We are finally home from Portland after almost two weeks and it really feels good.
Tonight I noticed something about the choice of where one spends their time. Ben and I watched Saving Private Ryan tonight and that was time well spent. But after, when I had gotten ready for bed, I asked myself what I wanted to do… did I want to watch the home and garden channel or did I want to read a book that I need to read for class this Spring. All of a sudden it occurred to me, I was choosing between my home and my education. My stereotyped role as a woman and the role that I have chosen for myself.
I suppose they are both my chosen roles, but you know what I mean.
Now I know that this must have come up before… I chose to read for class instead of vacuum; I chose to write a paper instead of doing the dishes… but now I’m thinking what a funny dilemma for me to have had when my husband is usually more domestically minded than I am.
I think this is what saves the situation. That, and the fact that what I really want to do is read my book. I find HGTV is really more of a zoning out activity for the end of the day when Ben is on his computer and I’m needing to rest, but not to sleep.
So the book it is. A murder mystery actually by an author that I have already read and did not like. The main reason was that he overuses metaphor. For example:
“The man’s coat was as red as the evening sunset. As he walked down the avenue, crooked as his own wrinkles, he stopped and stared at the poster, like a man staring at his own fate…”
Blah, blah, blah… that was me and not the actual book, but you get the idea. There are probably metaphors in ever sentence or at least ever other. After a while it stops becoming descriptive writing and starts to just be annoying.
But anyway, a girl is killed and a good cop, among a bunch of corrupt cops, tries to find the bad guy while searching for the meaning of life. His own daughter disappeared and his wife is dead, so he is alone and mainly works and then goes home to contemplate what life is about. I don’t have a favorite character so far and I’m about 100 pages in; we all know that’s not a good sign. Like the author’s writing, the main character is also annoying and all the others are too innocent, not innocent enough, or dead.
I did just finish The Color Purple, another book for class in the Spring. While disturbing, I did find that I loved this book. I have always enjoyed Alice Walker. The book, also a movie, won the Pulitzer Prize. As I began reading, I wanted to know what made it that kind of novel.
The book is epistelary, written in letters to God and others, and as I read it I began to see the subtle skill and direction that Walker has, that I’ve noticed in her other works. She is a poet, even with the most delicate and horrific subjects. She has a way with writing, with words, that deserves an award.
So I’m home, off to read my book and maybe to write a little myself.