Ah, romance.

For those of you that don’t know (as if anyone who doesn’t know me is reading this), I am a lover of classic British romance novels. No, not the modern sexual fantasy novels with hunky guys shirtless on the cover, but REAL romance. Most recently I came to the realization that I had never completely read North and South, by Elizabeth Gaskell. For shame!!! I’ve recently come to realize that I prefer North and South to Pride and Prejudice in some ways. I know, I know! It’s almost sacrilegious. It tears me apart to even think of it. But it’s true. And there’s a reason.

(My thought process was created with the aid of my wonderful sister Ms. Molly Lewis, and she deserves a lot of credit for what is about to be written. Just so everyone knows.)

Both Austen and Gaskell follow similar if not identical storylines. Girl meets boy, girl dislikes boy for character flaws, boy likes girl for her personality (helped along by her being remarkably handsome), girl rejects boy, girl realizes boy is awesome; girl and boy share a wonderful and beautiful moment in the final pages and make me wish I lived hundreds of years ago. Also make me consider trying to bring back that style of necktie. They look so dashing. The same right? Not so fast!

The difference lies in the characters perception of themselves and what they deserve. The two scenes that best represent what I mean are the same in both books. The initial proposals are both met with vehement rejection, but the man’s attitude in each is different. While Darcy is assured in his own mind of success, Thornton hardly allows himself to hope. Success for Darcy would simply be a realization of his own self-worth, while for Thornton it is something only imaginable, beyond belief. Darcy feels that he deserves Elizabeth. Thornton knows that Margaret is too good for him. By the end of each novel the two people are together. While Austen gives a sense of real happiness between her two lovers, Gaskell does more. And her version of love is what I want in my own life.

Thornton knows that he doesn’t deserve Margaret. Margaret knows that she doesn’t deserve Thornton. Darcy and Elizabeth may live happy together until their deaths and if so that’s wonderful. But Mr. and Mrs. Thornton will live every day of their lives together feeling like the luckiest people in the world. If you can’t wake up in the morning and look at your husband or wife and feel that kind of emotion, then I think that you are missing out. And that’s why I’m still single ;)



I kid. I don’t think that I have too inflated an idea of my own self-worth; I think that I need someone who challenges me. And yes Molly, I read the ending of North and South four times. It was beautiful.

I wrote that previous post last week, but just now brought my computer into the land of connectivity. Such is the life of a woodland man. I was about to write about how pretty the snow was as it drifted down from the heavens. Before I could transfer my thought to the page it went from oh so pretty to oh damn. "wintery mix" which means icy slush and silly drivers. This happens multiple times per year people, get used to it!

In reference to my earlier post, I have an update. I just read my sister Molly's favorite book Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. If you haven't read, get off your ass. Go to the bookstore. Buy it. Read it. Pass it along to a friend. Unfortunately for me there are few people here in Pope County Arkansas that would read it if I gave it to them...

Give them a free welder and they'll be over the moon. Classic literature? Maybe not. That's what Molly is for!!!

Also, I need ideas for a name for my "ranch." Any and all suggestions are welcome.

Self Realizations

I am continually reminded throughout my life that others know me better than I know myself. No matter the trappings of life that I choose to surround myself with, or the current situation. They know how my mind works. The foremost of these (far beyond the nearest of comaprison) is my beloved sister Molly.
She recently (and yes I call several months ago recent, since she was herself a year late in sending it) sent me a novel crafted around the idea that the novels of Jane Austen can teach us how to live life. While mildly tedious and repetitive in some parts it is a delightful memoir that I throroughly enjoyed.

I wonder if my sister while reading it mentally put quotations around certain passages and aimed them in my direction. I would not have been surprised to see whole paragraphs highlited with a sidebar comment- "This is for you little brother!" Beyond the obvious dicussions of pride, prejudice, love, forbearance, etc... was another lesson that I realize I haven't fully learned. How to read a book. Molly, I hope that you remember the time many years ago that I laughed at you and poked fun over your reading a hefty tome titled How to Read a Book. For that instance I apollogize. I do not apologize for trying to sneak into your room to turn off the Titanic sountrack. You tortured me with it for months. I despised you.

I grew up in a literary family. In comparison to many others we read a lot. A vast amount in fact. I was a voracious reader in my youth and prided myself on being above my peers in that respect. I read longer, more complex, and higher grade level books, and thought that made me better. I was a snob, if that term can be used in referance to a twelve-year-old. Having nothing else to feel superior about I clung to it. My junior year in AP english language we would analyze a new passage from a novel every day. I recall feeling so superior when I was the only one who could recognize a passage and already knew what to say.The best example is the Mr. Collins proposal. I'd read the book and seen the film multiple times. Needless to say, my level of knowledge of 18th century english romance did little to increase my social standing. If I'd been smarter I would've kept my mouth shut and feigned indifference like the rest of the class. The annoyance I feel now is that that sense of academic superiority is now without merit and has no real foundation amongst people of my age group.

While at 16 I was beyond my peers in literary study, I am now immensely behind. I can hardly feel guilty for the fact itself. Most of my then-peers went on to college and spent years of their lives dedicated specifically to furthering their knowledge of the written word. I rowed around the Atlantic with 140 guys. Boat quote- "We can't watch that movie tonight, it doesn't have any titties in it!!" True story. Not exactly intellectually stimulating.

The question  resulting from this reflection is- what do I do now? I want to learn how to read again. I used to mistakenly equate volume with knowledge. If I simply stuffed more words into my brain it made me a better reader. When I was in high school that was enough, but is it still? Thoughts?


Current read is DH Lawrence- Sons and Lovers. It appeared on my shelf from somewhere. Molly, was that you?