Dear Stephanie Perkins

It's been too long since I've had a book to gush about. A book that filled me up, made me it's prisoner, made me squeal like an idiot and made me believe in love and words. A book that sparks my insides and moves me to write and to read and to smile and to UGH very loudly.

Stephanie Perkins you win again. 

Last year I read Anna and the French Kiss swiftly followed by Lola and the Boy Next Door. I shared some thoughts on those two books here but to echo the sentiment a bit, these books moved me so much. These characters are just so alive and so beautiful and broken and unique. The way Stephanie writes is just electric and so full of love. You can feel this woman's passion and love for words and her characters soak through the pages.

She writes how I want to write. I love when you can tell an author loves their characters and I think Stephanie Perkins takes the cake there. I can almost feel her squealing with me when the characters kiss and getting frustrated with me when her characters aren't together. I like that I can feel how much love and care and attention each character gets. I like that the characters become my friends and that they are Stephanie's friends too.

I devour her books also. It's been a good summer for reading but good GOD I was not ready for the majesty of Isla and the Happily Ever After, the last book of her sort of, interrelated series. I don't want to give anything away by way of plot but here's the low down. Isla is shy and has always loved Josh, a broody hot artist who can't seem to focus on much. After a very awkward (and literally awesome) first official meeting over summer vacation, their school year in Paris becomes a lovely jumble of romance and sorrow and GUYS I COULD NOT.

One of the best parts of these books is that they truly transport you to the landscapes that they take place in. In Anna, you are swept away to Paris and you return back to Paris in Isla after some time in New York and some even more delicious time in Barcelona (STEPHANIE PERKINS I CAN'T WITH YOU). But one of my favorite experiences was reading Lola while I was in San Francisco last week. I mean, holy wow it brought the book to life in bursting colors. I drove through the Castro and picked the houses I though Lola and Cricket lived in and loved in. I bought some crazy dresses in the Haight and felt my Lola showing. She knows San Francisco and she paints each city she uses so lovingly and so beautifully.

My favorite line of Lola

I could gush about the intricacies of her books forever, how much I love the boys she writes (PS STEPHANIE PERKINS YOU ALSO SUCK BECAUSE I CAN'T PICK BETWEEN THE THREE OF THEM HOW DARE YOU), and how beautifully she writes her women. I can see pieces of all of them in me and that makes reading her books very fun and also very revealing. These girls have their faults and there are times when reading them revealed mine and I got so uncomfortable for a minute, but then so inspired. Like Isla for example. She is so hard on herself and she focuses on her past and Josh's past so much. I was so frustrated reading that until I realized that I do the exact same thing. Her books always seem to reveal me. It's because her characters are so damn realistic. It might seem easy to dismiss these books as easy to read or mindless romance but HOT DAMN do they get heavy and real and raw.

Stephanie Perkins is the writer I want to be and her words always wake me up when I need them to. I have been in the worst writing rut of all time. I feel like I have creative ADD. I sit down to write, feel so jazzed to be writing, and then I just can't. It feels empty and useless to try. I feel like I have nothing to say and no words to say anything. But her books excite me. They make me feel love and they make me feel a love of love in books. That feeling of getting so sucked into words that you cannot stop, you cannot and will not put it down. I want to write a book like that and Stephanie Perkins makes me feel like that type of writing is possible.

On her blog she has talked about battling depression. About how hard it is to write through it sometimes. I feel that pain so so much. Brains are assholes. Brains tell you you can't write or that you shouldn't or that people won't like you. And when that happens, bodies and words shut down. On one of her posts about depression, I left a comment for her about how much she inspires me. And guess what? She responded to me! :) She said "Thank you, Em. I'm so sorry that your brain is mean to you, too. I'm glad you're fighting it! Keep writing. I can't wait to read YOUR book someday. :-)"

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ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I was dying when that happened last year. And something more, I know she means it because she is just the nicest.

I know this post is all over the place but in the end, it has one purpose. Thank you so much Stephanie Perkins. Thank you for your books, your characters (particularly the boys but... how can I pick between the three ugh), your hope, your words, being you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for giving me my writing back.

I cannot wait for your next masterpiece.

in restless dreams I walked alone: 3

F. Scott Fitzgerald always feared oblivion and losing his voice amid the voices of others. He couldn’t stand the thought of owning a mind made up more of the thoughts of others than of his own. I understand his fear and by God if that’s not the most debilitating fear a writer can have. There are those books you read that fill you with so much inspiration and so much fire that you cannot wait to write your own. Your thoughts race with new stories and new ideas and your hands fly like crazy until it feels like they are going to snap off from overuse. But then there are those other books. Those books that are so life changing, so unbelievable to even be real, that makes you think that you could never in your wildest dreams create anything new or important. Everything that could ever be said has already been said in the perfect words of someone else. Not only will your own writing never compare to theirs, but you don’t even want to compete because their work is too golden to even approach. What is a squeak of mine compared to the shouts of Gatsby? 

Those books are the ones I’ve read so many times it almost feels as though I’d written them. I’ve walked each chapter like a hallway in my childhood home. Holden’s hunting cap hangs on a hook in the front room, Gatsby stands in the doorway looking far off into the distance with an empty champagne flute in his hand, Scout and Jem elbow past me toward the back door, Atticus following close behind reminding them of their manners. And there in front of me on the dining room table: a typewriter. Although the world seemed so full of voices, none of them were mine yet. I could tell the characters surrounding me were begging for more people to fill the house. It was up to me to give them life. My voice needs to be shared just like theirs did. In my mind I sit at the typewriter and my fingers drift coolly across the keys. Even when they are a bit more stilted in reality, that dream pushes me forward. 

So I sit cloaked in sad music in a bed full of broken spines and well-loved pages, wrinkled from repeated visits through the ages. My mother worries that I’m not sleeping enough. My father hopes I can make a viable career out of late nights, coffee, and words. My roommates are just grateful I take time out of imaginary worlds to pay rent in reality. People stare at the dark circles under my eyes and think they are simply marks of one person’s tired night. Little do they know they are footpaths carved into my skin by the endless running of my mind. 

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trimalchio

At the end of your dock,
at the end of your world,
what keeps you from jumping off?
What emerald lights your way home
on those velvet evenings when
you fall asleep on your own?

That will.
That fight.

The breaking waves inside your heart
that beat you on against the current
of your incorruptible dream.
That golden afternoon in her arms,
her blossoming beneath you, your world
bubbling into the modern as she breathes.

That girl.
That night.

She was everything and nothing at once.
She was money and fame and gold.
She was heart and soul, booze and jazz.
The honey of her golden curls bounced
as you bounced for her too,
her sunburned words cloaked in satin.

That love.
That light.

The shot rang like her voice but stuck
in your chest like hot, bleeding nostalgia.
The greatest of men fall
hardest of all.
Your ripple still pulses through the pool
of red, white, and blue.

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for Lux

You felt the wind in
your hair, even in the
last moments when
the wind was carbon dioxide,
snuffing out your cigarette
and snapping the flirtation
from your eyes.

The castles in your mind
toppled and crumbled as
their hands fondled and gripped,
first only one, then a score
of men by moonlight.
Their hands were the hands of
Gods and monsters.

Where was your mind?
Where were you dreaming of?
How did we fail you?
What land have you and
your sisters run to with
ropes on your neck and
pills in your bellies?

Now you can move through
us all, barely kissing our eyelids
with your ever laughing
lips, lusting for life,
hungry for love and journey.
Golden hair bleeds down your back
and brushes over us as we dream of you.

(Based on The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides)

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Alaska

I always wanted to write and I always took solace in words. My childhood was tumultuous to say the least but something vital happened to me when I was about 15 (which now looking back on it was a big year for books) I fell down my first youtube hole and spent four hours watching all of the Vlogbrothers Brotherhood 2.0 videos. It was 2007 and the project was just hitting its sixth month. John and Hank Green made videos back and forth and somewhere in there John mentioned a book he wrote called Looking for Alaska.

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I wandered into Barnes and Noble, grabbed a copy, then went home and read it all in one sitting under a pile of sheets and tears. I'd never felt so wholly understood by a book. I'd never seen a character so like me on pages. I'd never had feelings I'd always felt put into words I didn't know were the right words. I'd always loved books but this was my first favorite book. My world changed that summer night. I finally knew what I wanted to write.

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When I talk favorite books, I have my Big Three. I've talked before about Gatsby and The Book Thief and there is no better time than now to talk about Alaska. It's January 10th. It's Alaska Young Day.

I read this book every January to coincide with Alaska Young day. If you've read the book, you know the significance of January 10th. But even if the day wasn't significant I'd read the book once a year, just as I do with my other favorites. I miss these characters when I don't read the book. I think of them sometimes like I reminisce about my own friends. "Hey, remember the night in the barn with Pudge and Alaska? That was great." They are just as real to me as my friends. They've taught me just as much and helped me grow just as much.

I read this book at an interesting time. I was growing and changing and my life was turning around me quickly while I stood powerless to stop the ever growing wreckage. I could see myself going down a very dangerous road and I welcomed it because what else could I have done? What else was I worth?

In the character of Alaska I saw myself. Powerful, motivated, broken, sexy, charged, enraged, empowered. Volatile, scary, passionate, self destructive. Reading her story was like holding up a mirror, or a warning. We were driving down the same road at 95 miles an hour. The difference? She turned left and after reading her, I turned right. She saved me. She was my first building block in finding myself.

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I still see myself in her when I read the book. We talk the same still. Think the same often. I'm still as moody as ever and I have my days where answering questions won't happen and you just have to accept that my melancholy streak will never die. But after this novel I grow. Every time I read it I grow. I'm reminded of the dangers of holding to your past and letting it kill you. I grow with Pudge and learn the value of my own great perhaps.

John Green, though. He's been my favorite author since I as 15. His words have kept me up half the night way before The Fault in our Stars ripped all of our hearts out. He's influenced my writing style a lot, I'd like to think. I love his always honest, never preachy way of expressing emotion. He is relatable and open and never patronizing or belittling. He knows we are intelligent people and he knows how big our hearts are. His gift really cannot be touched and if I could be 1/8 of what he is, I would be pleased with my life.

His words always inspire me, whether I'm rereading a book of his or watching his weekly videos. He is so unwavering in who he is and always full of hope and inspiration, something I want to be as well. He makes me better and he makes me hope. He makes me want to write so I can save someone like his books saved me. In a few years when some fifteen year old girl feels so alone and lost, they can pick up my book and feel heard and healed, just like I was.

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In my second year of college before I took my time off, I was in a directing class. The final project was to direct our own short 20 minute play. When I was down at that university, I was incredibly unhappy and I was not writing at all (which explains part of the unhappiness). After tearing through script after script and finding nothing, I saw Alaska sitting on the edge of my bed staring at me with her emerald green eyes, a cigarette between her smirking lips. I knew what to do.

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I wrote a play based on the book. I wrote a twenty page script in one night and cried after I was done. I hadn't written in so long. I hadn't felt my words carrying me in so long. The misery seemed to clear and I felt like myself again. This book brought my words back to me and to this day that play is the piece of writing I am the most proud of. Now, if only I could find some way of getting John Green to read it! That would be the dream.

So on this day, January 10th, Alaska Young day, I celebrate this life changing book. I'll read the book, pour myself a revolting glass of Strawberry Hill, and hold an unlit cigarette between my lips for her. An eternal thank you to John Green for this book, the life changing member of my Big Three that shaped who I am, my career goals, and everything. Thank you Pudge, Takumi, Lara, The Colonel, and Alaska most of all.

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The Book Thief

Some books transcend everything, don't they? They change the way you think. The way you write. The way you see the world. They change everything. It gets to the point where you feel incomplete without that book living on your nightstand staring at you every night. When you see other people reading the book you get jealous that they are spending time with your best friends among the pages, cradling the spine like you cradle those characters in your heart. The book has become so completely yours and so completely you that you simultaneously want to share your love for it and keep every single copy in the known world under your bed for yourself.

This is The Book Thief. The untouchable, perfect, heartbreaking, groundbreaking work of art that changed everything for me.

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I read this book for the first time when I was about 15. I was immediately pulled in to this world as I watched Death walk alongside these characters and sit by their side in the snowy streets of Molching, Germany. I was immediately in love. I had never read words like this before in my life. The way death described things. The way he saw the world. I wanted to stand with him as he told me his stories, to see the world in the colors he saw it in.

DEATH AND CHOCOLATE

First the colors.

Then the humans.

That's usually how I see things.

Or at least, how I try.

***Here is a small fact***

You are going to die.

I loved the voice Death had. The tired, dry, sarcastic wit. The love he feels for Liesel. For Rudy. For them all. Death's narration makes this book. The way he describes colors. Every time I reread this book I find a new description to love. The first one I underlined? The eyes of a dead pilot the color of coffee stains.

I've never seen description like this. It's an amazing feeling to pick up a book, not realizing how different you will be after you read it. This book changed my writing entirely. I began going description crazy and I saw the world around me twist and turn while I read some passages over and over again. I had never been so taken by a book. 

When I got to the last fifty pages or so, I slowed down. I had tears cascading down my cheeks and I felt like I would never be able to breathe normally ever again. It took me two hours to pull myself through that mountain range of rubble and I emerged on the other side tear-stained, exhausted, and wholly swept away. It still takes me about two and a half hours to read those last pages. Those are some of the most gorgeously brutal words I have ever read.

I've never felt so attached to characters. They feel like family. Because the author spends so much time letting you get to know these characters, you cannot help falling in love with them. He tells you stories that really have no consequence in the grand scale of the story. They don't move plot forward per se, but they make your heart ache for these people. Rudy with his lemon hair, Liesel's love of words and hours spent on the floor of a secret library, Hans breathing with his accordion, Rosa's hidden moments of tender love with Hans, Max sweating fear every hour of the day. Lord, I can't even type about this book without getting tears in my eyes.

This book gives me the most visceral reaction of any book I've ever read. I feel my entire body pulsing when I read it and when I even think about the words. If I ever feel the need to cry, I can think of a scene in the book between Max and Liesel and in seconds glass tears will fall. If I need a laugh, I think of Liesel and Rudy saumensching with each other in the school yard or along the Amper River. Even the name of my blog comes from this book. Liesel reports the weather to Max one morning so the hidden Jew can have a small taste of the sky.

"The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole..."

Max, at that moment, knew that only a child could have given him a weather report like that. On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with a dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy could, he drew two figures- a thin girl and a withered Jew- and they were walking, arms balanced, toward that dripping sun. Beneath the picture, he wrote the following sentence.

***THE WALL-WRITTEN WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG***

It was a Monday, and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.

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I've spent a lot of time thinking about why this book has affected me so much; enough to lead me to read it once a year, each year highlighting and underlining more and more of my beloved well-loved copy. (I would read it more but I physically and emotionally don't think I could handle it.)

I think at my core, I connected with Liesel and her love of words. Her inspiring, motivating, life changing dedication to reading and writing and taking control of her own world through words. The power of language is a theme that is so central in this book and that is also a big part of my own life. Nothing moves me more than the power of language and watching this little girl fall in love with words reminds me of myself discovering words and using them as a weapon, a crutch, an embrace, a friend. I see so much of me in Liesel. I see me in her feeling of displacement and her deep love for those she cares most about. Her quiet watchfulness and powerful soul. I love that little girl. 

I love all of those characters. I am in love with Max Vandenburg. Hans and Rosa are my second parents. Rudy. To quote Death:

He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

This book kills me. This book steps on my heart. This book makes me cry. 

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I was so nervous when I heard this book was going to become a movie. Actually, screw nervous. I was livid. I was in my bathtub reading the book when I decided to look at Tumblr tags, hoping to find some pretty fan art. Instead I found a cast list and filming locations. My heart burst open. No, I thought, this is The Book Thief. Not the Movie Thief. Where will the words be? No. These are my characters. They'll have to leave out so much. No. No. No.

I remained furious for months. I got protective and angry. I didn't want people to start claiming this book that was my lifeblood as their own after seeing a movie and never holding these characters in their hands. I wanted the movie to be done right, to do justice to these words that are so ingrained into me. I didn't want people who I felt didn't deserve this book to be able to see the movie and cry. They don't know these characters like me, they don't deserve to sit and cry with me. They will cry because of the Holocaust, I will cry because I'll be watching my family and my heart on the screen. 

Then I saw the trailer. And lost it completely. It blew me away. I was crying within the first three seconds. I was so happy because it looked exactly like what I always pictured, but also different enough to let me keep my images of these people and places alive in my brain. I calmed down with being so militant about this book being mine. My perception of this book and the meaning I have assigned to it will always be mine and nobody will ever touch that. But now the world will see why I go so crazy over this. They will get to meet my loves. 

I am so scared to see this movie. If watching the trailers is any inclination, I will be a horrible sobbing mess the entire time. I went to a movie last weekend and saw the trailer for the first time on the big screen and immediately started weeping, much to the embarrassment of my sister, brother in law, grandmother, and fellow movie-goers. My mom flat out refuses to see the movie with me because I won't be able to stop crying throughout. That's alright, I'd rather brave it alone. 

This was a whirlwind to write. I'm once again tear stained and exhausted; it's like I just finished reading the book. I love this book to pieces, with every beat of my heart and I am so happy to share my love of this book with you all. 

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High Noble

I'm happy I've gotten to a point in my life where I can see couples and instead of being jealous and annoyed, I can look at them with hope and admiration. I cannot wait to have what they have, I think.

I cannot wait until a man looks at me like that.

I cannot wait until I find my person.

I cannot wait to feel the peace of having my soulmate by my side.

I cannot wait to feel love again.

I watch TV shows and movies now and when I see a couple in love, instead of thinking "I want that man with ME" I think "I am so happy they found each other. These two souls have crossed paths somehow and made a beautiful, complete relationship. (Note... there are some characters that do belong with me. cough cough Jay Gatsby cough cough.)

A lot of people seem to call this attitude foolishly hopeful, young, inexperienced. But you know, as young as I am, I have had my fair share of experiences venturing in to the storm clouds of relationships and love. I've seen smooth sailing, I've seen stormy seas, and through it all my little boat has managed to hit land and endure, a little cracked but still afloat. What breaks us in the world, what rips our strings until they snap is what makes us hopeful.

"I'm not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is." 

- John Green, Paper Towns

I was talking again with the dentist I'm currently working with when he asked me about my family. I told him my parents were divorced and he asked me why their relationship didn't work. I was surprised by his question but I slowly answered "They were different people. It wouldn't have worked no matter how hard they tried, I think. I wasn't there. I can't know." 

His eyes softened a bit as he thought for a moment. He smiled a bit and finally said:

"I'm sorry for that. But you know, relationships take a certain amount of science. It's like fusing two metals. You can take two base metals, two ugly metals that don't belong and through fire and heat, they come together to make an alloy, a high noble metal with such great value. But first, they have to start out weak and broken and ugly. You have to be very broken to come together to form something beautiful. Year after year of being broken and torn down lead to the heat of another person and after being broken down some more with them, you become this beautiful high noble. You have greater strength and greater resistance. And it's because you have them with you."

Let yourself be broken, let the fault lines rip you apart. Feel everything, but don't be afraid to fall in love again. I have fallen in love four times in my life and after each time, I thought there was no way I could ever feel whole again. But each time I let myself fall again, I felt my faith grow stronger instead of letting myself lose hope. 

The more broken, the more beauty is locked inside, the more precious of a metal you become. 

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Quote is from The Book Thief <3

On Love and Lola

I love when a book keeps you awake at night and makes you hold your breath because of how much you love it. I love when you root for a character so much that when they finally get something they want, you cannot help but shed a tear and smile like an idiot by yourself in a dark bedroom at 2 in the morning.

I love books that inspire me and make me want to read more and more.

I love books that make me want to write.

I love books that make me want to love.

I finished a book called Lola and the Boy Next Door a few nights back. It was the second book published by Stephanie Perkins and the second book of hers that I have read. When I read her first book, Anna and the French Kiss, I could not wait to get my hands on Lola. (I just reread that... I love the awkward. Apologies to any readers named Lola.) 

Perkins, man. Girl can WRITE. She is hilarious and pure and full of love and hope. Her books always leave me wonderstruck and ready to fall in love. She writes these boys... I just.... they are unreal. In Anna, the boy de jour is Etienne St. Clair. He's British, and also French, and also American. And also the most perfect specimen I have ever met. Read. Whatever I love him. In Lola, it's Cricket Bell. Adorable, awkward, excited, lovely Cricket. 

Don't you hate it when you read a book by an author and it's just so good that you cannot imagine anything being better? And then you go into every other book comparing it to your favorite, never imagining anything could top it. It makes it hard to get in to the other book. I walked in to Lola missing Anna and that world. Luckily for me, ANNA IS IN LOLA! AND SO IS ST CLAIR. And I loved Lola and Cricket enough without the other couple being there. I didn't think it would be possible for me to like a book liked I like Anna but man, Lola won me over. 

If you know me, you know that I'm not the biggest fan of the "chick lit" genre. I don't read a ton of books about girls falling in love with the argumentative but suave boy in her math class. I like my books a little bit deeper. But these books are anything but chick lit. They are so smart and so funny. Stephanie Perkins writes these strong girls who aren't chasing boys but seem to happen upon them, just like real life. Her boys are charming and perfect but they have secrets and burdens that humanize them, like real life. Her books are real, if you catch my drift. The characters don't meet and then hate each other and realize through a series of shenanigans that they are meant to be. They just ARE meant to be. 

Back to the writing for a hot second. Stephanie Perkins, if you are reading this... first off... I love you so much. Your taste in music is superb (GUYS she makes playlists on 8tracks for her books so you can hear what she heard while writing. Get her out of here. She is perfect.) Here is my question for you. How do you manage to write such romantic and sexy books without every ONCE being corny or cheesy? 

Never once during these books do I feel like the romance is forced or cheesy. The whole time I was reading Anna my heart was racing with anticipation and lust for those two to get together. During Lola, I wanted to cry from the beauty and delicacy of it all. It never went over the top, the words were never cliche. It was fresh and alive and heartbreaking. This sentence happened in Lola and I wanted to die:

Did you get that? Anguished. ANGUISHED. Can any word describe love better? It's deep and overpowering and it hurts. Being in love hurts in the best of ways. It's honest and so powerful. Stephanie Perkins gets this. Probably because she loves her husband more than anyone on this planet. Seriously. I've never seen a woman more in love with her husband, and I'm only seeing it through her words. Each dedication is to her husband Jarrod. Also, read the final paragraph of each of her acknowledgement sections at the end of the books. It's for him and it is so lovely and overflowing with love. Stephanie Perkins you are beautiful. 

These books make me realize a lot about myself and my writing. But mostly about love. I have been in love a few times in my life. All consuming love. But I don't think anyone has ever loved me back. I have been loved, I have loved, but never equal amounts simultaneously. These books make me so thrilled to find my one. They excite me and urge me to keep on loving, even when it seems in vain. They show me what that love feels like, that one love that tears you apart easily and carries you to the ends of the Earth. Love shouldn't feel forced. It should click like these characters do, or like Stephanie Perkins with her husband. 

I can't wait to feel that mutual anguish and honesty. I cannot wait for that day when it all clicks. I cannot wait to find my own St. Clair or Cricket. In the mean time, the books will have to do.

Everyone. Go read these books now.

And Stephanie, thanks again for your words. You are truly beautiful.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Over on a book blog I read, Adam of Roof Beam Reader hosted a read-along of this American Classic. Like everyone in America I read this book in the 10th grade for my English class.

via Barnes and Noble

Unlike seemingly everyone in the world, I did not enjoy the book. At all. I honestly don't remember why I had such a distaste for this book. Probably because I'm one of THOSE people who like to hate things that everyone else loves. Just call me April Ludgate, guys.

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This gif is me after reading this book for the second time, finally, after years and years of false hatred. This book is so gentle and so lovely and so so important. If you haven't read this book for yourself and not for school, go do that. Seriously. These words will live and breathe inside you.

As I started rereading this book I remembered little snatches of the story from my first time reading it but it was so fun to see the stories of Scout and Jem and Boo intertwine with the happenings in the town. This book says so much about us and who we are. It's about the loss of innocence and also staying innocent in the face of horrible adversity. 

I remember feeling that the narration was rather dry on my first read through of this book. This time around, I thought nothing of the sort. It's been a while since a book kept me up late at night reading because I could so vividly see the world these characters were in. Since I could see these people grow and change and fight. It was so nice to feel excited to read a book like this. 

So. Before I get overrun with my gushing love for this book, let's get a brief plot review. Scout and Jem, brother and sister live in the small sleep Southern town called Maycomb. The book begins with older Scout, the narrator of the book, reminiscing about the time Jem had his arm badly broken at the elbow when he was 13. The two can't agree on what started the trouble leading to his accident but Jem assures her that it started the summer Dill came to town and the obsession with Boo Radley began. 

Part one of this book concentrates on the childhood of Jem and Scout when they were 10 and 6, respectively. Dill came to them that summer and they spent their time playing make believe about the mysterious Boo Radley who always remained in his house. Atticus, their father, and also one of the most attractive men in literature, works as a lawyer, Scout starts school, someone begins leaving the children gifts inside of an old tree, and the case of Atticus's lifetime lands at his feet. Atticus is to defend Tom Robinson, a black man accused of raping a girl in the town. 

Part two consists of the incredibly unjust trial of Tom Robinson, a trial that tries the conscience of the entire town. He is clearly innocent, but he is also black, a far worse crime than rape. As the verdict is decided, Bob Ewell, the victim's father swears to get Atticus if it's the last thing he does. The climax of the story comes on Halloween when Jem and Scout are attacked, resulting in Jem's broken arm. If not for the gallant rescue by a mysterious friend, the children would have been killed for nothing more than living. But it's a sin to kill a mockingbird. 

That was the briefest of summaries but guys, sentences are hard with this book. I have too much to say. This book captivated and enchanted me and I loved these characters. As I'm short on time and words, I'll just hit a few points that really stuck with me. 

First. The mockingbirds. This book is full of mockingbirds. 

"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. they don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."

Tom Robinson, Boo Radley, Scout and Jem. They are all little mockingbirds. I adored the way each character was related to a mockingbird and how sweet they all were. They were all childlike in their way and it was gorgeous. Near the end of the book when Scout related Boo to a mockingbird after the broken arm incident. I can't with this book. Crying for days.

Second. I loved how the first half of this book consisted of little lessons that ultimately became so important during the Robinson trial. A lot of these lessons related to judging people before knowing them and trying to see things from the perspective of others. 

I love the section of the story concerning Mrs. Dubose and her morphine addiction. Jem destroys her flowers and is then forced to read to her each day. Without noticing it, each day he stays longer and longer as Mrs. Dubose slips in and out of consciousness. After she later dies we learn that she was battling a morphine addiction. Each day Jem read to her a bit longer and each day she went longer without her morphine so by the time she died, she was free of her addiction. 

"I wanted you to see something about her- I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all 98 pounds of her. According to her views, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the braves person I ever knew." - Atticus Finch

The second half too was full of little lessons. That's why this book has remained so relevant and so loved. These lessons and morals are presented so easily with no patronizing and they are presented to children. As opposed to getting preached at, we are seeing these grand ideas through the eyes of a child who has yet to be colored by society's views and opinions. They still see things with that honesty that is so beautiful about childhood. 

One of of the scenes that I had forgotten about but that is now one I vividly remember is the scene after the Robinson trial where Scout finds her third grade class talking about the beginnings of World War II and Hitler gathering up the Jews into concentration camps. Scout asks why the people of Maycomb are so upset about the innocent Jews being mistreated in Europe but see no fault in mistreating the blacks in their own neighborhood. This hypocrisy was so startling and I was mad I hadn't thought of it while I was reading. It infuriated me like it did Scout and made me so angry with the town. This book is so pure and full of such a message of love. 

Also this conversation between Jem and Scout:

"Naw, Jem, I think there's just one kind of folks. Folks."

"That's what I thought, too," he said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folds, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other? Scout, I think I'm beginning to understand something. I think I'm beginning to understand why Boo Radley's stayed shut up in the house all this time... it's because he wants to stay inside."

Guys, this writing. It's intuitive and compassionate and there are so many little allusions and symbols. It's a book lover's dream. It's a writer's dream. It's a dream. To end this already long (but never long enough) post, here are just a few favorite quotes. Also, just read this book. Please. It's important.

"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing." -Scout

"You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view. Until you climb in his skin and walk around in it." - Atticus

"Well, Indian-heads- well, they come from the Indians. They're real strong magic, they make you have good luck. Not like fried chicken when you're not lookin' for it, but things like long life 'n' good health, 'n' passin' six weeks tests..." -Jem

"His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor's image blurred with my sudden tears.

'Hey, Boo,' I said."- Scout. (ALSO, this is the cutest thing and most stunning passage in a book of all time. Cried like a child. Such a sweet little soft moment.)

"I willed myself to stay awake, but the rain was so soft and the room was so warm and his voice was so deep and his knee was so snug that I slept.

...

'An' they chased him 'n' never could catch him 'cause they didn't know what he looked like, an' Atticus, when they finally saw him, why he hand't done any of those things... Atticus, he was real nice...'

His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me.

'Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.'

He turned ot the light and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning."

(Just saying... Atticus Finch could tuck me into bed ANY night. That man is so classy.)

via Tumblr and also my dreams

Thanks Sam

Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By right we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam? 

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for. 

Thank you, Sam. Your words are always the greatest comfort. 

Image via Tumblr

Gatsby

"Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal." -John Green, The Fault in our Stars

So. This is a topic that I feel will appear in quite a few posts on this blog and it's a topic I've had a hard time getting in to because my mind is a jumble of words when it comes to it. The topic:

Gatsby

(what Gatsby? Har har har... literary humor har har)  The Great Gatsby is my favorite book. Of all time and eternity. The word favorite doesn't even really encompass the way I feel about this book. It doesn't feel special enough to call this book a favorite book. It doesn't feel... sacred, like this book is to me.

 The above John Green quote, however, sums it all up quite nicely. I feel both ways about Gatsby. I feel as though you will never understand how my brain works until you've read this book. That part of my soul lives and breathes on those pages. But I also feel as though nobody can understand this book like I do. That Jay Gatsby is mine and nobody understand how he feels and I don't want people reading a book about him and misunderstanding him. This book is my lifeblood, it's my greatest passion, it's the thing I love the most on this Earth. This is the book I read 6-7 times a year, a book permanently stationed on my night stand. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I need something to comfort me, or I can't settle on a new book to read, Gatsby is always there waiting for me.

This was a book I never talked about as being a favorite. I'd rattle off my list of favorite books when asked: Looking for Alaska, The Book Thief, Perks of Being a Wallflower, etc. Never Gatsby. Gatsby was a private book since the first time I read it when I was 16. It was a private obsession that flowered in my mind only in the dark of night when I would read through my favorite passages on my own. It was mine. I never even talked much about it with people I dated or loved for fear that after ending relationships with them, my book would become tainted by them. I kept it pure.

Then my friends and I began a book club and selected Gatsby as our February read. I was excited to talk about this book with people I respected and loved. People who I knew would respect my near obsession with this book. For the first time I was finally able to vocalize and ponder WHY this book had taken over my thoughts and why Jay Gatsby became the secret specter of my mind, a vision who made his home in my head. I read it closely and wrote endless pages about what this book and man were to me. Something snapped in me then, a hidden spark burst into wildfire. This secret affair with this book became too large and too important to remain hidden. 

I feel as though I understand Gatsby. I have his same obsession with the past, the same thirst to keep that one beautiful moment that has managed to define our lives pure and golden. We have an inexhaustible gift of nostalgia and hope for ourselves and our lives. I connect with him and the words on these pages. I started developing too many thoughts about this book to keep them all to myself. It became bigger than me, a romantic vision that kept me awake most nights thinking of Gatsby. We both stayed awake in the dark reaching for a green light. He was mine. 

A few weeks back, I went to visit a dear friend who teaches at Davis High school. We got talking about Gatsby, as any conversation eventually leads. I got emotional as I was talking about it, as I normally do. He was very taken by my response to the book and invited me to come teach a few of his classes about the book. I was so excited. I went home and wrote up a whole bunch of thoughts about the book and prepared my lecture. He told me I'd have a half hour to fill and after the first lesson, it became apparent that that was not enough time. I think I spent about 45 minutes talking about the book with the last class. I could have kept going. I could always keep going.

Then it came time to see the movie. I was incredibly nervous to see this movie, but I knew that nothing could live up to the vision of this book I had stored in my ghostly heart (reference to the book anyone?...eh...?) Leo DiCaprio is the perfect Gatsby, I adore Carey Mulligan, Tobey McGuire made me nervous but he had an awkward energy that Nick always had. I love Moulin Rouge and the energy that film has, an energy I believe Gatsby has. I was so excited.

I saw this movie for the first time Thursday night at 11 with a dear friend, Shelby. We both sat anxious and excited, waiting with baited breath. It began... and I couldn't handle it. It was perfect. It was unreal how much this film matched what I had in my head.

My biggest fear for this movie was that it would be too grand, too loud, too focused on the partying. The trailer made it seem draped in excess and the soundtrack talked a lot about wealth and party. I was nervous because it needs to be understood that Gatsby is not a party novel. Jay Gatsby isn't concerned with his wealth, he's concerned with his golden girl. But the movie did an incredible job with the parties. Through all of his parties you got the sense of the thrill, but never lost sight of the true meaning behind them and the fallacy of the parties. Just like Jay Gatsby, the glitz of the parties cannot hide the pain of his life. The movie remained centered on the man even through the parties. 

His eyes. "His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one."

In summation of the movie I'll quote Jordan Baker. "Anyhow, he gives large parties and I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy." That's what the movie felt like. It was cerebral and very internal. A grand affair that remained focused on the intimacy and acute sense of life Gatsby had. 

This movie felt as though it was made for me. There are sentences and moment in the novel that I have always felt to be the most important and beautiful that I had never head talked about. They hadn't appeared in either of the two film versions I had seen previously. But Baz Lurhmann picked up on them like I did. He made them so central in the film just as they were in my brain. The theme of Nick seeing himself as inward and outward was something that never felt central to the films. It was here. Gatsby too, like Nick, was inward and outward of his own life, half living in his dreams.

The attention to detail was incredible. From the clothing being spot on to how the book described it to little mannerisms of Gatsby tapping his foot restlessly on the car ride into the city. It was palpable how much Baz adores this book and how much he adores Gatsby. It was a very Gatsby-centric movie. The added dialogue Gatsby had to bring more understanding to his obsession with Daisy's singular love was beautiful.

The scene that broke my heart was when Jay and Nick are talking by the pool after the party Daisy and Tom attend. He's worried about the fact that Daisy didn't like it. This scene in the book is incredibly powerful but this scene in the movie... the added thoughts Gatsby spoke... it was like watching my mind on the screen. Gatsby vocalized thoughts I've had about this book since I first read it that had never been spoken before. Gatsby says something along the lines of, "It's so sad. It's so sad because Daisy doesn't understand. I've gotten all these things for her but I can't make her understand. I need her to tell Tom she never loved him." Lurhmann gets Gatsby. He gets his pain and struggle. He understands like I do that it is NEVER too much to ask for singular love. I could die talking about how perfectly Lurhmann understood the character.

Look at the pain in his eyes. Unreal.

But even more than Lurhmann understanding it, Leonardo DiCaprio understands Jay Gatsby. There are moments in that movie that wouldn't be possible if he was just a good actor. Yes. He is incredibly talented and he disappears into this role. But there is also an energy that Leo gives. He understands Gatsby. There are things he does for this role that go beyond talent, go beyond acting. He was living and breathing this role. Every time he talks about Daisy, he has a ring of tears in his eyes.

His eyes, though.

He gave Gatsby the vulnerability that has been missing in EVERY film version I have seen. He made this enigma become the realest character in the book and on the screen. He became easier to understand. He stepped out from behind his Gatsby smile and became the hurt man he truly is. I was left breathless by this performance. It's a performance that I feel will never be topped for me. He was Gatsby. He always was.

Nick, Tom, Daisy, Myrtle... they were all perfect. They all acted as I've seen these characters for years. This movie was the soul of this novel. The focus was on Gatsby and his belief in the Green Light, not on the American Dream. I've never seen this novel as focused on the American Dream. There is for sure a level of commentary in there, but not nearly as much as is constantly placed on it. This is a novel of nostalgia and past, remembrance and regret. It's a novel about Gatsby. Fitzgerald played with calling this book The American Dream, but it's not about that at all. It's about Gatsby and the vision he had of himself in his heart. This film was Baz Lurhmann's heart and soul, and it was mine too.

I would apologize for the length of this post but even this feels short to me. I have an enormous amount of words for this book and this barely scratches the surface. Thank you to those who stuck through and read the entire thing. I feel like this is the most important post I could ever write. It was cathartic to write it and to finally let people maybe understand why this book is so vital in my life. Sure, it's an extreme love, but when I love I love like Jay Gatsby. I love with my entire being, I love forever, I love with a force that controls my life and changes my destiny. In the words of Gatsby, I felt myself falling in love with this book "and I just let myself go."

Thank you for reading. And an eternal thank you to Fitzgerald for his velvet words and his ghostly Gatsby, the sweeping story that will enchant my life and my mind for an eternity.

Hump Day Jams

This is something I did on my old blog every Wednesday and I loved it. Bringing it back around!

Today is amazing. Rain like this makes me feel alive and at peace. Everything feels clean and lovely.

It's been a great week with tomorrow being the cherry on top. GATSBY. Needless to say I have been listening to nothing but the movie soundtrack since it came out Monday night. But two weeks ago, they released the single Lana Del Rey wrote specifically for the film. Or... to be more specific, the book. Lana is my favorite artist by far. Hands down. Her words are like velvet, just how I view Fitzgerald's words. She paints gorgeous and glamours pictures with her music. Who better to write a song for Gatsby. It's called Young and Beautiful and it's been the only song I've listened to for two weeks.

This song is completely Jay Gatsby. It feels like that perfect man. It's beautiful and dark and cinematic. Lana always sounds like she's on the verge of an orgasm when she sings. Gatsby lived his life on the verge of orgasm. Reading that book makes me feel orgasmic. This song is orgasmic.

Will you still love me
When I'm no longer young and beautiful?
Will you still love me
When I've got nothing but my aching soul?

All the ways I got to know
Your pretty face 
And Electric Soul

Oh that grace, oh that body,
Oh that face, makes me want to party.

Stunning song for a stunning day.

On Light

Today was such a lovely lovely day. This day dedicated to such a wonderful human emotion. My dear friend Shelby addressed Valentine's day very thoroughly in a recent blog post, so I'll spare you my feelings about that saying simply in reference to her blog: ditto.

It was a rough week, full of sorrow, regret, and growth but today was filled with light and a sort of simmering peace beginning to rise up through my chest. The sun was shining today, I felt warmth on my skin as I walked out of school, a person I love deeply left a gift on my porch, and I was blessed enough to be able to spend my night with three of my dearest friends discussing life, hope, and books. The first annual Smart Girl's Book Club was truly lovely, and much needed.

I was so happy to see my friend Shelby again. I was nervous, as I hadn't seen her and really spoken with her in quite a while for a variety of reasons and mixed signals. But once she got in my car it was like no time had passed. She asked about my life and I handed her bits and pieces of my past, which she puzzled together in no time and we were soon caught up on each other and the feeling of having a whole, completed puzzle of a friendship made me feel so special and happy.

I've been in massive need of friends lately. My soul has been feeling rather tattered lately and I was over that feeling. I began reaching out to my friends, deciding to stop distancing myself and start truly putting an effort in to seeing all of them. Friendship is such nourishment. And great friends are a dime a dozen. I cannot believe my incredible luck in having the marvelous friends I have.

Anyway, sweet caring Shelby, lovely and stunning McCall, and thoughtful, timid Allison and I met at Cafe on 1st in SLC to discuss our first book. Granted, we talked about the book a bit less than we talked about our lives, our futures, and each other, but it was no less special or illuminating. These are some of the most intelligent, level-headed, graceful women I have ever known and talking with them truly makes my eyes well to the brim with tears and my heart boil over with warmth.

These three women have halos over their heads. Truly. They bring such true light into my life, such hope and love. I feel as if they are some of the few people who understand my labyrinth of a brain. Not only that, but they inspire me. They make me want to be better. They make me want to be whole. They make me feel that nothing is impossible.

That's the duty of friends. Friends should radiate compassion and love and hope and peace. They should radiate that special kind of light that keeps you warm and illuminated even in the darkest of times.

Emily Dickinson had a strange view of the color white. She didn't see it as the color of innocence or purity, but rather the true color of passion and intensity. She called red "fire's common tint." To Emily Dickinson the rich, full life of a soul burned white hot. I think that is so beautiful, especially on a Valentine's Day. Red is a passionate, rich color but white, white is pure life. White is clarity and light and intensity. Nothing is more intense that a shining light burning into your retina, nothing so passionate as seeing the light reflected in another human being.

My friends fill my life with amazing light and clarity. I feel so much myself when I am with them and for days after, my soul burns white hot with the passion my friends instill within me. I hope everyone has friends that fill them with the light I feel from my lovely friends. Today was perfect for me, and I hope it was for you as well.

Today felt like this song, which is also perfect. This song pulls emotion through my body and fills my soul to the brim with light.

A New Beginning

So hey. I started a blog back in January and I loved that blog. That blog served me well. But after a while, that blog didn't feel like me anymore. I reread a lot of my posts, and while I still like a lot of what I said, I feel completely different now. I've changed, I've grown. I'm happier now than I've been in a long time and I'm ready to begin anew.

The title of this blog comes from a very special book, one of my favorites actually. It's called The Book Thief and it's probably the most beautiful books I've ever read. I refer to it a lot so, get used to that if you plan on reading this much. ANYWAY, the quote is said by my favorite character, who is also the love of my life. Max Vandenburg. Oh my heart melts for him. I picture his as James Franco, with a bit of Joseph Fiennes circa Shakespeare in Love and also Jewish.

He is hiding in the basement of Liesel Meminger and one day, he asks her to report the weather to him. She says, "The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole..."

"On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with a dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy cloud, he drew two figures- a thing girl and a withering Jew- and they were walking, arms balanced, toward the dripping sun. Beneath the picture, he wrote the following sentence."

***THE WALL-WRITTEN WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG***

It was a Monday, and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.

....Mm, right? I've loved this since the first time I read the book years ago. I've never really understood why this line stuck out to me so much until I realized it conveys such a huge sense of hope.

Life is like a tightrope act. You try so hard to balance so much without losing it completely, and falling into the emptiness that is always beneath you. The glimmering sun of hope is always up ahead, just out of reach as you push forward on your rope. Whether you are walking hand in hand with a withering Jew, or navigating the rope yourself, you must keep pushing forward.

This is an attitude I want to retain throughout my life. I've had a mess of a life these past few months. It was as if I'd stopped and sat down on my tightrope, precariously perched on a fragile rope, waiting for the emptiness beneath me to swallow me whole. But then I realized, this is a waste of time. I am not this person. I love life. I love who I am. I am all I need to worry about. I. Am. Unbreakable.

This realization hit a few days ago. I mean fully hit. There were times when I talked like this, trying to convince myself I was ok, even though I never was. I needed more time to sit on my rope. But now I back full force, balancing gracefully and moving forward toward my sun. If you choose to be a person in my life, I'm happy to have you here. And if you've chosen to remove yourself from my life, or treat me like crap until I am forced to remove you, I am so sorry. It's been real knowing you, but I'm worth more. I hope you miss me. I'll have fun remembering you. Bless you. 

I am so excited to be myself again and even MORE excited to be writing again! I cannot wait to share my life with you all again :) I've missed this. And don't think I haven't stalked all of your blogs this whole time. You're great. You're beautiful. I love you. I hope you come back for more words soon :)