July 10th, 2014

pigtails

An attempt at a book review that turns into a rant about literature. Oops.

I'm not much cop at book reviews, at least not compared to the literate and articulate brainboxes on my flist. But I'm going to have a go because while I was in Australia I read a book by someone who is also on my flist. It was Pictures of You by tedwords.

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Gosh, I wrote words about a book. I haven't done a lot of that since 1988. Wait, aren't I supposed to say something about how we are all awful and life sucks because reading? Oh wait, that was 1988. Anyone who was a teenager in the 80s may remember the overarching atmosphere of 2 minutes to midnight in which we are all basically doomed at the whim of superpowers determined to out-nuke each other, and by the way there's not much chance of a job when you leave school but here's a movie about a rich white kid who gets whatever he wants by thinking positive. You are the agent of your own destiny and never mind that we screwed destiny so you start about a mile behind where your parents did, you can be like Ferris Bueller if only you try hard enough, and if you don't make it it's your own fault. Also, AIDS - so don't think you can sex your way into fun times, you'll die if you do that...

.. Gosh. That got a bit dark. But then, that's a lot of what I recall of my teenage years, and I guess that was reflected in the literature they thought was worthy at the time.

Fact is, we don't all suck. Most of us are good people, trying our best with the tools we've been given to live a good life. But like reality TV, that doesn't make for good literature apparently.

I wonder what they teach in English Lit in the 21st Century, and how that aligns with the current zeitgeist regarding the chances of doom we all face?