Podkayne of Mars by Robert Heinlein

Nowhere in the book is it
suggested that Podkayne
dresses like this.

I regret that the mighty Heinlein has struck out. So far I have greatly enjoyed every Heinlein book I’ve read until this one. With Podkayne of Mars (1963), Heinlein breaks many other patterns as well. The hero, Podkayne, is a girl. She is not in the military or in training for that. The book involves a political intrigue that Podkayne is only tangentially connected to. I have to admit, though, that by the end of the book, I liked it. I had to put aside my “modern” womanist values and be patient (book is quite slow up until the last 50 pages) in order to see the charm of this book.

Podkayne is 16 years old and is from Mars, though of Swedish/Maori descent (!). Her life on Mars is pretty tame, livened up by a bratty genius brother. At the beginning of the book she is committed to becoming a space explorer, piloting her own ship out into the universe. In the course of the book, however, she “grows up” and realizes that maybe she could just be a crew member on a ship…piloted by her husband…at least until she devotes herself to motherhood. In the crisis that develops in the plot, it is the genius brother who saves the day and in fact he takes over the first person narrative that has been in Podkayne’s words all along. Podkayne’s voice is taken away. The old Podkayne is pretty much burned to a crisp…she didn’t follow her brother’s orders.

These harsh lessons are learned as Podkayne goes on her first interplanetary journey. She is supposed to go from Mars to Venus to Earth. She doesn’t make it to Earth, so I don’t know why it was even in the book. The plot self-aborts on Venus. There is some cool science in the book, like how to plan an interplanetary journey given the various orbits and rates of rotation of the various space bodies. There’s also a somewhat obligatory sequence of everyone in the space ship cooped up in a radiation shelter during a solar flare event. I’m glad Heinlein allowed for the existence of solar flares, but the main lesson that Podkayne learned was that taking care of babies in space would be more fun than being a pilot.

The lengthy diaper-changing-in-space sequence was somewhat preposterous, especially given the careful science with which Heinlein treats space travel. No mention of feces and urine flying free in the low-grav environment or of the diapers themselves floating off en masse. There is mention of baby vomit spheres floating around but other rules of gravity seemed to cover poop and pee. Burping the babies was not discussed. This part of the book makes me value more highly than ever the invention of Velcro--you could really nail those babies down with Velcro.

I was shocked by the unbridled sexualness
of almost every image that came up for the
search "girls in space."

Podkayne is a typical 1960s teenage girl, a bit vain, worried about clothes and boys. Her science-orientation sets her apart until her conversion to traditional womanhood later in the book. It is the broadening effect of traveling to other planets that helps her see the error of her ways. Her mother, a famous engineer responsible for the terraforming of whole moons and the establishment of civilizations thereupon is criticized in the end for not spending enough time with her children…her neglect is seen as responsible for Podkayne’s insufficient attachment to infants.



Heinlein went with the cannister
model of spaceship



I am not upset with this book. It is just funny now and majorly out of date, as it should be 50 years later. I had more trouble with its slow pace. A hundred pages of roaming around a space ship preceded the 40 or so where the plot actually happened. The word “dithering” comes to mind.

 Hei

I’m sure Heinlein faced some pressure to write a girl’s book. This book, though, seems high-jacked in the middle, veering into a different book altogether. I would love to know the story of the writing of this book.

Sci-fi and the Status Quo


I did not add the circle. Later in the series
Troi's hemlines dropped, but then her
neckline also did.



Science fiction almost always reinforces the status quo, even as it claims to go beyond any known world. Traditional (antiquated) sex roles almost always prevail, even in the most up-to-date sci-fi with the most liberal values--I’m thinking of Counselor Troi’s wardrobe from Star Trek Next Gen.

The 21^st century Battlestar Galactica finally pushed back on these stereotypes and it broke open all sorts of amazing possibilities. The crucial moment was the decision to cast ace pilot Starbuck as a woman. But generally, women are passive nurturers in science fiction--the same role they are cast in in most portrayals in film, TV, and literature. Being a female sci-fi fan is a hard road to travel.



Starbuck



Another thing I appreciated about Battlestar Galactica was that they didn’t focus on an “alien creature of the week.” There were no Klingons or Vulcans. Because, you know, if there are other sentient life forms out there in space, they are not at all likely to be close together. We probably won’t encounter them in any near-earth neighborhood. Battlestar Galactica saw space as bleak and empty, hostile to life. (And, of course, there are amazing implausibilities in Battlestar Galactica--I simply choose to ignore them in this blog post.)

Images of Women in Science Fiction
 Princess Leia
 Katniss
 Nurse Chapel
Hermione--regular, prom
 Linda Hamilton from Terminator
 President Rosslyn of Battlestar Gallactica
 Tasha Yar of Star Trek NexGen
Starship Troopers, another Heinlein title

The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Speare

At its most basic, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Speare, follows the pattern of a fairy tale. The main character is forced to wander from her home, enters a world where all the rules are different and strange (to her), undergoes trials and tests, grows up a lot, then resolves it all in a happily-ever-after marital conclusion.

The fairy tale ending was a bit disappointing, given the imaginative setting and wonderful characterizations of this book, but seems appropriate for a book published in 1958. In fact, for 1958, the hero of this book is wonderfully imagined--her inner life is rich and she faces the epic conflicts of all great heroes--sacrifice vs. safety, self vs. community, self vs. family, right vs. wrong, freedom vs. duty, and so many more. This book reads as current--I had many ideas as to when it was written. It's a fine book--interesting and, in the best sense, sweet.

Blackbird Pond follows Kit Tyler as she flees her home in Barbados--colorful, urban, lush--and arrives in cold and stony colonial Connecticut, home of her only living relative, an aunt. The discovery of the New England landscape, its charms and perils, is one key feature of the book. A second key feature is Kit's introduction to the culture of Puritanism in the 1680s--diametrically opposite to almost all she has been taught. The third key feature is Kit's submersion in self-subsistance (work, in other words). These three strands are interesting all in themselves. Seeing the landscape, culture, and work through Kit's new eyes illuminated it for me, made the Puritan period way more three-dimensional than I had viewed it before.

And then there's witchcraft. Kit is first suspected of being a witch as her ship from Barbados comes into port. A child drops her doll into the water and Kit jumps in and swims out to get it. Scandalous. People in New England, apparently, do not swim. Kit, if she fears not the water, might be a witch. Witches float. Kit is a peculiar bird in the Connecticut aviary. For example, she has no work clothes, she can't cook or sew, and she doesn't understand silent obedience. Against her uncle's direct order, Kit develops a relationship with an old woman considered to be a witch in the community, which casts yet more suspicion upon her. The old woman is a Quaker (another peculiar bird).

Anyway, Kit's characteristics put her at odds with the community; her actions put her and others in danger. The fairy tale ending is a bit of a cop out because Kit's marriage will remove her from the Puritan community and give her back most of the freedoms she had been denied. So, did she change and grow? Yes. And this is a children's book, so a portrayal of a lifetime as a questionable outsider is not feasible. I just worry that the fairy tale ending short circuits Kit as a true hero in the hero journey sense. The book is weakened by this, I think, made ordinary when it could have been great.

I don't think I've ever read a book set in this time period before, depicting village life in a Puritan community. It is interesting to see the seedlings of independence being sown, grown, and nurtured. The Puritans feared they would lose their autonomy when Charles II restored the British monarchy and actively prepared to resist. I never understood that before...that tradition of self-determination. And I never understood that Puritans and Quakers pretty much hated each other, resulting in severe persecution of Quakers. Kit's friend in the story had been branded.

This book is a Newbery Medal winner for good reason. You'll feel, like I did, like you've traveled through time and space to an alien land where the shape of the nation to come is just beginning to emerge.

Starship Troopers, by Robert A. Heinlein

Here you see the full-body
suit and the spider
creatures.

Heinlein strikes again with a compelling first-person narration of the training and maturation of a space warrior. Starship Troopers (1959) tells the story of Johnnie Rico, who enlists in the military on a whim. In this world, only veterans of the military who serve two years or more can become full citizens with the right to vote, but that isn't Johnnie's prime motivation. He just goes along with a friend and then gets caught up in it.

As Johnnie moves through his basic training and then begins service in the mobile infantry (ground fighters who are transported by spaceship), he gains a deeper and deeper understanding of the the role of a warrior and finds that he is maturing into one. I liked Johnnie. I felt like I knew him.

The main enemy Johnnie is fighting is a spidery creature with an ant-like social organization. The infantry drops from the spaceship in multi-layered spheres. As they fall through the atmosphere, layers burn off one by one until finally there is a parachute and then free fall. Each soldier is encased in a huge armored fighting suit that allows him (they are all hims) to jump or bounce, so the final drop to the ground is cushioned by a firing of the bounce thruster--you hit the ground moving. The suit is fitted to the soldier and enhances all of his senses and physical prowess. Pretty cool.

In the movie, the full body armored suit
gives way to mere physique. The spider
is highly exaggerated.

Heinlein really is the master of first-person narration. The style is conversational and self-disclosing, like reading someone's journal or letters home or hearing them tell their story around a campfire or something. I was hooked almost immediately. The book opens with a scene of action and then flashes back to Johnnie's enlistment. The opening action made me eager to read on and find out how this character came to be in this predicament. So, within a few paragraphs, I knew I would finish this book and, truly, I could hardly put it down.

Now, I know I am a science fiction geek, but nothing in the description of Starship Troopers would indicate that I would particularly like it. Indeed, much science fiction writing is bad, bad, bad. But I've loved every Heinlein book I've read (see earlier posts). I attribute to this to Heinlein's terrific writing.

Heinlein justifies restricting the vote to military veterans by citing their willingness to put the needs of the many above their own needs. That places them above the regular everyday Joe. They also have a fantastic desire for survival--after all, dead soldiers don't vote. In the context of this book, that made some sense. Other of Heinlein's ideas for successful government were harder to swallow. He really does think that most people should not vote, for example. I skimmed through most of those sections of the book. However, you can see the author's ideas moving toward Stranger in a Strange Land. Interesting.

I have one more Heinlein book coming in through inter-library loan. I can't wait to get it. Another boost and cheerlead for Robert A. Heinlein.

Someone is grimacing in
almost every image from
the movie.

The 1997 Movie Starship Troopers
The same day that I finished this book, I scrolled through the TV listings and found that the 1997 movie of the same name was being shown that afternoon. The movie was loosely based on this book, but the movie was terrible, an adolescent nightmare of hormones and bravado. The magic of the book was its exploration of one soldier's response to his experiences; the book is not even very action-oriented. Not so the movie. Action was front and center. Every character was beefed up on steroids. Everyone overacted. There was none of the quiet camaraderie of the book. Alas.

The Year 1959

Paul Drake from the TV show Perry Mason
--no hair oil on top, but the sides are
plastered.

I was interested to find that this book was written the same year I was born. However, being set in the future, none of it takes place in 1959. I don't know what insight I might gain about my own life, the mindset into which I was born. If I use Heinlein as a guide, voting rights are not very high on the priority list. Everyone is white, although Johnnie is of Hispanic origins. Surprisingly, women are permitted in the military in Starship Troopers, but only as pilots--they have particular skills in this area, apparently. So, I guess this pretty much sums up 1959. Military solutions are in vogue, as is (as usual) dehumanizing (or buggifying) your enemies. Poor people are invisible.

Danish modern

I am fascinated right now by movies that were filmed in the years my parents were born or got married or the year I was born. I love looking at the fashions and the themes. Earlier in this blog, I reviewed a Perry Mason novel by Erle Stanley Gardner and became re-enamored of this TV series that was set in the very early 1960s and was considered to be somewhat fashion forward. I know that whatever is fashionable NOW seems like reality, so it's fun to see what the reality of my parents and their parents looked like. In the early 1960s, it seemed that we would all always smoke, we would all always have large cars (with running boards!), and Danish modern would prevail. Men would always have their hair oiled (except for Paul Drake) and women would have permanent waves and wear shirtwaists. Perry Mason was ahead in technology, using reel-to-reel tape recorders and other gadgets. My mom liked this TV show. I'm sure it influenced her.

Love the love beads, Janis,
but not the drugstyle.

The expectations of that world also shaped me. We were just coming out of the "man in the gray-flannel suit" period. Retail was everything and my dad managed a shoe store. Conformity was good, but not mandated. Maybe this toe in the 1950s is what makes me think that even if I had been a bit older and therefore qualified to be a hippi, I wouldn't have done it! I just wouldn't buy in to the lifestyle (drugstyle--another new word), even if I bought into the beliefs and the fashions. Who knows?

Today, my expectations are moderate. I no longer worry too much about the fate of the world. I try to practice "here-and-now-ism." What am I doing right now? Where I am I right now? What is happening at this time in this place and what role am I playing? Those are my questions.

Blogging from Mojoe's in McArthur

Guess what--McArthur has a coffee house...Mojoe's at 200 W. Main Street, formerly Jack's Bar. This is my second visit--I had a frappe yesterday and today I've sucked down a fabulous cappuccino with flavoring and whipped topping. The wi-fi is free, so I've been sitting here blogging away while customers come in and out. I feel sooo Northwest coastal, although most of the clientele so far has come in from the middle school!

It's cool having a place for coffee. It's nice to have a place to hang out without feeling like I have to order a meal...nursing a cup of coffee for an hour or two is the exact right thing to do here. It's a godsend for a writer...the right mix of isolation and companionship, private and public at the same time. Somehow, writing in public bypasses the writer's block mechanism that so often afflicts me at home. My mind is free. I even made up a new word in the course of my previous blog entry--dreamality, the state of a dream, which can have a much higher level of reality than fact. Many truths are intuitive rather than reasoned.

Mojoe's has the standard array of coffee drinks, hand-dipped ice cream (the only location for this in the county that I know of), and cookies, but has plans to start offering food as soon as they reach an accord with the health department. That will be cool, too. And, dig this: They may have bagels. Bagels. In McArthur. Not from the freezer case. That would remedy one of my greatest deprivation...I miss a good  bagel so much!

Coffee and a bagel takes me back to my college days, when I first learned to drink coffee and had my first bagel ever and learned what cream cheese was and learned that there were other kinds of cheese besides American. Those were heady times. And now we might have them right here in our town. The mists are rising in my brain...the caffeine is saturating my imagination, blending past, present, and future like the milk, coffee, and ice in a frappe. Wonderful.

See you at Mojoe's!

The Little White Horse, by Elizabeth Goudge

Elizabeth Goudge grew up near some of the
most beautiful estates in England...settings
she recreates in her books.

I think the "little white horse" of this title was changed into a unicorn late in the editing or revision process. The horse never exhibited any behaviors particular to unicorns. Removing the horn would not have changed any element of the story. Just saying...

The Little White Horse (1946), by Elizabeth Goudge, defies labels. It's sort of a fairy story, sort of hero girl emotional rescue book, sort of a gothic mystery, and sort of, yes, allegory. I wouldn't say the hero Maria was on a hero journey or quest because, although she gets wiser, she does not really change. Her values and personality are fixed from the beginning. She certainly has adventures, but the changes occur in those around her... she is the catalyst.

Remove the horn and you still have
the exact same story.

The Little White Horse is about an orphan girl, Maria Merryweather, who is sent to a mysterious estate to live with her only surviving relative, an uncle. She travels with her governess and her pet spaniel. On the journey, they pass through many landscapes and then through a mysterious gated tunnel...a true indication that they are passing into another world or realm or reality. The Moonacre estate turns out to be just that--a self-contained fictional world with its own rules and realities...its own dreamalities (dreamalities...just made that up!). Maria finds that there is a curse on the land, one that only she can lift.

The home in a cave under the mountain.

Goudge blends the conventions of mythology, fairy tale, mysticism, and youth novel into a frothy and yet substantial story that can only be judged by its own assumptions. I kept trying to find a framework from which to evaluate it and failed. I ended up having to just go along for the ride, to move from one fantastical landscape to another. Moonacre is large enough to have a village and a church, farms, parklands, and of course, the huge old manor house with its towers and turrets. But the best locations are indoors--Maria's amazing round bedroom with its tiny door--no big people can even get in; her friend's home in caves under the mountain--also rounded; the old church with a chapel displaying the body of the original Merryweather, the man who incurred the curse.

Maria is a "moon" Merryweather, while her uncle
is a "sun" Merryweather. The interactions of sun
and moon, light and dark, are infused throughout.

The characters are lively and include animals...the animals never speak aloud, but their communication is obvious and they play important roles, are considered family members. They communicate through expression, body language, and movement, as my own companion animals do. Maria starts out with her own spaniel, but is soon adopted by a huge dog, a mysterious cat, a giant hare, and a pony. The animals accompany her on all of her adventures. A group of oddball characters run the house and estate, including a gnomelike male cook/housekeeper who keeps everyone stuffed with an amazing array of food. Don't read this book if you are on a diet--you'll fall off the wagon for sure.

The story resolves in a kind of bliss...happiness reigns...order is restored.

In Harry Potter, you "follow the
spiders," but in this book, keep your
eye on the pink geraniums.

The main themes are dark and light, sun and moon, right action and wrong action. Explosive temper is the main root of all the evil in the book, the factor that brings the curse. Maria and her fiance Robin (yes, she gets engaged at age 13!) are most at risk from their tempers and it is their mastery of temper that allows the resolution.


There is a strong flavor of Christianity in this book...the animals bring a sort of Francis of Assisi feeling to it and the restoration of an ancient monastery is key to the action. The original Merryweather cannot enter heaven because he usurped the old monastery from the monks. Pagan imagery is also prominent...nature is somewhat personified and the plants and animals seem to have their own individual spirits. I guess is comes closest to the Chronicles of Narnia in that regard.

But those are boxes to put the story in and that's what I found out I cannot do. This was a book of great beauty and depth and I feel enhanced for reading it. High recommend.

Children's Poetry Collections

The books I read were Favorite Poems Old and New, Selected for Boys and Girls by Helen Ferris (1957); Poems to Read to the Very Young (1982), selected by Josette Frank, and A Child's Garden of Verses, by Robert Louis Stevenson. Many Stevenson poems were included in the other two collections.

For the most part, these poems bored me out of my mind. I was reminded of when I read every Sherlock Holmes story one after the other. Individually, they might have been caviar, but consumed all at once they were more like Spam. They tended to be pretty insipid, reflecting the sweet-rural-innocence view of childhood. I longed for Shel Silverstein, with his gulpable caviar, or Dr. Seuss with his tasty confections.

The Ferris book was huge--567 pages of poems and more than 40 pages of indexes and credits. The book's average of two poems per page added up to more than 1000 poems. The poems were nice enough and some of them excellent, but most were bland. Roughly half were poems from "real" poets like Stevenson, Dickinson, Hughes, and so on. If I had children to read to, this book would be a useful resource, I think, and would certainly introduce some grand formal language.

I was frightened by the fact that the world of this book is completely gone. Today's young don't do the things the kids in the poems are doing, roaming freely through the out-of-doors, staring around in wide-eyed wonder, watching plants grow and cheerful birds pull worms from the ground. Kids don't occupy their own charmed world, and I'm sure they never did, but this vision of bucolic, mild, gentle children has deeply persisted.

I've written before of the odd prevalence of agricultural and gardening imagery in children's literature, even though the agrarian era is completely past. Whenever children see where vegetables are grown or cattle are raised, for example, it's always in a small garden or on a small farm and the cattle are cheerful even though heading to slaughter. Milk comes directly from the bucket to the table. The Ferris book is actually more balanced than the other two because it has more of an academic slant. It includes selections of Shakespeare and beautiful quotes from the bible. The 23rd psalm is in the book. But this tome is culturally archaic and I say this sadly, not sneeringly. It tells me we really need more Shel Silversteins and Dr. Seusses to speak to our modern children of modern times. The Pokey Little iphone. Three little pigs crying "Wii, wii, wii" all the way home. Let's write for the kids we've got, not the kids we wish they were.

The Frank book is insipid. Most of the poems in this book were also in the Ferris book. I thought that by 1982 we would have been a bit more culturally advanced, but the illustrations in this book show rural small town life (a few city scenes thrown in) with every child but one being white. I don't know how that one black kid got in there on page 15. There is also one illustration of "children of the world," with appropriate stereotypes--looked like the art was from 1962 instead of 1982.

Again, the poems in the Frank book would not hurt a kid, and added to a bedtime story would be beautiful. But it might benefit your children to have more up-to-date selections available.

A Child's Garden of Verses just makes me barf. Coy. Precious. Soft-soaped. Sentimentalized. I know Stevenson is famous for this book, but I can't stomach it. As with the Frank book, it's probably not harmful, but I don't think our children 200 years later will relate to it.

Earlier in my reading list, I read a baby book of little poems and they were quite nice, small poems written directly for small children. Here is my review of three books by Kay Chorao, including The Baby's Bedtime Book.


Kay Chorao's The Baby's Bedtime Book is a collection of poems for babies and toddlers, with big, thick, cardboard pages. The illustrations are beautiful and the poems are sweet. They are focused on woodlands and farm life—so prominent in the experience of today’s kids. If you share this book’s idealized vision of babies, you’ll love the poems, too. And, really, they are repetitive and gentle—good for calming babies in preparation for sleep.

 

I also picked up two other books by Chorao. Pig and Crow is a funny picture book about a lonely pig. I liked the fact that the pig got tricked over and over by the crow, but came out happy in the end. Kids learn about growing plants and hatching birds—what you see is not what you get—a little seed turns into a big pumpkin. A small egg turns into a fun goose for company (not dinner). All good. I think little kids would enjoy this book.

 

Little Farm by the Sea takes you through the life of an idealized family farm—one where they grow and raise just about everything at once. The book moves through the growing season from early spring plowing and planting through late fall harvest. The romance with our rural past continues. Are young people really able to relate to this? In the time of Dora the Explorer and ipods? I thought this book, though beautiful, was pretty boring. It was way more didactic than Pig and Crow in presenting the cycle of life.

Burnett's Little Lord Fauntleroy

My most previous blog post was on A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I thought it would be interesting to go back into my reader response journal to see what I thought of another of her works, Little Lord Fauntleroy, from my pre-blog period.

I was surprised to see that in this response to Burnett's Little Lord Fauntleroy I cited Dickens, as I did many months later in my response to her A Little Princess. Dickens' child characters are not nearly as sentimental as Burnett's--he moves from the personal story into the sociological and the metaphysical. But both portray some pretty harrowing ordeals for young people and give them due credit for responding to those ordeals. The children are not paper cutouts.

Here is my response:

Little Cedric, a charming boy living in working class neighborhood in New York City in the approximate 1850s, is discovered to be the sole heir of an English Earl. He is plucked from his happy life and becomes equally happy in his new life. There are plots twists here and there, but the core of the book is in the relationship between Cedric and his grandfather.

The grandfather is hardened, self-serving, and disliked. Cedric, though, sees all through his own eyes, and asserts the essential goodness of grandpa. Grandpa’s transformation is both sweet and unsentimental.

I was surprised that this was such a delightful book. The excessive sweetness and virtue of the title character, Cedric, Lord Fauntleroy, was well balanced by wry wit and dry asides from the author. The boy Cedric’s golden character transforms the lives of all who come in contact with him. He is not trying to rescue, but his very self is enough to work wonders.

The book is funny and well paced—as fast as you always wish a Dickens book would be. The writing was fine. Clashes between working class folks (American and English) and the aristocracy were well drawn. There's a great joke about U.S. Independence Day not being celebrated in England.

As with the book Black Fox of Lorne (see earlier post), England is presented as a cultural paragon. Even the crusty shop owner from New York City goes to live in England without a backward glance. And Fauntleroy, while asserting his American-ness, submerges wholly in upper class English life and doesn’t look back.

I enjoyed this book. I don’t know if I’d recommend it generally to today’s children, but it holds up well as a genre book from its own time.

Burnett was born in England and split her adult life between England and the United States. She was a socialite, fashion-conscious, and wrote books to maintain her lifestyle through her own earnings. And, she was successful. Her books sold (and continue to sell) well and were filmed and dramatized for the stage even in her lifetime. She started a fashion rage based on Fauntleroy's clothing--lacy shirts and velvet suits and fancy shoes for boys--and on his hair--long, blond, and curled with bangs like a girl's.

I think this is very funny, that her boy was so girlish, since, as I mentioned in my Little Princess blog post, Fauntleroy played a role in his book that is usually reserved for girls.

The funniest example of the Fauntleroy look is Eddie Munster. I never realized until reading these books that Eddie was dressed like Cedric in a huge fashion inside joke!

Child-Hero
I wish that I had had more of a sense of heroism in my own childhood. I put it down to a lack of delusion--in a sense, the little princess and the little lord Fauntleroy survive because of the faith/delusion they have that they are part of something serious and important. And studies have always shown that non-depressed people are actually somewhat delusional--they tend to see things through rose-tinted lenses. How to make depressed people re-delusionalized, that's a question begging to be answered.

A young friend told me recently that he went off his anti-depressant medication because the pills made him feel like he wasn't worrying enough--that stuff was getting away from him. He couldn't take the delusion, wasn't ready for it. I thought that was interesting and self-aware. And goes to the issue of resilience. What made Sara and Cedric so resilient? Was it their early awareness of devoted parental love? Was it their submersion in heroic literature? Was it just a literary device to make the plot happen?

Anyway, I could have used some rosy spectacles in my younger days. I was so much older then...I'm younger than that now.