The Piano Man's Daughter
Author: jill
•11:31 AM
It was not that long ago that The Piano Man's Daughter came out. I can remember it clearly because I wanted to read it so badly. Therefore, when I stumbled on it at the Public Library a couple of weeks ago, I knew my search for another book written by a Canadian author was over. I could hardly wait to get home.

But when I did get home, I felt as though bitter reality had slapped me right across the face. It turns out that Timothy Findley's The Piano Man's Daughter was published in 1995.

1995? What? That just cannot be true because it seems like it was just a couple of years ago that I read the first reviews of it. Not fifteen years ago! Ugh ... there's that slap of bitter reality again.

It is a great read if you enjoy stories that encompass two or three generations of the same family, or a journey to understand the true character of one individual.

Just as the title suggests, this book tells the story of Lily - the piano man's daughter - and her battle with mental illness as seen through the eyes of her son. It is engaging and interesting, and although it is primarily the story of Lily, it also tells the story of the whole Kilworth family.

There are several themes running through this novel. Mental illness. Fire as a symbol. A little bit of religion. Spirituality, for certain ... Lily believed that "to be born was to be made visible." And the colonies of ants that Lily loved so much ... I would need to research that a little further before speculating.

As I neared the end of this book, I completely forgot that I was reading. I was so engrossed, I felt like I was there, with the characters. It seemed so real, I just knew that it had to be. And, I was right. Findley has acknowledged that the character of Lily was based on his aunt, who was schizophrenic. Findley describes Lily as autistic; however, I would have to politely disagree. Lily is most definitely schizophrenic, as well as epileptic.

Epilepsy brings a really cool aspect to the story because of the meanings attached to it. In ancient times, epilepsy came to be known as a "Sacred Disease." People thought that the seizures were a form of attack by demons, or that the visions experienced by persons with epilepsy were sent by the gods. Could Lily be a vessel? You read it, and let me know what you think.

It is the epilepsy that makes Lily different as a child, and the illness causes her mother (and family) to feel ashamed of her for that reason. They work very hard to hide the illness because at that time, mental illness (of any kind) was something that could bring shame on a family. But once she grows up, it is the schizophrenia that comes to define her life. She is delusional and has hallucinations, which are the hallmarks of schizoprenia. And the changes in her personality begin around the time she is eighteen or nineteen years old ... another indication of a schizophrenic diagnosis.

But I won't be able to convince Findley of my diagnosis because he died in 2002.

The characters really come to life, and force the reader to consider what is right for them. I had to question whether Lily should have had custody of her son? How could a mother choose her husband over the welfare of her daughter and grandson? Yes, she slipped them some money when she could ... but does that make her decision to turn her back on them all right? When do you stop being responsible for your child?

It is unfortunate that it took me fifteen years to pick this book up. Don't make the same mistake I did ... go, get this one right now.
, , , | comments (0)
Romantically Inclined
Author: jill
•9:50 PM
Romantic, as defined, means to be characterized by a preoccupation with love or by the idealizing of love or one's beloved. We have all felt romantic at one time or another in our lives, some times more than others. For instance, while changing diapers and breastfeeding eight to ten times each day, I did not feel particularly romantic. Tired, mesmerized (by my new little miracle), in love, scatter-brained, but never romantic. However, romance blossomed when Jonesy and I spent the weekend in Niagara-on-the-Lake several years ago, touring wineries and staying in a fancy hotel.

One day, earlier this summer, Jonesy and I took our three children to the Public Library. This was not romantic at all. However, it was fun watching as the kids selected a book to borrow, trying to decipher what it was that caught their attention. As fun as that was, I snuck off for a few moments because I, too, was in need of a new read. Usually, if I am going to borrow a book from the Library, I reserve it and then ask Jonesy to pick it up when he is out doing some other errand I have sent him on. He is my supplier - my book supplier, that is, which in many ways has become like a drug for me.

So, I wandered down the aisles, just waiting for something to grab my attention, for no particular reason. I wanted something written by a Canadian author, something contemporary. I chose a book I had never heard of, nor was I familiar with the author. But something about it drew me in - perhaps the title?- and I am so happy that I found it.

The book I chose is called, The Romantic by Barbara Gowdy. And guess what? When I researched her a bit, it just so happens that she was born in Windsor, but grew up in a suburb of Toronto.  But more on Gowdy later...

Louise Kirk's mother leaves when she is nine years old. I mean, the woman just disappears, abandoning her husband and child. Louise will spend the rest of her days looking for a woman whom she can look up to and count on. She looks for a mother (figure) in their housekeeper, in Mrs. Richter, and finally, in the women she works for/with.

A short time after her mother leaves, the Richter family moves into the house across the street. Abel Richter becomes the love of Louise's life, the one that she will do anything for and cannot be without. They are bound together by common circumstances - both having been abandoned by a mother, both social outcasts at school - and they play together as children, until Abel's family moves to Vancouver. In a meeting of chance, they reconnect as teenagers, and immediately fall back into their relationship, but on a much more mature level. The relationship becomes Louise's undoing. She loses herself in Abel, understanding his very soul yet not being able to understand his actions.

However, it is Abel that is of real interest for a girl like me. Because I could have saved him - I know I could have. Consider the following ...

"I had hoped to feel something more, to have a revelation, but the things that occur to me have occurred to me a hundred times before. His excruciating sensitivity to the physical world. His rapturous dreams. His guilt and anguish over the death of the baby bat. His dread of interfering and of choosing. But why did he have these feelings in the first place? Why was he who he was?" - excerpt from The Romantic

Abel was a musician and a poet. He was creative and sensitive to a fault. He never considered himself when making decisions, which ultimately cost him his life. He truly believed that the lives of those who love him most will be better without him in it. He honestly believes that; otherwise, he would not have drunk himself to death. Don't worry ... I'm not giving anything away. The reader becomes aware that Abel dies in the fourth sentence of the novel.

Some of his characteristics - the rapturous dreams, the sensitivity, the anguish over the death of the baby bat - are easily explained for me because Abel is a creative/artistic person. Artists experience the world through emotion, the emotion of the room, of the moment. It is what drives them, in my opinion.

"Why was he who he was?" Abel was the way he was because he was adopted, in my opinion. Now, this intrigues me. You see, I can relate to Abel because I, too, was adopted. I was adopted as a newborn infant, and I will write about it one day because I have many thoughts on the topic. The details of Abel's adoption are never explored and I was hungry for more information in that area. It does not matter how wonderful your adoptive parents are, a child that has been surrendered/abandoned is always left with unanswered questions.

Of course, there are the obvious ones, like why? But there are more things that one longs to know and understand. The circumstances. The choices. The father. Am I like my natural parents in any way?

And, I swear to you, I am not angry with her - the woman who gave birth to me. In fact, I feel sorry for her. I am sure that each year on June 30th, she has a terrible time. She suffers from migraines, or she just withdrawals, or she gets really, really drunk. I have read accounts written by women, who could never understand why their mother became so distant and emotional at the same time each year. Until they found out it was because she was mourning the child she never knew ... on the anniversary of the day they met and said goodbye. It is the only link she had to her child.

But when trying to understand Abel, we need to consider what adoption does to the child. By projecting my own feelings and thoughts on Abel, I would imagine that he questioned why the woman who gave him life did not fight for him. Was he not worth it? Was there something wrong with him? Maybe he just wasn't important.

As a parent, I cannot imagine looking at my newborn child and then signing the papers. I couldn't have ... I would have been one of those rebel girls who got all the stares from the disapproving eyes. But I would have had my child with me. Not with anyone else. Not raised by a stranger. No matter how wonderful that stranger was.

However, I also understand that Abel and I were born in a different time, when society was governed by a different set of rules. Unwed mothers were treated as though they were low-life social pariahs.

Anyhow, I think that Abel is haunted by his adoption. He grew up wondering if the world would be better off without him. Every chance I get, I tell my children how much they were wanted and planned for and anticipated (with love). They know that the moment each of them entered this world was the happiest time of my life. The same cannot be said for the day that I entered the world. Nobody wanted me, and I arrived under a cloud of guilt and shame. I imagine this is how Abel felt, and I expect it is how most adopted children feel.

In fact, I have this image in my mind ... it is of the Nursery. Because way back in 1969, the Nursery is where all the newborn babies stayed while their mothers were in the hospital "recovering" from their delivery. You can imagine it, too, I bet. All the little baby beds pushed toward the window, moved around like puzzle pieces, so the proud new Daddies could show off their greatest prize to all those who came to visit. Tears of joy, smiles, the inevitable comparisons of familial traits. None of which really make any sense, but seem to be a part of having a new baby.

Except that one little bed. Pushed into the back corner, out of the way. Nobody was interested in seeing her. No one smiled. There were no tears of joy. Just tears. Until one day when a stranger came to pick her up and take her away.

But that is where things started to look up for that little baby girl ... I'll tell you about it some day. It's actually a very cool and unique story.

Abel avoided interfering because he feared making a mistake and he cleans his apartment all the time because it gives him a feeling of control. He feared not being chosen. And he would never choose because he would never want to hurt someone. There is no need to choose, in his mind.

Ask Jonesy ... I hate choosing.

"Okay, Jill, do you want good ol' fashioned Chinese food or spicy Thai?" Jonesy will ask me.

"Oh, whatever you want, as long as I don't have to cook it," is my reply.

"Honestly, just pick one," he'll insist. But I can't. Subconsciously, I have been afraid that I'll pick the one he wants the least, and then maybe he'll leave me for some girl who always knows just what type of food he really wants to eat. Because it doesn't really matter what I want ... I mean, I was so undervalued that the woman who gave me life left me behind. So, what makes me think that I should be allowed to pick the take-out we order? And in some really weird way, I don't what to offend the Thai food, but I totally feel like eating good ol' fashioned Chinese Food tonight. And so I find a way to keep everyone happy in my warped mind ...

"Okay, let's have Chinese this time, but we'll order Thai next time, okay? Don't even ask me, just bring home Thai ..." is how I respond. That way, Thai food won't be offended and Jonesy can look forward to a Thai dinner soon. Everyone is happy, right?

Okay, so maybe I need some therapy ... Honestly, the real point I wanted to make is that being adopted affects a person in ways that they may not really understand, certainly not as a young person. It shapes the way in which one sees the world, the way in which one experiences the world. And perhaps, you can only understand it if you, too, were adopted as an infant. 

Abel deals with his demons by adding more demons until his life seems hopeless. And helpless. And Louise cannot move through her own life without him. She must see things through to the end.

It's a great read, and obviously invoked many thoughts in the life of me. Don't you just love when you stumble on a excellent book, like that? Or a good movie no one has told you about.

Barbara Gowdy is one interesting lady. She did not have her first novel published until she was thirty-eight years old. She has been married three times, once to an alcoholic who was killed in car accident (I suspect he was her Abel). She is a perfectionist. She studied piano for eight years, practicing five to eight hours per day but quit because she could not perfect the art. (source)

She has a HUGE imagination, writing on topics of gross disfigurement, necrophilia, exhibitionism, reincarnation, and homosexuality. And she is funny ... it always surprises me when something I am reading makes me laugh out loud. And Gowdy did, more than once.

And so, we are left with the question of who "the romantic" is. I could make an argument for Abel, and I can make a argument for Louise. However, if forced to choose (and you know how I hate to choose), it seems to me that Louise is The Romantic. Abel is beautiful and emotional and sensitive ... he writes poetry for God's sake. When he is with Louise, he loves her the best; but I'm not really certain how he feels when Louise is not in the room. It is Louise who is preoccupied with Abel, and idealizes their relationship. It blinds her, really. She thinks the best of him, she only sees the good in him and explains away what she does not want to believe.

She loves him with every ounce of her being. Isn't that romantic?

You decide ...
, , , , , , | comments (2)
OWEN MEANY
Author: jill
•11:31 AM
I just wanted to go to a quiet and deserted island so that I could relish every word. So I could truly enjoy the end of my new favourite book.  I wanted to be able to choke back the inevitable tears without causing any alarm amongst my flock. I just wanted to sit and drink in the story.

Wait ... maybe I just wanted a drink ... because around here, a Mom is not really allowed to sit and relish anything unless it has something to do with a hamburger.

And then after reading the whole thing, I wanted to retreat to a quiet room with a computer so that I could write an essay about what I had just read. I had all these emotions and thoughts that needed to be freed from my brain. But that won't happen either because unless you are a university professor, who would want to read it? However, maybe I'll get my chance to write that essay someday soon.

Back before there were little Jones' running around, in the summer of 2000, Jonesy and I rented a cottage near Bracebridge, Ontario. When we arrived at the cottage, I realized that I had forgotten to pack a book ... a necessity for the cottage in my opinion. As luck might have it, the cottage we rented had a small library of good books to choose from and I decided on The Cider House Rules by John Irving. It had been released as a movie in 1999 and won a bunch of awards in 2000 ... so, I was familiar with it.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I love that book. I was lost in the story, and found it hard to put down once I began reading. On that same trip, I was bit by a spider (or some other strange insect) and had an allergic reaction that left me with a very large welt on my leg and a great deal of discomfort. The pharmacist recommended that I take some Benadryl until the discomfort and itchiness went away ... but Benadryl makes me VERY sleepy. So, for our week of vacation, I was either sleeping, itching or reading. I sound like fun, don't I?

But I did finish the almost 600 page Cider House Rules in five days. I was captivated by the characters and the story, along with their moral dilemnas and the psychology of the story.

But there is a new Irving book in (Jones) town, and The Cider House Rules has been kicked to the side.

When I began to read A Prayer for Owen Meany, I didn't realize John Irving had written The Cider House Rules. I recognized Irving's name, but I thought that I had studied something written by him in a previous university English class. My bad (See? I can talk like a young, hip university student) ... but I will not forget his name ever again. I could never forget the man who brought Owen Meany to life.

Please do yourself a favour and go pick this book up. I promise you will not be disappointed. You cannot read it quickly, though ... you won't want to. You will want to experience the entire story ... sometimes, you will need to stop and consider what had just happened or make a couple of connections. My Mom will want to savour this book so much I predict it will take her a year to read it! Sometimes, I had to put it down because it was too noisy at my house to really enjoy it. And, I suspect, that I read slowly because I did not want to lose Owen Meany. I wanted to hang out with him for as long as I could.

Owen Meany is a real character ... by that, I mean, he is the kind of person you will never forget and who makes an impact on your life. He changes it or shapes it in some way. He is a person of small size ... at the age of eleven years old, he is the size of a typical five-year-old. And he has a very strange voice ... But those are not the reasons you will find it difficult to forget him. He is one of the most unique people I have ever known ... but he's not for real, is he? So, I guess I don't know him, but I wish I did.

This book reminds me of A Sight for Sore Eyes by Ruth Rendell ... not that Owen Meany is in any way like Teddy Brex. Now, there is an essay assignment ... Compare and contrast Owen Meany with Teddy Brex. I could actually begin that essay by considering the boys' parents ... both were distant, and unable to show emotion; but while Owen ends up a charasmatic, magnet for people, Teddy becomes a mentally disturbed social pariah. I could be on to something here. You must think I am crazy ... but these are the things that stimulate my brain right now.

Anyhow, the books are similar in that they are an English student's dream. There are so many themes running through this story, it would be difficult to know which one to write about. Of course, you could write a lengthy paper on how religion plays a part in the story, and somehow link the idea to destiny and intuition and visions. Or you could look at the theme of being armlessness or amputation; baseball plays its part in the story, too. I could easily go through the book again - because I would read this again in a heartbeat; in fact, I want to read it again, right now - to find evidence for the idea that Owen Meany is a miracle.

Yes, I strongly believe that Owen Meany was miraculous in his own right.

There is also a theme of literature that runs through the story. The characters (especially Owen Meany) often mention things they have read. Owen becomes the main editorial columnist for his school newspaper and he often uses quotes from famous authors to make his point with his best friend, John (the narrator). Owen encourages John to write his Doctoral thesis on Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928), whose works considered the events of real life and the possibility of fate - in the same way the Irving does in A Prayer for Owen Meany.   And in the end, the narrator ends up becoming a high school English teacher.

Some have compared John Irving to Charles Dickens, in his story telling style. Which makes sense to me because Great Expectations is one of my most favourite books ever.

In the Winter Semester, beginning January 2011, I will be taking an Contemporary American Literature course. There will be no one happier than me if there happens to be something by John Irving on the reading list. Because maybe then I'll get to write that essay after all.

Occasionally, a quote from a book will stay with me; and so, I'll leave you with one I will never forget from Owen Meany ...

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING TO BE AN ENGLISH MAJOR, YOU DON'T NEED ANY SPECIAL TALENT, YOU JUST HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT SOMEONE WANTS YOU TO SEE - TO WHAT MAKES SOMEONE ANGRIEST, OR THE MOST EXCITED IN SOME OTHER WAY. IT'S SO EASY; I THINK THAT'S WHY THERE ARE SO MANY ENGLISH MAJORS."

Now, do you know why I love him?
, | comments (2)
A Sight for Sore Eyes
Author: jill
•11:07 AM
Addie C. had a terrible day today. She needs to get some more sleep. I think I have written about this before because it seems to have become a recurrent problem. She gets behind on her sleep and then things get pretty tense around here. And today was the breaking point ...

In a moment of bad judgment, or perhaps just utter frustration, I took her to her bedroom for a time out. We both needed a moment to regroup. However, Addie C. was not going to use her time effectively, and chose to stand at her bedroom door, screaming at the top of her lungs. Begging to come out, pulling on the door knob. While I, being the excellent parent that I am, stood on the other side holding that same door knob so she could not escape.

But I just couldn't do it. I felt like Julia. Julia the completely demented stepmother, and poor Addie was my Francine. So, I opened the door and let her out ... with strict instructions that she must lay down in Mommy's bed and watch a movie. We each ran off in opposite directions ... she to my bedroom with her blankie in hand, and me to the couch with my latest book in hand. Because I had to know how Francine was going to escape the evils of her stepmother...

Do you even know what I am talking about? If you have read A Sight for Sore Eyes by Ruth Rendell, you know that Teddy rescues Francine. But does he really? That is the question.

If you have to write a paper for an English class, and you need something to write about, pick up A Sight for Sore Eyes. I absolutely love this type of book because it is a psychological study of people. And you can speculate about why the characters turn out to be the way they are.

Teddy Brex is born to disadvantaged parents. Okay, I am being polite. Teddy's parents are losers and they really had no business trying to raise a child. But I guess that is point; they didn't really try to raise him. He was never touched, cuddled, or talked to. I think that the only time he was actually handled was when his diaper was changed; and I don't think that happened very often. He was not loved; in fact, it was pretty evident that his parents were devoid of any emotion, unable to engage in any sort of real (emotionally-based) relationship.

And so, of course, I was sympathetic toward Teddy while I read his story. Because I wanted to save him. But if you read this blog regularly, I am sure already guessed that.

Teddy grows up into a young man who is incapable of feeling emotion. He does not know how to have a relationship with another person ...

"People were, as he had long suspected, uniformly vile and rotten, vastly inferior to things. Objects never let you down. They remain the same and could be an endless source of pleasure and satisfaction."

This idea is carried throughout the book. When he wins an award for his artwork, Teddy finds satisfaction from the prize alone and decides he does not need to share his excitement with anyone else. He becomes obsessed with a house and the things inside it ... the beautiful ornate furniture, the structure of the home. And when he and Francine begin dating, he dresses her in silky fabrics, draped in jewellery, positioning her in bed the way he likes best, just like you might arrange flowers in a vase until you achieve the look you want.

Oh, and he finds that killing is the easiest way to get what he wants ...

I have seen Teddy referred to as being autistic. Teddy Brex is not autistic ... he is psychotic. People who suffer from phychosis are said to be lacking a true sense of reality. They often have hallucinations, are delusional, have difficulty with social interactions and are unable to handle "normal" daily activities. I have always equated psychotic with being emotionally void; they understand what is wrong, but they do it anyway because they just don't care. Of course, after a terrible day (like today) with Addie C., these words could be used to describe me.

But is it Teddy's fault that he is the way he is? I mean, the child was never touched or held or loved. Erik Erikson, a renouned developmental psychologist, teaches that when an infant does not receive consistent, prompt care it learns that people cannot be trusted. So, what must it do to a child whose cries are met only after a long period of crying and never are the cries calmed in a loving manner. Like a mother "normally" does. In the case of Teddy, who was never really acknowledged, it was almost a miracle that he (physically) survived his childhood.

In the 1960s, a psychologist by the name of Harlow conducted experiments in the area of maternal separation and surrogate mothers on infant development. His most famous study involved rhesus monkeys. In a cage, he placed a hard surrogate mother made of wire, who had an easily accessible bottle of milk attached to her. There was also a furry/warm/cozy surrogate in the cage that did not have any food attached to it. The baby monkeys ALWAYS chose the furry mommy, venturing near the wire surrogate only for very short periods to receive some milk. However, the rest of its time was spend with the furry, soothing mommy. A baby will choose comfort over nourishment ... it says a lot, doesn't it?

I experienced this all the time with my own kitty. She would meow and meow and meow to be fed, tripping me as I walked closer to her bowl. After I put the food in her bowl, I always took the time to give her some love. I would pet her and scratch her ears and have a little talk with her. Now, this supposedly starving cat would suddenly have no interest in her food; she would purr and rub against my hand. She always chose love over food ... always.

Feeling loved and having interaction with other human beings is an important part of childhood development.

Harlow also conducted experiments in which monkeys could see, smell and hear other monkeys, however, there was NO physical contact. After six months, these phsyically deprived monkeys were described as psychologically disturbed, and were unable to socialize with other monkeys when reunited with peers.

Premature babies who are held a great deal are known to put on weight at a faster pace than those who are not ... which explains why Caiden looked like a ButterBall when he was about nine months old.

And so, again I ask whether Teddy Brex's view of the world is a result of his mistreatment as an infant and child? I would say, yes.

I am beginning to see that my four years as an undergrad Psych student have paid off. However, this will conclude my psychology class for today. But come back soon, because I am sure to go into another rant soon!

Francine Hill becomes the object of Teddy's desire. Unfortunately, she does not come without her own demons. At the age of six or seven years, she is in the house when her mother is murdered; her father comes home to find his daughter weeping over her mother's dead body, sitting in a pool of her blood. Francine's father falls in love with Francine's psychologist (the Julia mentioned at the beginning of this post) and they end up marrying. Julia gives up her therapy practice and dedicates her life to protecting the now fragile Francine. In fact, Julia becomes a psychotic momoholic, when she puts the perceived needs of Francine ahead of her own. She becomes unnecessarily obsessed with Francine's safety; and in doing so, renders Francine dependant on her "parents" and very naive. Basically, Julia is like me times one hundred. 

   Momoholic Me X 100 = Psychotic Momoholic Julia

As the years go by, Julia becomes controlling, delusional and loses her grip on reality. Until eventually, in order to protect Francine from the (imagined) evils that she has conjured up herself, Julia locks Francine in her bedroom while her father is out of town on business.

We all want to protect our children ... but we aren't allowed to lock them in their bedrooms. Even if they are four years old and having a very terrible day.

Anyhow, I really enjoyed this book. It is a book that entertains you and scares you and makes you want to give your kids a big hug. I would consider reading another book by Ruth Rendell ... she has written more than fifty of them. In fact, she has a new book coming out some time this year.

When you read a story that moves you to have so many thoughts - and these are just a few of mine about this book - you must consider the title. "A Sight for Sore Eyes." Maybe Teddy says it best ...

"She (Francine) must easily be the most beautiful girl in the world. A sight for sore eyes. Alfred Chance had once used that expression and it had stuck in his mind. About an object, though, not a person. It meant that looking at beauty took away pain and hurt, and made you better. Francine made him better and his eyes were sore when they couldn't feast on her."

So, I guess this book has been a sight for my sore eyes. It took away the pain of having to deal with an overtired four-year-old. And, I feel better for having read it. 

Give this one a try ... it would make a great book to read while lounging around the pool.
, , | comments (1)
One Woman's Search for Everything
Author: jill
•7:58 PM
For as long as I can remember, my Mom has always told me that she likes to savour a book. And I have always thought that was one of the craziest things I had ever heard. Savour a book? Who savours a book? One should savour food, not a book.

I finally understand what all this savouring in my Mother's (reading) life has been about. Usually, I am one to plow through a book that has captured my attention ... reading while cooking, reading while supervising children outside, reading whenever I can.

I have finally finished savouring Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I am not the kind of person who gets involved with fads and the mainstream cutting edge populace. I am more of a traditionalist, who does what she wants because she wants to. So, when I tell you that I absolutely loved this book, it is because I absolutely do. Not because lots of other people do. If I could eat this book, I would ... that's how much I love it. And I would savour it.

I feel like I endured some therapy after having read this story, and that Liz and I each made transformations of our own because we are both different people when the story is finished. She made me realize things about myself and taught me the importance of balance in my life. You cannot just focus all your energy into one thing and be fulfilled.

Eat Pray Love has been on the New York Times Best Sellers List for 158 consecutive weeks, so I am willing to bet that you have (at least) heard of this book. It is the true story of "one woman's search for everything." She is looking to find balance in her life and to find balance within herself.

Gilbert is probably the opposite of a momoholic ... she is a momophobe. She doesn't want to have children and this realization is the catalyst for all the changes she makes in her life. She divorces her husband and leaves her rebound man to set out on a journey of self-discovery.

Gilbert first goes to Italy in search of pleasure ... and since she has taken a one-year vow of celibacy, she finds pleasure in food. She truly enjoys the regional food of Rome and the cultural traditions associated with food. For instance, in Italy, after watching a soccer match, the fans go out for ... get ready for it ... cream puffs. That's right, they all crowd into their favourite bakeries and celebrate (or drown their sorrows) with cream puffs. I am trying to imagine Jonesy and his buddies going out for cream puffs after a Michigan Wolverine's football game, and I'll be honest, I just can't see it.

The idea of four months in Italy is a dream for me. I would love to go and experience the life there. Not for just a two week vacation ... but live there in a small apartment, and wander along the cobblestone streets, down to the local market for fresh produce, followed by a stop at the Butchers for local meat and cheese. Roaming the countryside in search of new people and foods. Have you ever taken the time to really enjoy food? Appreciate it for its flavours? The idea of truly enjoying food was introduced to me in Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food. He talks about eating seasonal, locally-produced food and taking the time to sit at the table and truly appreciate its flavour. Gilbert lives in Italy for four months learning to speak Italian and enjoying food. She begins each day by asking herself what she would enjoy doing.

What would you like to do today? Take every obligation and person you know and shove them out of your life - just for a minute - and ask yourself what you would enjoy doing. I think she began each day with a cappuccino and a newspaper, which she read leisurely. Like, with no one asking her for juice or toast or anything. Bliss ...

But I would miss them by lunch time.

Gilbert talks about her failed relationships with men a lot. She put it into terms that I could really relate to ... in a totally different way. She identifies her biggest problem to be that she doesn't understand boundaries, nor does she respect them. When dating a man, she was utterly, head-over-heels in love and she lost herself in her man. She wrote about friends telling her that she actually looked like whomever she was dating. She would become that person.

Sound familiar? The idea of not having boundaries describes my relationship with my children. I became them ... I lost myself in them and their needs. I honestly could not separate myself from them at times.

Does this mean that I get to go to Italy for four months and read and eat the best pizza in the world and try gelatto for the first time? I didn't think so...

Gilbert leaves Italy and moves to India, where she lives in an ashram for four months. An ashram is a secluded residence used for religious retreat. She uses the time to master meditation and to find her spirituality in pursuit of devotion. She studies under her Guru.

I have mentioned in the past that I am not a religious person ... I have too many questions. However, I do not think that meditation is solely for the purpose of finding God ... I think it is about quietening your brain ... letting your brain rest. Then, I believe you can find peace within yourself and perhaps understand your own spirituality.

Spirituality does not equal religion or God. I think there are many people who believe that if you are a spiritual person, you have a deep faith in God. I do not. For me, spirituality is more of an energy ... an energy that eminates through our bodies connecting our physical selves with our souls. According to Dictionary.com a soul is the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body.

Okay, this is gettin' heavy.

Suffice it to say that I would be very excited to visit the ashram, and try to centre myself through meditation. I'll let you in on a little secret ... I tried to meditate a few times. I actually bought a book to learn more about it back in the days of infertility. I thought that if I could quiet my body and reduce the stress that I was feeling, then perhaps all systems would work as they should. Meditation can be rejuvenating ... this was the theory I worked from. I can say that meditation is not something that you just decide to do. It's hard to sit quietly ... in fact, these days, I can hardly imagine sitting quietly for more than three minutes.

I think that it was during her time at the ashram that Gilbert made the most strides toward centering herself and finding some peace. You could almost feel the calm descend over her.

For her final four months, Gilbert travelled to Indonesia in search of balance. She wants to learn from a Medicine Man, Ketut Liyer.

You know, I wasn't even sure where Indonesia was on the globe ... I have rectified that problem. Of course I had heard of Bali ... but I didn't know that it was in Indonesia. I guess I should have paid more attention in Geography class. Ugh.

I think that I would travel all the way to Indonesia just to meet the Medicine Man, Ketut Liyer ... and judging by the videos on YouTube, there are women who have actually done so. The Medicine Man agrees to teach "Liss" (as he calls her) about Balinese meditation in exchange for her teaching him to speak better English. And so their friendship begins.

Liss spends her four months in Bali making new friends, helping them with their struggles, learning some of the customs and eventually, finding love once again. And yes, she practices Balinese meditation.

For a woman like me, who feels as though she has lost a little bit of herself ... perhaps a little bit of her spirit ... this book was just what I needed. And, I can imagine myself re-reading parts of it when I am feeling like I have wandered off my path.

There is a movie coming out in the summer, starring Julia Roberts. I'm sure it will be fabulous ... but will it be better than the book? Absolutely no way!!!! I'll see you there ...

, , , , | comments (1)
The Solitude of Reading
Author: jill
•10:21 PM
Please ... do not tell my husband, but I have been a having an affair these last few days. And, to make things even worse, I don't want it to end.

There is a sure way to know whether I love a book or not. Take a look around my house and try to find me ... if you can. Am I in the corner of the kitchen, over by the refrigerator, hiding a little? Then you know I am engrossed. Am I stirring some concoction on the stove while reading? Are there piles of dirty clothes sitting in laundry baskets generally being ignored? What about the lunch plates - are they still on the table? Then I am in love with what I am reading.

I have just finished a love affair with The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano. Honestly, run to your nearest bookstore and buy this story. My Mom has already asked to borrow my copy, but I don't know if I can part with it ... sometimes, I like to keep my true loves nearby at all times. Yes, I am aware that this is weird.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers is a study of people, so the plot line takes a back seat. Which I LOVE. But that is not to say that there is no action or story at all, however it is not what will draw you in. Oh ... and, it's not a feel good, happy ending sort of story, either. Sounds great, doesn't it? Oh, but it is. Perhaps I am drawn to it for my own personal reasons ... but I'll tell you about that soon enough.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers tells the story of two people, both feeling like they are on the outside (of life), looking in. One who is desperate to make a connection with someone else, and the other who is desperate to avoid emotional connections of any kind ... "he rejecting the world, and she feeling rejected by it ..."

When Alice was eight years old, she injured her leg in a skiing accident and is left to face life with one crippled leg. She is unhappy, and desperate to fit in. She wants to be one of the cool kids as a teenager, and she will do anything to be accepted. You'll see what I mean, when you read the book ... because I know you will. She fights for control over her life by controlling her body. Food and body image become central in Alice's life as she searches for her true self.

The novel begins when Mattia is an eight year old boy and he has a special gift for numbers ... are you beginning to see why this book speaks to me? He is brilliant, and his twin sister is not. In fact, she is mentally disabled, and Mattia finds her embarrassing - a normal feeling for an eight-year-old child. And so, when the twins are invited to a birthday party, Mattia leaves his sister playing in a park while he sneaks off to the party, with the intent of picking her up on his way home. But of course, she goes missing, presumed drowned in the nearby river, and Mattia can never forgive himself. And so he punishes himself by never allowing himself the privilege of companionship.

When Mattia and Alice meet as teenagers, they recognize in each other that common thread ... a damaged soul that seems destined to be alone. A friendship develops and yet, it is difficult to know whether they really help each other in any way.

Alice is desperate to make that connection, however, it seems that people are repelled by her, perhaps because of her physical deformity. But maybe they are not repelled at all; maybe Alice just assumes they are sickened by her appearance because she is. In any case, Alice has a difficult time forming any real relationships. On the other hand, it seems to me that people are naturally drawn to Mattia, and it is a conscious decision by him to push them away. He cannot afford to make any sort of emotional commitment.

"He removed from his desk everything that might distract his gaze, so as to feel truly alone with the page."

Although equally pathetic in their own ways, my heart belongs to Mattia ... and I know I could save him from a life of loneliness. Sometimes my own shit gets in the way, but I always want to help if I think someone is in trouble. I just want to give Mattia a big hug and tell him that it will be okay; and that his sister's death was not his fault. I want to protect him from the hurt he is feeling; and so I am left with this yearning to go and find Mattia; to make him feel better. But, he's not real, right? And so the only thing I can do for real is sit here and brood ... or pick up the next book, I guess. But I'm not ready to say goodbye to him just yet.

The parents in this story appear to be absent. Mattia's mother never seems to recover from the loss of her daughter, and in a very subtle way, it is indicated that she blames Mattia. Although perhaps it is just an assumption made by Mattia. Alice's father withdraws from her because she is no longer able to pursue his dream of becoming an accomplished skiier. And, he feels responsible for her injury. In either case, the children feel unsupported by their parents ... there is no emotional connection between them. Shouldn't you always feel accepted by your parents? No matter what? When everything is crumbling down around you, you should always be able to turn to your parent ... in my opinion, anyway.

Do you even know what a prime number is? Let me take you back to highschool math and remind you ... it is a number that is divisible only by one and itself.

“They are suspicious, solitary numbers, which is why Mattia thought they were wonderful … Mattia had learned that, among prime numbers there are some that are even more special. Mathematicians call them twin primes: pairs of prime numbers that are close to each other … but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from touching … Mattia thought that he and Alice were like that, twin primes, alone and lost, close but not close enough to really touch each other. He had never told her that.”

Maybe, if the even number that separates the twin primes became a common interest, the two could really connect. In some way. Perhaps not the way you want them to, but in some way.

Mattia uses math as an escape from feeling and as a way to shape his world. When given a phone number he immediately makes a mental note that all the numbers are odd numbers; when in an uncomfortable situation he distracts himself from the reality of what is happening by calculating the angle of two things or the volume of the room; while driving to school as a teenager, he estimates distance by counting rooftops. This fascinates me because his brain works so much like my Caiden's does.
 
In some respects, Caiden and Mattia were not alike at all, because Caiden actively seeks out emotional friendships. And it is important to him that you are "happy at him," as he would say when he was younger. However, when it comes to numbers, I think their brains are very succinct. From a very early age, Caiden broke things down into a number ... what time, how big, how long, how many, the most, the age. Numbers are the way in which he understands and reconciles the world. And it seems a little odd to people sometimes, but I find it fascinating.
 
But it is a burden to be smart. It is not easy ... for so many reasons. Mattia says it best ...
 
"Mattia thought there was nothing good about having his mind. That he would happily have unscrewed it and replaced it with a different one ... provided it was empty and light. He opened his mouth to reply that feeling special is the worst kind of cage that a person can build for himself, but he didn't say anything."
 
When Caiden was about three years old, he could count. In fact, he counted all the time, and even now, sometimes when he is trying to calm down or centre his thoughts, I will find pieces of paper with numbers beginning at one and carrying on until he feels the need to move on to the next thing. When Caiden was three years old, he could count in increments of any number ... he counted by 2's and 4's and 9's and 16's and 23's. Any number. It was incredible to hear this little tiny voice rhyme off numbers in sequential orders. And we would encourage him to count for our friends ... because we were amazed. And the more we did so, the more people wanted to hear him ... as he stood with his little calculator and that smile, it was difficult to resist him. But he learned very quickly that he was different ... because his mother insisted that he count for people. Eventually, he refused to do it, and I am certain it was because it made him feel bad inside ... because he understood he was different. It is a mistake I made as a parent; one that I deeply regret and wish I could change. And sometimes I wonder if the reason he hides his intelligence now is because he never wants to feel like that again ... feel different, like an outsider.
 
And so, I am drawn to Mattia and his story of self-discovery. And I wish that I could teach him a set of rules that would make everything okay for him. Because that is how his brain works ... in sequence. This I know from experience.
 
The Solitude of Prime Numbers was a memorable read for me. But it doesn't have to be a solitary experience ... read it and then let me know what you think ... because I am pretty sure I will still be thinking about my Mattia and Alice for a long time to come.
, , | comments (3)