fervor, are always the dupes of the others. The true believers are easily hoodwinked by the false, and blindly second those who ape their piety. I can't tell you how many men I know who, by means of a feigned devotion, have glossed over the sins of their youth, wrapped themselves in the cloak of religion, and in that holy disguise are now free to be the worst of scoundrels! It makes no difference if their intrigues are sometimes exposed and their true natures laid bare; they don't cease, on that account, to be respected, since by soulful groans, and bowings of the head, and rollings of the eye toward Heaven, they can readily persuade the world to excuse whatever they do.

I propose to take refuse in this modish style of deception, and thus protect myself and my interests. I shan't give up any of my cherished pursuits, but I'll be careful to pursue them quietly and on the sly. If ever my secret life is discovered, I won't have to lift a finger: the whole cabal of the pious will take my side, and defend me against all corners. In short, I've found the ideal way to do whatever I like and go scot-free. I'll set myself up as censor of the conduct of others, I'll condemn everybody, and I'll approve of no one but myself. If anyone offends me, however slightly, I'll never forgive him, but shall nurse instead a secret and implacable hatred. I'll appoint myself the Avenger of Heaven, and with that convenient pretext I'll harass my enemies, accuse them of impiety, and stir up against them a swarm of ignorant zealots, who'll assail them in public, heap them with defamations, and officiously doom them to Hell. A clever man will thus explot men's follies, and adapt his style to the vices of the age.

~Don Juan, Moliere. pps. 135-136

Catherine: Guess how much we paid for the skirt.

Eddie: I think it's too short, ain't it?

Catherine, standing: No! Not when I stand up.

Eddie: Yeah, but you gotta sit down sometimes.

.

~A View from the Bridge, Arthur Miller. p. 6

Although I have complained about Jane Austen's happy endings in the past, she is, in fact, one of my most favorite authors and quite an inspiration to me. Her writing has transported me into other, more beautiful worlds and times. She was able to bring a smile to my face whenever I was feeling down, and there was something about her writing that always made me feel serene and at peace. In other words, I love and adore Jane Austen despite her happy endings.

The Morgan Library and Museum currently has an exhibition on Jane Austen titled A Woman's Wit: Jane Austen's Life and Legacy, open until March 14, 2010. It contains a collection of Jane Austen's letters to her sister Cassandra on display (she must have written at least 3000 letters of which 160 survived) as well as part of her handwritten manuscript of Lady Susan, which is apparently the only surviving complete draft of any of her novels and can also be viewed here. There were also some earlier printed editions of her novels and a few framed illustrations by different artists based on her books. The exhibit also strives to give the viewer a better understanding of the author's life and influences, including books she read, authors she admired, and the general philosophies of the time. It gives people a glimpse into the life of one of the greatest female writers so we can better understand the themes in her novels and her goal in writing.

The part that I found most fascinating was looking at her letters and handwritten manuscripts. For a huge Jane Austen fan, getting to see up close and personal the actual pieces of paper on which she wrote in her own handwriting was pretty awesome. Paper was expensive so her handwriting was quite small and cramped at times. When she ran out of space, she would often write either in the margins or upside down between lines! So her sister would have to first read the letter through one way and then flip it upside down. Another thing Jane would do if she had more to say was write vertically over the horizontal lines of the letter, which you can see here.

Her letters offered us a more personal glimpse into her everyday life, as she described parties she attended and dances she participated in. In a letter from 1804 to her sister Cassandra, Jane wrote that she danced quite a bit and would have danced some more if she had wanted to with a certain gentleman or with "a new odd looking Man who had been eyeing me for some time & at last without any introduction asked me if I meant to dance again." I loved that bit. Things like that make me feel more connected to her as a person, because I can just imagine it with the help of my own personal experiences.

In a 1799 letter to Cassandra, Jane gushed about a new cloak. On the side, she sketched the lace pattern on the cloak in perfect detail. You can see this letter here.

In an 1811 letter from London, Jane mentioned some of the things she had done recently, which included attending two Shakespeare plays -- Hamlet and Macbeth. Seriously, I can completely imagine being friends with this girl.

Overall, I loved this exhibition, and I encourage all Jane Austen fans to check it out before it closes on March 14th, 2010. The Morgan is located on Madison Avenue and 36th, only a few blocks from Herald Square or Stern College. Check here for their exact address and hours. The admission is quite cheap -- $12 for adults and $8 for students with current IDs. This price gives you access to pretty much all of the exhibitions currently on display at The Morgan. Currently, those include one called Rome After Raphael, which is a collection of pen and ink or chalk sketches and drawings by artists such as Raphael, Caravaggio, Parmigianino, etc. There are also many illuminated manuscripts on display, most notably those from the era of Catherine of Cleves. Oh, and make sure to visit the gift shop! It is the most delightful place. They have a big collection of books on art and books containing reproductions of specific artists' works. I started browsing as they were about to close at 6 PM, but I would like to return some day and look through them more closely.

Some of The Morgan's future exhibitions include Albrecht Durer (starting May 18, 2010) and Degas (starting September 24, 2010). I am looking forward to those.

One of the things that always used to frustrate me about Jane Austen's books was the fact that their endings were invariably happy and immaculate. She would tie up all the loose ends, write out in the last page or two exactly what happened to each of the characters (and obviously, only good things happened to the heroes, while the less-than-stellar characters would simply live unhappy lives or something of that sort). I felt that some of her books just lacked depth. Don't get me wrong; I thoroughly enjoyed reading them and there are some that I can read over and over, and they leave me with a smile on my face, but when I think about it, I feel something is missing... and that's reality.

Not all endings are happy. In fact, many of them are quite the opposite. Those who are good and strive to make the world a better place are often the ones who are left heartbroken and have the bitter endings. Characters who should logically live happily ever after because they 'deserve' it often find that life doesn't work that way in reality.

That is something I occasionally struggle with when I am writing fiction. Will I write a tale of hope and redemption, with a happily-ever-after ending, or will my hero die alone somewhere in a ditch, abandoned and broken-hearted? Will my hero learn the hard way that life isn't usually what you want it to be? And if he does, will he afterwards learn that life can also be worthwhile and rewarding, or will he then be disappointed yet again and his hopes dashed? I so wish for my hero to have a happy ending and to see that life can be good and there is still some goodness left in mankind to counter all the ugliness, but what are the chances?

All I know is that the main character of the short story I am currently writing will die under the moon-lit night sky, heartbroken and betrayed.

I thought I had decided on the fate of my novel's hero too, but now I am not so sure.... My novels cannot have fairytale/Jane Austen endings.

I was thinking about happy endings versus sad endings before, but today is the first of November and therefore the beginning of NaNoWriMo, so I had to make some decisions.

Anyway.... Back to my avalanche of school-related assignments. I am a bit amused though at how I did not blog for a few weeks and then -- BAM! -- I started writing one post after another. When it rains, it pours.

Here is an interesting excerpt from The Warsaw Ghetto Diaries, by Dr. Hillel Seidman:

"Finally, I arrive at my own office in Grzybowska Street, and again thousands wait outside. Men seek official marriage certificates to protect their wives, since there is also a rumor that those holding marriage certificates will not be deported. Inside the Kehillah, too, depression reigns; everybody believes that workers alone will not be expelled.

Incidentally, in the house of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Kanal at 6 Twarda Street are also large crowds -- busily getting married! Bachelors who have work cards marry women who have no work, to save them from deportation. These mass marriages are conducted in great haste. Zionist chalutzim marry chalutzot; tzukunftisim (Bundists) marry tukunftisiot. Women still unmarried seek 'husbands.' The ancient prophesy rings true: 'And on that day seven women will clutch at one man saying we will eat our own bread, wear our own clothes -- just allow your name to protect us.'"

(p. 51)

I guess it didn't matter what type of tablecloths their mothers used or where the girls received their education. Remind me again, why are people so thick-headed these days? Is it because we have gotten so used to the good life that we think every little detail has to be the way we want it to be?

When reading books about the Holocaust or stories from survivors, or watching grainy black and white videos and looking at photographs from which haunted dark eyes stare back at you, there are not enough words to describe the emotions raging inside. Horrified, shocked, confused, mournful, overwhelmed. But words cannot express the depth of those emotions. Words cannot express how I feel as I put a bookmark in the book I am reading because I simply cannot go on. I need a few minutes to internalize it and to allow myself to feel and go through the thoughts whirling in my head. I exhale loudly and close my eyes.

Most of us grew up with an awareness of the Holocaust. Many of us are familiar with the number six million. It is something we know, something we acknowledge. But at the same time, it is a statistic. It is a number. We see the six million as a whole, instead of trying to wrap our minds around the fact that these were six million individuals. For some reason, when we think of a number that big, we fail to grasp the enormity of the tragedy.

This thought particularly struck me as I was reading Dr. Hillel Seidman's The Warsaw Ghetto Diaries, which chronicle his experiences during the Holocaust in the Warsaw Ghetto, where he faithfully wrote in a diary all of what was happening around him. He would often scribble down reports of events even as they were happening, anxious to have everything on paper. In his introduction to the book, Dr. Hillel Seidman recounts how the other Warsaw residents, knowing that he was a talented published writer, encouraged him to “transcribe all Warsaw’s travails and tribulations, a written record for future generations, so that the world should eventually learn the truth” (p. 33). When atrocities are committed, such as those of the Germans against the Jews, it is inevitable that there will later be attempts at denying those happenings. Holocaust deniers are rampant now, despite the fact that not even a century has elapsed since the tragedy. In a world where there are still people with numbers branded on their arms and horrifying stories experienced first-hand, many simply choose to ignore the facts and – out of their hatred for the Jews – spitefully insist that the Holocaust was a hoax. The only way to counter that is by spreading knowledge and teaching facts to as many people as possible, and the accounts of those who witnessed these horrors and lived through them is the perfect conduit. Dr. Seidman’s objective was to show future generations what really happened – that the Holocaust was not just one big horror story but a traumatizing, torturous experience that millions of Jews as real as ourselves had to suffer through. Although it was both difficult and extremely dangerous to keep these diaries, Dr. Seidman persisted, knowing that this was something worth working for, because people had to learn of these things somehow. Leaving a record for the world was especially important considering that the Nazis were careful not to leave written records of the crimes they committed. Although Dr. Seidman did not know whether his diaries would ever be read, a Warsaw businessman named Reb Berel Gefen reminded him of a passage in Avot -- Ethics of the Fathers (2:16) that said, “The work is not up to you to complete. Nor are you free to shirk the responsibility…” (p. 36). And indeed, most of what we know today about the Holocaust is because of the diaries of victims and the stories of survivors. Dr. Seidman knew he had to do whatever he could, both to transcribe what was happening and to leave memories of himself and those around him; the rest was in the hands of G-d. His goal was merely to write the truth and not allow it to be lost, destroyed, or mangled.

It was this particular sentence that struck me: "Every day Warsaw loses another 7000 innocent victims." Think about it.... Seven thousand innocent people were being senselessly slaughtered each day. Seven thousand people who could have done so much with their lives were brutally denied the right to live. It is easier to imagine seven thousand people in your mind than a million, so perhaps that was why this sentence had such an effect on me.

And that is something that encourages me to live my life to the fullest and strive to make a difference, because I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity that millions of Jews were denied.

I see that over a month has passed since I made my last blog post on September 18th, in honor of Rosh Hashana. So where have I been all this time? I could give all kinds of excuses.... My rats hijacked my keyboard, I was too busy to post, I was preoccupied by this thing called real life, etc. All of these excuses have some truth in them, but none of them are THE answer (although Mr. Knightley did just jump onto my computer desk and start trampling on the keyboard).

Speaking of my rats, I have introduced them to a few of my friends, all of whom were delighted to meet them. I got to say, "Told you they were cute," on a few different occasions, so that was nice. Some of my friends who declared that they would never come to my house again if I got rats actually fell in love with the creatures as soon as they met them.

So, what else have I been up to in the past few weeks? School has obviously been keeping me busy, but I also managed to keep myself well occupied during Sukkot. After weeks of doing what my sense of responsibility told me to do, it was nice to relax and do what I wanted to do. I took full advantage of my one and a half weeks of Sukkot vacation by visiting the Frick Collection, going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and seeing Hamlet on Broadway, among other things. I cannot help but smile every time I think of that week. And for now, I will have to rely on those memories to bring a smile to my face, because it does not look as if I will have any more time for that sort of thing until the end of November, after midterms.

People have been asking me about my writing and how that is going. Well, to tell the truth, it's not really going. I have been more involved in art and drawing the past couple of months. I did write a few quick dialogues in the form of poems, but that was simply for fun after an overdose of Shakespeare. I also finished a few books, some of which I considered blogging about. Perhaps once I have more time, I will do so. I also hope that my writing will pick up its pace in November with NaNoWriMo. I'm still working on one of my novels from 2007, but I would also like to start a new one on a completely different topic, with a Jewish theme for once.

I just wanted to update everyone, because otherwise it looks as if I disappeared for no reason. Hopefully there won't be such a large gap again between this post and the next.

After paying a charitable visit to a poor sick family and witnessing their wretchedness, Emma -- the heroine of Jane Austen's novel that goes by the same name -- and her friend Harriet discuss the impact the experience has had on them and how they cannot possibly think of anything else after that sight. They claim to be so affected by what they have seen, that they cannot dwell on the insignificant things that used to occupy their thoughts.

Emma: "...And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over.... I do not think it will."
Harriet: "Oh! Dear no."

But as the two girls spot Mr. Elton, the object of Harriet's affections and of Emma's matchmaking hobby, all noble and lofty thoughts fly off on the breeze, and their assurances are nothing. Mr. Elton takes over every single conscious thought of theirs, and all their passionate exclamations of how impossible it would be to think of anything else but their visit have become meaningless. They care no more about the wretched family they had just visited, for their admiration for Mr. Elton rises above everything else.

How soon we too forget about the things that move us! We go through an experience, vowing never to forget it, resolving to change our lives because of it, believing we will never go back to our old selves, but those resolutions and noble thoughts are abandoned in the blink of an eye.

Each year, as we wait to be judged on Rosh Hashana, we resolve to be better this year. Some people take upon themselves to do something more in the upcoming year in order to make a difference and to be better. We assure G-d that we are quite done with our evil ways and will act differently this time around. Year after year, we say this as we ask G-d for a good year.

Many of these new resolutions we will abandon after only a week, shrugging it off by thinking, "Well, it doesn't really matter. G-d will understand."

But how foolish must it seem to G-d to hear us assuring Him of how well we will behave and all of the good things we will do this year and then see us, our memories completely blank, going back to our old ways and defiantly repeating all our past mistakes just because we find it too hard to keep our promises.

When the Jews were wandering around in the desert, they complained about their situation and questioned G-d, even after the miracles they witnessed at Mt. Sinai, which was so great that it should logically have changed their lives forever. We learn that there was a group of people who did not take that experience to heart. They saw, they heard, they felt, but they did not let it penetrate their hearts. They were, perhaps, inspired for the moment, but they did nothing about it. They made no attempts to make it a part of themselves or to make a commitment. So that inspiration that struck them at that moment was lost soon after, and they went back to defying and questioning G-d.

When we are inspired by something, when our minds are focused on this inspiration, we should do something to make it a part of ourselves. On Rosh Hashana, we are inspired by the thought of being judged, and it drives us to repent and to make resolutions for the coming year. But when Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are over, we more often than not are relieved that it is over so we can go back to our regular lives.

That is what makes us stumble -- we only act on our inspiration when it strikes us, instead of holding onto that inspiration and not letting go of it from year to year.

May our inspiration this Rosh Hashana be real and may it remain with us until the next Rosh Hashana, influencing our thoughts and our actions.

Shana tova.

Since starting my blog in April, I have received quite a lot of enjoyment from posting, recording some of my thoughts and feelings where others could read them, and expressing myself. After spending a number of years writing regularly in a journal and keeping it all to myself, it was a pleasant contrast to be able to post something and get others' thoughts and opinions.

In fact, I liked it so much that I managed to make 50 posts in less than four months! :] (Let's see how quickly I can get to 100!)

Thank you to all my readers, my followers, and my lurkers. And an extra big thank you to those who commented on my blog!

But since I cannot allow myself to make a separate post just to announce my post count, I will write about my library trip today.

For those of you who live in Brooklyn, the Kings Highway branch of the Brooklyn Public Library has just been reopened this month after being closed for renovations for a few years.

When I was younger, I used to go there regularly with my mother. I remember wishing I could spend hours there and just get lost among all those bookshelves brimming with books. There was nothing I could have liked more at that point. When it closed down, I was obliged to find a different branch within reasonable proximity, but I did not feel as comfortable there, and my library visits became less frequent. And as a result of my yearning for good books to read, I took up the habit of going to actual bookstores or going online and buying what I wanted. (Needless to say, my own personal library has expanded quite considerably over the past few years. In fact, I have two full bookcases in the house, and I am still adding!)

Since today seemed like a nice day for a walk, the skies being gray and overcast, with a pleasant breeze blowing about, I decided to take the opportunity to walk to the library. (And I do not like walking when the alternative is to get a ride, but since that was not an option, walk I did.) I felt the occasional raindrop on my face, and although my mother made sure I took an umbrella with me, I did not bother to use it with so little provocation.

I walked into the library and wandered around for a few minutes, trying to figure out the new layout. The assignment shelves used to be along the wall all the way to the right, but they were no longer anywhere near there. I finally located them -- as you walk into the library, you walk to your left and forward.

There, I proceeded to stand and behold the books with an expression of pure glee, as I noticed that they had all of those books I could not find in the Homecrest branch. I was absolutely delighted by the selection, and kept taking one book after another. At that point, my best friend called me. I shifted my handbag, my umbrella, and about ten books to my left hand in order to hold my phone, which, as you can imagine, was extremely uncomfortable and even somewhat painful. If I had a bit more common sense, I would have sat on one of the cute little wave benches (imagine this, only red and soft) and put my books down on a table, as my best friend suggested, but I continued browsing the shelves, adding even more books to my arms.

At last, after we concluded our conversation and I finished choosing my books, I did take advantage of the benches and the table. At that point, I probably had almost fifteen books. I layed them out on the table and, realizing that it would be impossible to read all of them in the next few weeks, decided I would pick out the ones I could not wait to read and leave the rest for my next visit to the library. I was finally able to narrow it down to nine books. (I don't think my parents want to know how many books I am taking with me.... It might border on insanity -- I don't know. But when your flight to Israel and your flight back to New York add up to nearly twenty-four hours, it is good to be equipped, especially for someone who has no interest in sleeping on a plane.)

Probably the funniest thing that happened in the library was when I was standing by the philosophy shelves. The space between the shelves in front of me and the shelves behind me was pretty narrow. While two people can squeeze past each other, when one person is busy browsing, it's impossible to get through. So I was standing there, looking at titles, and the young girl standing next to me turned her back to me, bent her head to look at the lower shelves, and started backing up... into my space. I don't think she even noticed me, because she seemed pretty preoccupied. Deciding not to say anything to her, I simply moved a few inches away from her so my feet would not be stepped on (especially since she did not exactly have the body of a model, if you know what I mean). And she continued backing up. I moved, and she backed up more, and I got out of her way again, and she backed up, until I was finally pushed out of the aisle altogether. If she had turned around and seen my face at that point, she would probably apologize profusely. But she only noticed me when I tried walking past her to return to where I had been looking at books before she had forced me to back out of the aisle. (She did, indeed, apologize then.)

So that was my library adventure. I also got a new library card, since my old one was apparently outdated, and I discovered the convenience of checking out your books yourself.

There was an older woman standing in front of me, and she asked me if I know how to do it. "This is my first time actually, so I'm not really sure," I replied. The young Jewish man wearing a kippah who was standing near us volunteered to demonstrate, checking out her books for her. She thanked him and left, while I then had the benefit of knowing the basics. So whoever you are, thank you!

I can't wait to go through these books!

And if any of you have something to say in reply to my previous post (on my Israel plans), please do! It would be much appreciated.

I was standing in the checkout line at Stop & Shop today, which happened to be quite long, and as I waited, I glanced over at the racks containing magazines. All it took was one minute for me to know who is divorcing, who is splitting up, who is saying what, and who is going where. In that one minute, I was filled in on all the things going on in the celebrity world -- all of their personal matters, all of the details of their daily lives, and all of the things I am sure they would rather not have the public know.

In one of my recent posts, "It's Personal," I started writing about how we tend to intrude a lot on other people's privacy. Things that should remain personal end up being public, and the details of an individual's life become a topic of interest for everyone else.

Not one of us experiences this to the same degree that celebrities and other public figures do. The media loves to analyze their every move, their every choice, their every word. Although their job is to act, to sing, to dance, to perform, or do whatever else it is they have a talent for, the media and the public assume that it is perfectly fine to invade their privacy when they are trying to live their lives. There should be a separation between a person's career and talent and the person's private life. Paparazzi hanging out in bushes and on front lawns is just wrong on so many levels, and yet the public appreciates it. A celebrity goes out in the morning to buy a coffee or goes to the gym in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and all of a sudden, there is a full-page picture of it in a magazine, just in case anyone was wondering what he or she was doing. Their families can barely go outside without being swarmed by paparazzi and reporters too. Some of their children are unable to live normal lives because the media does not know its boundaries and does not know how to respect people's privacy.

And then there is the speculation.... If there is anything worse than paparazzi shots and personal details glaring out at you from the cover of a magazine, it is the tabloid magazines everywhere.

Here is what one website said about tabloids:

Traditionally, certain tabloids are distinguished by sensationalism of approach and content rather than by straightforward reportage of newsworthy events.

If you were to count the amount of complete lies in those rags, you would probably not only have to use all your fingers and toes, but you would have to borrow someone else's fingers too.
So this goes beyond just the invasion of privacy -- this goes into the malicious lying territory.

Reality television is another issue. When people allow cameras into their daily private lives, it is bound to have a negative effect -- especially when these people are married. I can think of three celebrity couples who have split up after having their lives shown to millions of viewers on their reality shoes. I suppose that even without the reality shows, they would eventually split up and divorce, but the shows definitely did nothing to help their relationships and marriages.

Posthumous publishing is another example of an invasion of privacy. When an individual writes something, be it a private journal or a work of fiction, and specifically chooses not to release it to the public, what right do others have to publish them after the person's death? If these writers did not want their thoughts and ideas to be published, is it really right to go against that and reveal them to the entire world, for all future generations?

But although posthumous publishing is a breach of privacy, it is also a great addition to the literary world. We have so many great, classic works of literature that would have never seen the light of day if someone had not decided to publish them after the writer's death. There are many people we would not have even heard of if their wishes were respected, and that would have been a great loss. For instance, most of what we know of Emily Dickinson today is because her family found her poems after her death and released them to the public.

Time actually has an interesting article about this, which lists some posthumously published works of literature.

Also, after Beethoven became deaf, he used conversation books to communicate with people. After his death, most of those books were destroyed, which prevented us from getting a personal glimpse into this famed composer's life. Only imagine how much we could have known about him! Dozens of books filled with things he wanted to say, in his own handwriting. And all that information has been deliberately destroyed to protect his privacy.

So should it be 'all for the sake of literature' or should individual privacy be more important when it comes to writings?

I sometimes wonder what I will do with my all my writing. I cannot begin to count the amount of notebooks, binders, and papers I have, full of accounts of my personal life, fictional stories, poems, and so on. I would not want anyone reading it unless I felt I wanted to share some things.

You never know what will happen after your lifetime. Anything you create or record can take on a life of its own.

I decided to write this post after reading this one, but it took me a while to get to actually writing it.

Charles Dickens quickly became one of my favorite authors as I became interested in classic literature in elementary school. Whenever I went to the library, making a beeline for the assignments section, I would search for an interesting book I had not yet read. Honestly, I could stand there for an hour looking through different classic works, but if I did not have a lot of time in which to choose a book, I would just go with Charles Dickens, because I knew that his works were something I could always rely on to be interesting and profound. It is a good thing that he published so many books and most of them are quite long, because I still have not read all his works, so I have what to look forward to.

I find that his masterpieces contain a wide variety of interesting, deep characters, as well as thought-provoking ideas and statements. Sometimes, he can aptly sum up in one sentence a whole range of thoughts and emotions, and I often find myself stopping for as long as fifteen minutes just to digest and contemplate one thing he wrote. If I had somebody to discuss it with, each of those pauses would probably turn into a half-hour conversation.

I read Little Dorrit last year, and I bookmarked a few pages with lines that I particularly appreciated. So right now, I want to make a few observations about the book, talk about some quotes and the author's brilliance.

His method of portraying Mr. Dorrit’s character is both clever and amusing. Without explicitly stating that Mr. Dorrit becomes a pompous fool after he gets rich, Charles Dickens makes it quite clear to the readers that such is the case. He infuses an occasional “ha” or “hum” into Mr. Dorrit’s speech, which somehow tells the readers all they need to know and makes Mr. Dorrit seem somewhat ridiculous. Some people, we see, let their financial status get to their heads a bit too much.


Another thing I found fascinating was the letter Amy Dorrit wrote to Arthur Clennam during her travels. It was forcibly reminded of my ramblings in my journal. Amy wrote in the letter everything that happened to her, and she wrote paragraphs explaining her feelings. She filled up many pages in an attempt to fully describe her thoughts, emotions, and the reasons behind them. What particularly struck me was the fact that she was writing this to him. To me, it seems like something one would prefer to keep private, not something that should be fully explained with every detail in a letter -- especially since their relationship seemed somewhat uncertain and hazy. I suppose it shows what a trusting girl she was.

I wish Arthur could have examined Amy's letters with an open mind. To an outsider like me, it is plain as daylight that Amy loves Arthur and holds dear to her heart whatever he holds dear to his. It is strange that Arthur does not realize this, and if I was in their world—once I finished laughing at him—I would feel compelled to enlighten him.

“He had the power… of explaining what he himself perceived, and meant, with the direct force and distinctness with which it struck his own mind.”

That quote describes exactly how I wish my writing to be. I want to have that ability to write down my precise thoughts and emotions in a way that would enable my reader to understand and connect to it. And I must say -- I just loved that sentence.

Here are a few more quotes I appreciated:

* “New zig-zags sprung into the cruel pattern sometimes, when she saw it through a burst of tears.” I thought it was a rather brilliant way of describing crying.

* “Between the real landscape and its shadow in the water, there was no division; both were so untroubled and clear, and, while so fraught with solemn mystery of life and death, so hopefully reassuring to the gazer’s soothed heart, because so tenderly and mercifully beautiful.” Perhaps this explains our fascination with nature?

* “They came out of the avenue next moment, arm-in-arm as they had entered it: and the trees seemed to close up behind them in the darkness, like their own perspective of the past.” I found this sentence very beautiful. This was one of those things I had to pause for, just to let the idea and the brilliance of it sink in. I love when one sentence can so perfectly sum up an idea. Charles Dickens had that talent of packing so much significance into a single sentence, and that is one of the things I love about his writing. The same goes for the next quote.

* “While the flowers, pale and unreal in the moonlight, floated away upon the river; and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts, and near our hearts, flow from us to the eternal seas.”

* “He seemed to have an insatiate delight in appealing to her and looking at her; excitedly sticking his hair up and the same moment, like a dark species of cockatoo.” This kind of reminds me of my Pigeons and Shidduchim post.

* “…The waters of Venice and the ruins of Rome… were daily being sketched out of all earthly proportion, lineament, and likeness, by traveling pencils innumerable….”

I don't want to go on for hours (although I can), so I will stop here. I do recommend this book though -- as well as all other books by Charles Dickens -- to all of my readers.

Coming soon -- a post about another favorite of mine, Edgar Allan Poe!

Have you ever had one of those days when you just cannot stop thinking about a certain novel? It seems to follow you wherever you go, and it is in your mind no matter what it is you are doing at the time.

That is what is happening to me today with Anne Bronte's novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. When I first read it, I could not get it out of my head either. But now, I don't see why it should be occupying my thoughts so much. I recently mentioned the BBC series in my post on period pieces, and yesterday I decided to watch it again.

Perhaps that is why the novel found its way into the essay I had to write for the Touro English placement exam today. One of the choices for the essay was "Knowledge is power" vs. "Ignorance is bliss." What a wonderful topic, I thought, and I decided to do it. I claimed that knowledge is, indeed, power, while ignorance often leads to misery. As one of the proofs, I mentioned The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and how Helen's ignorance led to misery and pain. Had she known her husband's true nature and the hopelessness of changing or reforming him, she would not have married him. At the time that she accepted his proposal, she was unaware of the extent of his debauchery. Ignorance is bliss? I don't think so. That ignorance caused her to get stuck with an abusive and unfaithful husband.


I remembered bookmarking some pages in my copy of the book to which I wanted to go back, so I just took it off the shelf again and thought I might as well post my thoughts and some quotes I liked.

Helen, the main character of the book, once said, "I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received." I too prefer real, thorough conversations to small talk, but when everybody around you is so attached to small talk, it is difficult to avoid it. Whenever there is a silence, people feel the need to fill it instead of simply enjoying the moment. Why must something always be said, though? If there is nothing worth saying, would it not be better to remain silent?

Another thing I appreciated was the following exchange between Helen and Mr. Markham as they observed the beauty of nature:
Helen: "I almost wish I were not a painter."
Mr. Markham: "Why so? One would think at such a time you would most exult in your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of nature."
Helen: "No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done, it is mere vanity and vexation of spirit."

I often feel this way in regard to my writing. Although I love to write and it is something I do on a constant basis, there are moments when I feel as if I cannot fully experience something because I am busy thinking of how I can get it into writing. Even though I appreciate having what to write about, it is sometimes a bit overwhelming because I feel I cannot go onto the next experience until I have done justice to the previous one.

Here is another quote from Helen that adequately describes what my feelings are toward writing: "This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart." I tend to do that a lot; I avoid confiding many of my thoughts, and my idea of sharing them is to write them down in a notebook. Although I am sitting here now and typing up my present thoughts for my blog, it is nothing compared to what I keep between me and my notebooks.

It is wonderful how often books mirror your own thoughts and how accurately they do so. I found it to be especially true with this book, which is, I suppose, why I wanted to dedicate a post to it.

Netflix has taken to suggesting movies for me on my homepage based on my previous ratings or interests. Sometimes, they make the most inane assumptions about me and my preferences. For example, because I watched The Duchess, Netflix labeled me as someone who likes "heartfelt movies featuring a strong female lead," when in reality, I just wanted to see Keira Knightley and Ralph Fiennes in it. On the other hand, some of their assumptions are correct. For example, they correctly guessed that I enjoy "witty British movies based on classic literature" because of my interest in Pride and Prejudice and Vanity Fair.

But you can never completely trust Netflix to tell you what you'll enjoy. In fact, you can't trust anyone, because it depends on you and your personal preferences. I, for example, most enjoy pre-20th century period pieces, preferably based on classic literature.

As summer approaches, many of us find ourselves with a lot of time on our hands. While I am not suggesting that my readers should spend their summer watching films, I will suggest a few films from among those I recently enjoyed in case my readers do find themselves looking for something good to watch. In this post, I will focus on ten period pieces that I liked (mostly based on books), in no particular order.

1. Wuthering Heights -- I have watched a few versions of this film (including one in French), but my favorites were the ones from 1939, 1970, 1992. The 1939 version stars Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon, both of whom play their parts very convincingly. One of the things I liked about this version that I did not see in other versions was the emphasis on Heathcliff and Isabella's relationship. I somehow found myself sympathizing with Isabella more because this film gave the viewers a bigger view into her life. The 1970 version, starring Timothy Dalton and Anna Calder-Marshall, was also very beautifully done. (Interesting fact: Anna Calder-Marshall and Laurence Olivier later played together in King Lear, after having acted in different versions of Wuthering Heights.) The 1992 version of Wuthering Heights was the first one I ever saw. While Juliette Binoche's interpretation of Cathy was slightly annoying, Ralph Fiennes was perfect for the role of the tormented Heathcliff.
2. Gone With the Wind. Need I really say more?
3. North and South -- This is a BBC series containing four episodes, about a young woman in England who moves from a rural town to an industrial town and has to adapt to her new surroundings and the coldness displayed by the Northerners. This series is easy on the eyes, relaxing, and leaves you with a smile on your face. There are some sad parts, but the ending makes it all worth it.
4. Pride and Prejudice. I have watched four different versions so far, but my favorite remains the 2005 version, with Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen. Although it is nowhere near as long or as faithful to the book as the BBC version, it has a certain dream-like quality to it and the lighting techniques give it this feeling of tranquillity and sunshine that make it totally worth it. The costumes were delightful as well. Another thing I loved about this film was the soundtrack. I often listen to it as I am doing my homework, writing, or relaxing. I probably would not want to admit how many times I saw this film or how many times I listened to the soundtrack on repeat, but you get the idea. (The 1940 version of Wuthering Heights starring Laurence Olivier is also worth a mention, although I was disappointed by the costumes. The women's fashion was off by a couple of decades and they were wearing wide skirts over big petticoats. Pride and Prejudice is a Regency novel, so they should have been wearing the empire gowns typical of that period.)
5. Sense and Sensibility. Yes, another film based on a Jane Austen book. I can't help it -- she was really good at what she did! My favorite version of this movie is from 1995, starring Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, and Alan Rickman.
6. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. This BBC series is based on a book by Anne Bronte, the least famous of the three Bronte sisters, but just as talented. Unlike Jane Austen's works, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is a typical Bronte novel -- dark and dramatic. It is about a young woman who marries a reprobate with a penchant for drinking and tries to escape and rebuild her life once she realizes that there is no changing him.
7. Jane Eyre. Another Bronte novel, this time by Charlotte. There are a few versions out, but I could not find one that struck me as being superior to the rest, so I will pick and choose. If I could, I would combine Timothy Dalton's interpretation of Mr. Rochester (from the 1983 BBC series) with Samantha Morton's Jane (from the 1997 version). I do recommend both though.
8. Little Women (1994). This is one of the films that I remember watching when I was a little girl and would gladly watch over and over again now. Jo is one of my favorite characters, as I can relate to her so well.
9. The Importance of Being Earnest. This is a very light, fun comedy based on Oscar Wilde's play, with Reese Witherspoon and Colin Firth.
10. Becoming Jane. Could my list possibly be complete without a film about the woman behind the literature? I am fascinated by most movies that are based on the lives of authors, composers, artists, etc., and this film about Jane Austen's life is no exception.

All of these films, with the exception of Becoming Jane, are based on classic literature, so I would recommend reading the books first.

(And the only reason I took the time to write this post in the middle of finals is that I already took five finals and cannot stand thinking about studying for more until I have relaxed and unwinded a bit.)

Edited to add -- If you have any suggestions for me based on what I wrote here, please share! :]

One of the things that I could not help noticing repeatedly these past few weeks was teenage girls' habit of reacting to whatever they do not understand with one single word: "ew."

Besides for the obvious things (like being confronted by food they dislike or seeing a smashed mosquito with its body parts smeared all over the wall), "ew" becomes the standard response to anything that is unusual, difficult to understand, emotional, or simply beyond their comprehending.

I often hear girls declare others' personal preferences, lifestyles, or choices to be "ew." It is said so casually that it seems the speaker put no thought into it before mindlessly insulting somebody else. Not everybody realizes that a short, two-letter word can be as much of an insult as throwing dozens of nasty comments at a person. Sometimes, this word is accompanied by an explanatory sentence, in which case you at least have a fair opportunity to respond.

"You're taking that class next year? Ew. You enjoy that subject? Ew. You walk around in sweatpants and with messy hair while working out in the gym? Ew. Ew, what's that perfume? Ew, that food is disgusting; how can you eat it?"

Sometimes girls use it to describe an aspect of themselves. ("Ew, look at my hair.") That, however, is a separate issue, which I covered in a previous post -- Bright Rays of Sunshine.

What I really wanted to write about though is the lack of understanding. When girls hear about a certain lifestyle in class that they cannot relate to, they simply say, "Ew." They don't bother understanding it, they don't care to see the advantages of it; all they know is that it is unusual to them, and it is therefore ew.

When we are reading literature in class and a character expresses his or her emotions very poignantly, I hear a couple of voices saying "awww," and then I also hear those inevitable tones of disgust exclaiming, "Ew!"

As we were reading Tale of Two Cities in class recently, we briefly discussed the sentence in which it was revealed that Dr. Manette kept some of his wife's hair throughout his stay in prison, because it reminded him of his love for her and her love for him even when they could not see each other. One of my classmates loudly exclaimed, "Ew! He kept her hair?" The issue at hand is not whether keeping someone's hair with you is normal, but how people react to it. There are multiple possible reactions to every statement or situation. One of those reactions is to remain silent and try to understand the person's motives and emotions, while another likely reaction is to brush it off with a simple "ew."

It takes a certain degree of maturity to be able to evaluate a situation and put in effort to actually understand it. Of course, I am not implying that it is necessary in life to be able to sympathize with a fictional character to whom you just cannot relate, but there comes a time in life when you have to let go of that little ugly word and try to understand the people in your own life. Chances are that what you read in books you will find in real life as well. You may as well learn now how to deal with certain situations, personalities, preferences people might have, or expressions of emotion. If reading a despairing character's musings on life disgusts you, what will you do when one of your friends (or your spouse) is going through a rough time and wants to confide in you? Will you be disgusted by it and by the person?

One of the things I love about literature is some authors' ability to create characters that are realistically flawed, that you can either feel for or be repulsed by. For some reason, those characters are usually my favorites, but most of the people I discuss it with are repelled by them. Oh well. To each his own, I suppose -- but I do wish people would give other people (or fictional characters) a fair chance.

It's funny, in an ironic sort of way, that many girls accuse guys of being insensitive when they themselves are not much better sometimes!

Disclaimer: This post was not meant to be an attack on teenage girls. I only mentioned them so often because they are the ones that initially inspired this post. I do not either mean to imply that my classmates are immature; this post is only talking about a minority of them. Unfortunately, however, that minority is often so outspoken and blatant, that it is more noticeable.

Why can't we all at least try to understand each other, to dig deeper and see what the other person is feeling or thinking, to see what is truly going on even if it is beyond what we ourselves have felt or experienced? Why are things we do not understand so often summed up as "ew"? Why must we unfavorably pass immediate judgment based on first impressions, which are often superficial?

The most reasonable thing to do after having a miserable day at school is to rant about it to the first person who will listen, then indulge in the most fattening ice cream available, and finally attempt to forget about it by blogging on a completely different topic. So here I am.

Last month, upon Netflix's recommendation, I watched a DVD titled Lost in Austen. According to Wikipedia, it is "a four-part 2008 British television series for the ITV network, written by Guy Andrews as an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen." I love Jane Austen's works, so I am usually interested in any DVD that is connected either to her or to her books. This DVD was no exception. I would recommend it to anyone who has read and enjoyed Pride and Prejudice.

Lost in Austen is about Amanda Price, a young woman living in 21st century Hammersmith. She is a big fan of Pride and Prejudice, and it is obvious that a lot of her life revolves around her favorite book. After a hard day, she curls up on her couch with the novel and escapes into this fictional world. After discovering a secret door that leads from her apartment to the Bennets' house, Amanda exchanges places with Elizabeth Bennet and tries to blend into society in this new world. What she soon realizes though, is that she is unwelcome. Society, for the most part, rejects her, and although she is in the world of her dreams, her life there becomes unbearable. Instead of being able to enjoy herself because she is finally a part of her favorite novel, Amanda is miserable since everything seems to be going wrong. Although there is a good ending (it wouldn't be Austen if it wasn't), it is not just a pleasant fantasy. For Amanda, it is a stressful series of events during which she is often confused, upset, frustrated, or angry.

The thing that struck me most about this DVD was this proof that fantasy differs from reality.

We often wish for something, thinking about how wonderful it would be, without realizing that what seems perfect in our heads might prove to be disastrous in reality. If it is not for you, it cannot make you happy no matter how much you wish for it. A dream can easily turn into a nightmare if it is a dream that was not meant for you, but which you nevertheless obstinately pursued.