Saturday, November 5, 2011

And So It Begins

I got my work schedule. Next week SuperFantabulous will be at your kankle pants wearing service starting at 5 AM all but two days next week.

I'll be in my room, curled up in a ball for the rest of the day, in case anyone needs me.

In more important news, a few months ago I found a book called Snow by Orhan Pamuk. It was amazing. Here's a summary from Wikipedia:

Though most of the early part of the story is told in the third person from Ka's point of view, an omniscient narrator sometimes makes his presence known, posing as a friend of Ka's who is telling the story based on Ka's journals and correspondence. This narrator sometimes provides the reader with information before Ka knows it or foreshadows later events in the story. At times, the action seems somewhat dream-like.

Ka is a poet, who returns to Turkey after 12 years of political exile in Germany. Heavy snow cuts off the town for about three days during which time Ka is in conversation with a former communist, a secularist, a fascist nationalist, a possible Islamic extremist, Islamic moderates, young Kurds, the military, the Secret Service, the police and in particular, an actor-revolutionary. In the midst of this, love and passion are to be found. Temporarily closed off from the world, a farcical coup is staged and linked melodramatically to a stage play. The main discussion concerns the interface of secularism and belief but there are references to all of Turkey's twentieth century history.


Sounds complicated right? Well, it was. Reading is one of the only places in life where I tend to be all snobby and overachievy. The more confusing, dense and difficult to read the better. This is probably why I read, maybe, one book a year.

Enter Mini-Fantabulous. When I registered her for classes, they thought she was such a smarty that she should be in all Advanced Placement classes. I felt vicariously intelligent by association so I was like, "Fuck yes!!"

I did not tell her I did this and I still haven't. Why? Because she would fucking kill me if she found out. She's a tad on the underachievy side when it comes to school (just like her mom!) She's almost done with her first term and still doesn't know what the AP on her schedule means. Ironic, no?

Anyway, her English teacher decided it would be super cool if the kids in the class picked a novel to read on their own. We had one book in the whole house so I gave it to her. Snow.

"This is all we have." I said feeling guilty. I barely made it through the fucking thing, how the hell was she going to be able to finish it? "If you hate it, we'll go buy you a different one."

"..." She said, her teenage angstiness showing.

She started reading. I kind of forgot about it except for a few times when she would say something about what she'd read or ask a question. We had mini-book club discussions where it became clear I had nothing to worry about.

And now four weeks later, she finished it. Not only did she finish it, she was able to keep the characters straight, follow the convoluted, winding storyline through reality, imagination, past, future, and understand it all better than I did.

So basically, this is me, winning at life.

1 comment:

Berly said...

Shhh . . . don't tell anyone but I once wrote an essay for my lazy son in middle school and I was so pissed off when I found it in his back pack weeks later and I/he only got a B! WTF? I worked hard on that. Just goes to show that we need to raise the bar when it comes to the expectations we have of our kids. Apparantly the teacher thought he could do better. Bitch.