Apr. 28, 2003 - 22:10:11
Dear Vincent,
There seems to be no justification for sitting still anymore. There is always something that needs to be done. The books I've been promising to myself grow more and more forlorn by the day. I seem to have misplaced my sunglasses- inconvenient as it's been blindingly bright outside this past week. I take that back, I haven't misplaced my sunglasses. They never exactly had a place, so I suppose they haven't been misplaced... they've been lost. This is very reminiscent of the state of my driver's license. I've got one... somewhere.
I was sitting very still yesterday afternoon. (And for that there was no justification.) It was enticingly warm on my deck and so I picked up the mess of papers that demanded my attention at various points that day (newspaper included) and went out on the deck where I situated myself at my picnic table. My picnic table is a sad excuse for a picnic table. I can't exactly remember how it came into my possession but I strongly suspect that it was a cast off of my friend Rick when he moved. It is unbalanced and moans in little creaks and cracks when anyone sits on it- which does not bode well for its longevity. The elements have cracked and softened the wood so it peels up in long strips. Many years ago it was painted apple red, as I surmise, that is the color picnic tables are wont to be but now it's just dully rust colored. The paint rubs off in little flakes. Settling myself I was unable to confront any of the papers (even the newspaper) and I flopped my arms and head down on the table. It was only when, my new neighbor, who has hair the color that my picnic table used to be, called to me from her deck that I started and realized I'd been napping. My new neighbor's name is Stephanie, her husband is Dave and they have a two year old. Stephanie is full of palpable vitality, Dave is friendly. They've only been there a few weeks but I know we're going to get along because they've let their grass grow into a miniature forest. Their grass has my neighbors on the other side having heart palpitations. The men on the street are at a loss Vincent. They know not what to do. They've even offered to mow my nice new grass ignorant neighbor's lawn. Stephanie brightly refused. Apparently, Stephanie and Dave are city folk and unaware of the grass rules. I could not have planned the aggravation better myself.
I read a synopsis on 'Atonement'- it promises to be part love story, part war epic, part who dunnit. In addition, there's a rape incident which would fit nicely with our stream of sexual depravity in literature. I'm up for it.
328 pages of novel (not including the poetic thank you's) and you know what Vincent, I can't decide if I like the book. I couldn't put it down, but I don't know that I liked it.
I disagree with you about the Len/Abigail tryst. It's true that there is not so much of Abigail in the book. Her actions are easily "justified" though I use the term loosely. Abigail looses her daughter and her husband appears to be descending into madness at points. As if it is not bad enough to loose a daughter, Abigail is not given any real chance to grieve. It is not necessarily that someone deprives her of it, so much as that as a mother she is still responsible to two more children. One child is dead yet she is still mother, and for her children's sake it is a role she cannot forsake even for a fraction of a second. I can only imagine what torture it must be to loose a child, and continue the rotations of child rearing without missing a beat to grieve for the lost one. Consider also, Abigail's mother, Lynn. (By the way, what did you think of Lynn?) When Lynn steps in, with her brisk and frank way, she shoulders some of Abigail's maternal burden. A stronger person would use the respite to grieve and heal, Abigail uses it to escape. The respite is intoxicating, even tempting, the barest taste of freedom. She needs a relief, she needs a distraction, she needs anything but what she's got and Len becomes that anything. Then look at Len. Len carries around photos of the people whose cases remained unsolved. Perhaps he feels he owes these people something? Perhaps he feels he owes Salmons something, more importantly, perhaps he feels he owes Abigail something. Len's situation is eerily similar to Abigail's. Abigail's responsibility is to her husband, her children. Len's is to the victims. Even after her daughter's death Abigail must still be a mother. Even after his wife's death, Len must still be a good detective, he is still responsible to those victims. Like Abigail, he is never really afforded a chance to put down his burden. Len and Abigail share the same state of perpetual grief that cannot be assuaged because it cannot be indulged. Thus, maybe there is not enough of Abigail to justify her actions- but there is enough of Len and Abigail to justify their actions. If adultery is justifiable, I can see how they would be driven to it. Please make note, that I do not like it that Len and Abigail do what they do. Susie's father is very obviously made of stronger stock than Susie's mother, but I can see how the way of things would influence their choices. Does any of that make any sense Vincent?
I also like one of Susie's original reactions to her father just after she is murdered. ("You weren't there when your little girl needed you.") That, is very real, and very true. I think, that when we trust people, we expect them to take care of us to an extent. The first time it's out of their hands to protect us, and they have to stand by and watch us get hurt, we are inclined to blame them. They, are also inclined to blame them. It's the nature of blame and the nature of love. I suppose something I really like about the book, is that while the dialogue and plot are both overtly poetic and outlandish, the reactions, the emotions, and the human tendencies are dead on.
Felicitations (French for congratulations) on the good comedy review. It would be easier if you sucked. But probably not as much fun.
I must confess Vincent, that I am currently in a war with the neighborhood cat. The cat, owned by Kate down the street spends the majority of its time lurking in the sewer. It comes out of the sewer to dig up and eat the bunny rabbits that burrow in my garden. I am at odds with this method of subsistence. I like the rabbits that live on my lawn, and I do not like that cat. Dave has suggested that I kill the cat by leaving out some tuna fish and anti freeze. Alas, I cannot find it in me to kill the cat. I am at an impasse it seems. I'll keep you updated.
Turbulently,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
