ETHOS

ETHOS

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

baby update

It is the consensus of strangers that Wyatt must eat well. I am unsure if this means they are calling him chubby or healthy, or both. He has handled our return to school quite well, thanks to all the help and hard work of our mothers. They don’t read this blog, but they deserve a virtual shout-out regardless.
He laughed the other day. It was a truly infectious sound. He sounded more stunned than joyful— apparently peeing in the bathtub is surprisingly liberating. He is in the habit of talking, or attempting to talk. We’ve had quite a range of conversations considering his young age. His reactions are various, and thoughtful, given the wrinkling of his brow.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

SO I only bought one item at the flea market— a first edition hardback of James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces. I bought the book on a whim when it first came out, read it, enjoyed it, and recommended it to the drug councilor at my school. She took my copy and, by the time I got it back, it was missing the dust jacket, the binding was broken, and it was stained strange colors. I didn’t mind, considering that the book was becoming as beat up as the author claimed to be. I let another friend borrow it, and I should have known, considering the friend… I never got it back.

THEN, Oprah endorsed it, I think my mom even read it, and all the stuff about the story being a bunch of lies came to the surface. Oprah berated the dude on national television, and everyone and their brother came out with a statement about the book, most of which added up to “I wasn’t fooled.”

CALL me a fool. I read it in 2003, I think I even shed a tear or two— something I miss about reading— and swallowed every line. Even the scene with the root canal. Was I mad that it wasn’t true? I have to be honest here. No. I couldn’t care less. The story happened for me in the place stories happen when I read them, and fiction or non-fiction, in my opinion it was a good one. In a way, I'm glad he lied so that it got published, and so I got to read it.

I know quite a few people who only read non-fiction. Usually, I consider this the mark of an immature reader, or someone without the gumption to daydream. In a few cases I’m right. In a few cases I’m not. But when someone writes a story that grips you, true or no, isn’t that magic? As Wireman says, "God punishes us for what we can't imagine." (Duma Key)

I’D say it’s worth a dollar.