It is such a giant cliché, but it totally works on me (see the name of my URL). For example, some of my favourite characters are: Harry Potter, Ryan Atwood, Chris Chambers, Jack Mercer, Lee Adama, Severus Snape, Nu!Trek Jim Kirk, everyone in The Outsiders – I could go on. It’s pathetic really, how totally predictable I am and how quickly I prefer this archetype. But I’ve learned to accept my quirks for what they are and embrace them.

And now I’ve added a few more to my list. Sam and Dean Winchester from the TV show Supernatural. This is my latest obsession. The premise of the show is that Sam and Dean are two brothers who hunt demons and other Bad Things. Lots of monsters and ghosts abound. But this is not what drew me in. What got me was the relationship between the brothers, the I-Will-Do-Anything-To-Protect-You attitude, particularly from older brother Dean. And if I have a thing for lost boys, throw a bunch of them together and make them brothers? Well, I’m done for (see again: The Outsiders, Four Brothers).

I’ve been feeding my new Supernatural obsession with the DVDs The show is currently in season five and I recently purchased Seasons 1-4 from eBay. I am bound and determined to get caught up by March 25th when the show returns from hiatus.

This stuff is my crack.  It is an illness, I swear, lol.

Then: December 1999

1. Age: 21

2. Romantic Status: Single, but still madly in love with my ex.

3. Occupation: University student/part time admin at Revenue Canada

4. Fun night out: Probably an evening at Zaphod’s or Icon. Not a lot of partying happening though.

5. My BFFs: Cristina, Laura, Olga

6. I spent way too much time: Browsing the internet

7. I spent not enough time: Can’t think of much, actually.

8. I wanted to be when I grew up: An author with a published book.

9. Biggest concern: Finishing school. Getting over the ex.

10. What my biggest concern should have been: Probably finishing school and getting a job.

11. Where did I live: Kent Towers. Best apartment ever. Super nice, great location.

12. Dumbest thing I did that year: Got mad at my friend Matt for no real reason and stopped talking to him.

13. If I could go back now and talk to myself I would say: Just wait. Everything will change, but enjoy all of this. Take more pictures.

14. Picture of myself then: No digital camera back then, and none of the few I have are scanned.

Now: December 2009

1. Age: 31

2. Romantic Status: Single.

3. Occupation: Acting manager at federal government department.

4. Fun night out: The lookout. A pub.

5. My BFFs: Harder to say now. My friendships aren’t of the same intensity. Plus I’ve gotten in some rather large fights with two of the people that would have previously been the answer to this question.

6. I spend way too much time: Browsing the internet. Some things never change.

7. I spend not enough time: Cleaning. Writing. Reading. Many other things.

8. I want to be when I grow up: An author with a published book

9. Biggest concern: Finding a new job once this acting position ends.

10. What my biggest concern should be: My heath and well being.

11. Where do I live: Smack downtown Ottawa.

12. Dumbest thing I have done this year: Oh…let’s just I developed a crush on someone unavailable.

13. What I think I would say to myself in 10 years: Thanks for always listening to yourself, even though it sometimes takes a while to sink in.

14. Picture of me now: www.facebook.com/photo.php

Summary:

1. What do I miss most from 1999: Not much. Maybe Laura.

2. What do I miss least from 1999: Being in school.

3. What have I accomplished in 10 years that I am most proud of: I’ve built a life for myself with a good job, good friends, travel, arts and culture. It’s pretty well balanced.

4. What have I NOT accomplished in 10 years that I wish I had: Found that relationship. Written that book, even if unpublished.

So this was the context which led me to the story of Aminata Diallo’s story.

For some reason I can’t put my finger on, Book of Negroes seemed to me from the start to be Roots-esque. Again, explaining why is difficult; Roots is far more epic of a story, and they only appear to have one common thread: life as a slave.  I suspect it’s my own failing – I clearly need to explore more stories in this vein so that I can have more comparisons.

It would have been difficult not to be somewhat disappointed in the plot, with such a legend as my only template for how to tell such a story.  BON was bound to fail to live up to expectations in that circumstance, so I did my best to let go of my pre-conceived notions.

Book of Negroes drew me in almost instantly.  Once again I made the mistake of beginning to read a book at 11:00 p.m. just before bed, and ended up awake till 4 a.m. just to finish it. So I can say with confidence that BON was engaging and a quick read.

The story of Aminata (and why does everyone have such a hard time pronouncing her name?  Seems easy enough to me…) begins in her childhood in Bayo (Africa), follows her across the ocean on a slave ship and her life in captivity and through her writing her own name in the Book of Negroes in an effort to gain her freedom.

I enjoyed the characters.  I liked them all – from what we saw of them anyway.  I had a particular curiosity and affinity for Chekura from the start.  And while his relationship with Aminata was incredibly (incredibly!) predictable, I still kind of loved it all the same.  What did bother me was its unrealistic nature.  Or so it seemed to me.  Granted, I’ve never been a slave in the U.S. in the 1700s, but how likely is it that these two would be able to follow each other throughout life?  They both survive being enslaved and manage to find each other again and again despite that captivity – not to mention the sheer size of the United States.  What are the odds of that?

Suspension of disbelief at its best.

My only other point – and here I risk sounding insensitive, I’m aware – is that it seemed Meena had quite a bit of luck in where her life took her.  Now, again, I’m aware that’s relative.  But it seems odd to me that she would have multiple people who were willing to teach her to read and write (a black female in the 1700s).  And her second owner was quite kind, as these things go.

The Book of Negroes is not the only novel to fall into this trap.  I know I have read several novelizations of historical tragedies where it seems the protagonist manages to somehow avoid the incredibly horrible treatment that the world now knows as the norm at that time.

But it’s forgivable.  If Meena were to die of fever on the slave ship, there would be no story then, would there?

I read the book in its entirety in about 5 hours, drawn in not because of the originality or complexity of the plot, but because of my intense sympathy for the character.  Hill makes a brilliant choice in starting Meena’s journey into slavery at 11 years old.  She is a child and we cannot help but want to look after her and know she’s ok. 

And that’s what kept me turning the page.  I wanted her to find someone to care for her.  I wanted Chekura to find her again.  I wanted her to get to keep her children.  I wanted her to somehow get back to Africa again. 

I wanted her to be free.

A great book and a slice of history by a Canadian author. Highly recommended. 

For more on Hill and his book, see the CBC.  For a fascinating look at the real Book of Negroes, see the Government of Nova Scotia’s archive site.

I’ve discovered – decided – that you can only reach out to someone so many times.  That sometimes dignity and self-respect must take priority over friendship.  Even 12 year friendships that you can’t imagine no longer being there. I’m fairly sure the saying isn’t “Four strikes, you’re out!”  Hell, sometimes three is too many.

It’s hard letting go when you don’t want to.  It’s even harder to forgive someone who hasn’t actually asked for your forgiveness, who hasn’t admitted to any wrong doing.  What’s it like to live a life where everything you do is 100% justified?  Must be nice…

It’s so incredibly frustrating when all you want to hear is “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” It doesn’t have to be dramatic or self-flagellating.  Just a simple, “Yeah, that was completely shitty of me.”  And yet, you know it won’t come.

They say people come into your lives for a reason.  I believe that.  But I also believe that sometimes things change so drastically that you can’t even see it.  Like suddenly walking out into the bright sunlight from a pitch black cave.  How did that happen?  Why didn’t I notice that brightness, that change, in the distance?

But by then it’s too late.  Not only are you wincing in pain from the light, but the cave has collapsed behind you.  No going back.

I am willing to admit to my faults, as difficult as it may be.

I am willing to apologize, and reach out, despite my simmering anger.

I will breathe through it, because it is worth the effort.

Eventually even shouting into a canyon loses its appeal.

One can only listen to their own voice echo for so long, after all.

Too long I’ve been afraid of
Losing love I guess I’ve lost
Well, if that’s love
It comes at much too high a cost!

– Defying Gravity

I am not. Or at least, no more so than anyone else.

If I choose to get angry after flying from Ottawa to BC to visit you and you drop me off with no warning on the streets of Vancouver, alone, at 9:30 at night on my first day there so you can go have sex with a girl you’ve been seeing for a month? Yeah – I’m going to get pissed.

If you say things like: “I don’t believe people are whole without a romantic partner” and I make a face of disagreement — no words are spoken, I just make a face and turn away — well if you then kick me out of your house at 12:30 a.m. because you don’t like the face I made or because I disagreed with you? Yeah — I’m gonna be pissed.

Maybe I’m cynical and sarcastic. Maybe I offer my opinion when it’s not asked for. I’m willing to cop to those things. It’s hard, but for certain friendships I try hard to do it. But when you tell me I “have a great sadness I need to work on.” because you are a channeller and the angels told you so (after kicking me out of your house — see above) I tend to get angry.

Do not tell me what is in my heart. Especially if you’re drinking every night and your life is in a shambles because you drink every night. But you’re a “light worker”!

Do not tell me that you got fed up with me “yelling” at you after you dump me on the streets of a strange city, multiple times, to go have sex.

I’m willing to admit to faults, don’t get me wrong. But if these are the ways people react when they’ve finally reached “the straw that broke the camels back”? Well that’s their problem for not raising their concerns earlier.

I do not deserve how I was treated in these incidents. I’ve apologized for other longer term, underlying hurts, but these? Not my fault.

(P.S. Two different people, same time frame).

Many people have wondered how you can make a movie out of what amounts to be a 10 page picture book. Not only how, but whether you even should, given that said picture book is beloved by people the world over and is a cherished piece of many, many childhoods. It would be a daunting task, of that I have no doubt. But Spike Jonze has done an incredible, incredible job.

Where the Wild Things Are is a movie about Max. Max is out of control, so says his Mom, and after he gets in trouble with her and runs off (here is where the movie differs from the book), he has a great adventure in a far off land where he discovers his new friends, the Wild Things. They anoint him as their king, and everything is fun and simple and fantastic.

Until it’s not.

Max discovers that his new friends are often angry, childish, hurt & lonely, and sometimes feel neglected. It is hard, he learns, to be king and make everything perfect, as the Wild Things expect him to do.

I won’t go further into detail, but suffice it to say that the film lived up to my expectations and beyond. Max Records (who plays Max) does a brilliant job of being both angry and hurt. The Wild Things are incredible, and I had no idea a puppet could be that emotive – Carol almost made me cry near the end. The best part by far is the dialogue. It is pure and straight from the heart of a 9 year old. Or, you know, Dave Eggers and Spike Jones. They killed it. It made me laugh in pure glee, as well as with that quiet chuckle of remembrance and recognition.

Where the Wild Things Are is a film about a child. It is darker than your typical children’s fair these days, but I also think children would enjoy it. Their parents may enjoy it more.

The first bit of formula is that there must always be a modern day heroine following or investigating the life of the historical heroine.  In the tenth gift we have Julie Lovat and Catherine Tregenna respectively.  For a while I was worried that they would somehow be the same person (reincarnated) or related or some such — particularly when Julie’s cousin points out that they have the very same handwriting!  Thankfully Johnson does not follow down the path that Labyrinth took.

Julie receives an embroidery book as a gift, an embroidery book that happens to be hundreds of years old and once belonged to the above mentioned Cat Tregenna.  In between the patterns and notes, Cat keeps a diary of sorts.  And while Johnson endeavors to explain why Cat knows how to write — her employer wants to do well by her and see her educated — it seems very unlikely that any woman of cat’s station in the early 1600s would know how to write.  Suspension of disbelief.

Cat’s diary tells of her dreams to leave her village home, her horror at the prospect of marrying her cousin Rob (really?  “Rob”?  It just seems so informal for 1625…) and eventually her capture by Barbary pirates who intend to sell her into slavery.

Some criticisms first:

Gosh Cat and Julie fall in love rather easily.  Here is where The Tenth Gift becomes formulaic again.  Both women fall in love with Morrocan men.  I can only assume this happens because the author herself fell in love with a morrocan man while she was there doing research for the book, because she really doesn’t show us why they fall in love.  We don’t get to know either man well enough to understand it — particularly in Cat’s case, where the man she loves is the man who captured her and her friends and family.

Having Rob go all the way there, spend months as a slave, only to have Cat turn him down was just MEAN.

Gosh Anna was awfully forgiving.  Too forgiving, in my opinion.

Not only are Julie and Cat far too similar, but the two men who died at the Cornwall house both write the exact same goodbye note to their wives?  Because one potentially haunts the place?  What?

The book was a captivating read, in spite of these flaws.  I finished the whole thing in one sitting and was very interested in seeing if the plot would follow through what I felt the rest of the pattern was.  It did, and despite being wildly predicable, it was entertaining.

He fought hard against a form of cancer that I hear is awful.

To you, patirick. A class act to the young girl I once was.

So, the Shack instantly comes across as one of those Inspirational books that will Change Your Life merely from the blurb on the back cover. It attempts to answer the question “Where is god in this world of unspeakable pain?” through the story of Mack. Mack has lost his 8 year old daughter; she was kidnapped and murdered while the family was on a camping trip. In the midst of his gut wrenching depression and anger, Mack receives a note telling him to back to the scene of the crime. It is here is ostensibly gets the answer to the question posed on the back of the book.

I am a natural skeptic of these types of books. I want them to mean a lot to me, as they seem to be trying so hard to do so, but it is the trying too hard that turns me off. For example:

1) The faux non-fiction type of writing, as if it was a true story and Mack a real person. I’m not sure what the point of that was, beyond emotional manipulation.

2) God as a big, black woman. Great idea, i totally get what Young was trying to do here, I do. It was an attempt to show people that god is not something that is stereotypical, he is not necessarily male, or white or whatever. And the other two parts of the trio were very United Colours of Beneton as well. But I guess it just seems that by doing this Young is trying to be edgy.

3) God as “Papa”. Sigh. I don’t know why this makes me so squirmingly uncomfortable. But it does. I like the idea as god as a father, and calling him “father” doesn’t bother me. “Papa” seems too familiar, too intimate. I suppose that may be the point. But unlike Mack, I couldn’t get over it.

Despite these negative points, I did enjoy the book. It had a message, although sometimes it was hard to figure out exactly what that was. Young does paint god as a very compassionate, approachable deity, which is a refreshing change.

“I am not evil. You are the ones who embrace fear and pain and power and rights so readily in your relationships. But your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome”

And this bit was particularly interesting too:

“Who said anything about being a Christian? I’m not a Christian.”

So, overall, a worthwhile read, just to make you think. It certainly did that for me, and I read it all in one sitting, late into the night. So go into it expecting interesting discussion on religion and life, and you will be satisfied. Go into it expecting to suddenly end up in church next sunday — well, you may have missed the point entirely.