Finally Off My Nightstand!

A long English Easter weekend, a ferocious cold snap and a last minute head cold meant I could uninterruptedly (as uninterrupted as one can be when living with a man) plow through the Karleen Koen novel Through a Glass Darkly, which has been lounging fatly on my nightstand for the better part of two months. To be fair to Ms. Koen, her novel was preempted by a reading list that harkened from before Christmas (my weakness being 3 for 2 offers at bookstores and P's weakness being trolling all bookstores within a ten mile radius on weekends). I have to be honest though. Eyeing that book on my nightstand every morning as I got ready for work, I realised it requires some chutzpah to take on a book that weighs more than a yorkie terrier and is infinitely more difficult to drag around. That's right. It's a wrist sprainer. The kind of novel you cannot casually carry in your handbag, cannot read lying down for the strain, and cannot drop into for a minute or two between tasks. And I didn't have that kind of chutzpah to face my morning commute with 700 pages of angst and half of London (you better believe it).

Circumstances, being what they were, did eventually conspire to bring the novel and the reader together. And this reader found herself trapped somewhere in the 400th of angsty pages wondering how she got there and where would it all end? Relatively well-written (though a bit stilted and a firm believer of symbolic repetition in the school of the dead horse), rich with historic detail, engrossingly fleshed out characters and a narrative that nimbly leapt from one character to another without jarring. But something happens to all that poise and promise and suddenly, the last half is like a modern day tale of Job. Yeah. Super fun. Though, I guess in keeping with Easter weekend--the origins, not the chocolate.

Everytime P came in from the gym or working late or from another room, I had another death to report. It was as if Karleen Koen wanted to single-handedly reinforce belief in the high mortality rate of the early 18th century with smallpox, consumption, suicide, heart attacks, duels. And while it initially did feed into the development of the characters, it quickly became this hysterical sob-fest--much like morbidly reading the papers for other people's tragedies and natural disasters. Weeping, wailing, tearing hair (theirs) and after a few sniffles (mine), I heard myself muttering, 'Oh, come in! Another burial?!' Plot device number 23: DEATH and Plot device number 24: HOW CHARACTERS DEAL WITH SAID DEATH.

Karleen--can I call you Karleen?--what's going on? Why?! Are we meant to have everything that we love taken away from us, just to know that we can be strong and that we'll always have Grandmama and faith? Cause, um, I got that when Angel asked an unarmed and defeated Buffy what she had left as he stood over her with a sword and she answered: me. Before puting the whale on him, girrl power style! [*By the way, she clearly didn't need Xander telling her about Willow's attempt to lift the curse--buying time for the spell would have been diasastrous! Yeah, I went on the record.]

Naturally, the ending left me bemused. I wasn't sure if I was coming or going, what I should be feeling and if I really should have sneakily had that second KitKat while P was at the gym--and whether I would confess when he got home? I gave it some thought and besides the old chestnut that 'life is short', I choose to take away one of its central repetitions:

'Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.'

Proverbs 4:23.

It's good advice from Grandmama Tamworth back in 1715 and it still holds resonance today. Actually, I do wish Grandmama Tamworth was my grandmother. The old girl knew how to keep it real and didn't suffer fools gladly--which is exactly how I want to be when I grow up! P also didn't seem to judge me for the second KitKat, which I guess is what Easter is all about--chocolate and that whole Jesus vibe of loving compassionately!