Monsters in Austen
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." It's one of the most-famous opening lines in English literature. But I might like this more: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”
That, anyway, is how Pride and Prejudice and Zombies opens. I'm not sure whether to vomit or to buy it. I might do both. I guess it was a hit last year, and is now followed with Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. New York Magazine does the review:
It's hard to say, in the end, if this is an homage, an exploitation, a deconstruction, or just a 300-page parlor trick. Although the sea-monster subplots, considered independently, rarely rise above pulp clichés, the book's best moments do achieve a kind of bizarro symbiosis. The monsters make Austen's abstract threats ridiculously concrete (Elinor is nearly killed by the notorious Devonshire Fang-Beast at the same moment she learns that her love is secretly engaged to someone else), and Austen, in turn, dignifies the monsters: They serve as gargoyles emphasizing the immaculate balance of her original story's structure.
Autobiographical Corner
"[T]he will of God is now manifesting itself in those circumstances which are the duty of the present moment. It is the fulfilling of this duty, no matter in what guise it presents itself, which does most to make one holy."
That's de Caussade, from his spiritual masterpiece, Abandonment to Divine Providence. The book is filled with these types of observations. I've keyed a lot of them into my iPhone. I'm going to need to re-read them repeatedly this week. After a weekend filled with kids' activities and social obligations (one of which I blew off, out of the basic need to keep some sanity), here's what my week holds:
Monday: Late appointment at the office, but nothing later in the evening (rejoice!), with the exception of getting kids to-and-from cross-country, tennis, and football practices (I don't even count practices as part of the weekly schedule anymore, since they're almost as routine as breathing, and they merely chop up my time--not misappropriate the whole evening).
Tuesday: College Night for Alex (16), piano tutor at house from 6:30 to 8:00 (assortment of sports practices).
Wednesday: Junior High home football game and home girls cross-country meet. I'm praying for the gift of bi-location. Fortunately, the girls meet only takes about 30 minutes, so I'll be able to make all of the meet and most of the game.
Thursday: Work at county fair to raise money for other people's children to go to college (3:00 to 10:00).
Friday: Varsity tennis team at house for team dinner.
Saturday: Rocket football game (at home, thankfully), Marching Band Festival one hour away and tennis match 90 minutes away (wife will probably field those last two, but it leaves me with logistical problems with the other six at home), Fund-raising Dinner.
Sunday: National Honors Society meeting.
I hold this truth to be unassailable: If people reproduced more, schedules like this wouldn't exist. I live in a culture of small families, so culture takes on characteristics that small families find most desirable. The biggest characteristic: non-stop children activities. If, after all, it's all going to over in a few years, why not go the proverbial balls to the wall? Plus, it's not like 100% devotion to two of your children leave the other five starved for attention . . . there aren't five others.
Believe it or not, I'm not bitter about it, but I do sneer at anyone who suggests that maybe I ought to "do X" or "engage in Y." It's simply impossible. It's all kids stuff, all the time. I challenge anyone out there--absolutely anyone--to walk just a city block in my shoes when it comes to time-management issues.
I have more than my share of good blessings, and for that I'm grateful, but a dose of discretionary time isn't among them. Am I bitter that other people have time to work on the next great American novel or play golf? No, but I hope they understand when I decline to participate in X, Y, or Z. In fact, their mere suggestion that I do so often elicits a vulgarly negative response (which I normally keep to myself).
Did I mention blogging will be light this week?
