So, I must admit, after reading Judy Blume’s Forever and after watching the classic 90s hit Little Giants, I’m feeling a little nostalgic.  Our class discussion last week sparked a lot new “threads” in the complex machine world of my mind.  Our main focus, though sometimes spiraling out of control, was focused around the question, “to whom is Chick Lit trying to sell?”  You see, we decided that one of the scary and definitely unfortunate differences between today’s Chick Lit and the Chick Lit of yesteryear (or rather during its infant stages in the 70s and early 80s) is that now Chick Lit has become just another way to rake in the dolla dolla bills, ya’ll.  As is the whole publishing industry.  Ouch!

We discussed the fact that now, when a writer wants to publish his or her work, the first question begged is not “who will read your book?” but instead “who will buy this?”  So what we’re saying is that book buying is not about consumption in terms of the book’s material, but instead about a book’s sheer purchase power.

That is to say, the difference between books like Blume’s and those of the last (half?) decade is content.  To me, Forever was written to communicate a message.  It’s content poses those questions that, at the time, were continuously being swept under the door mat.  Questions about love and sex, and teenagers making their own, adult choices in such terms.  Chick Lit today, as my class discussed, seems much more about name dropping – chic restaurants, stores, celebs etc. – in order to catch the eye of anyone who might be willing to spend the fifteen dollars for the book, thirty for the hard copy.

Take a look at this article to read more about Forever, and what its purpose was, in the words of its author.  

http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/childrenandteens/story/0,,1500565,00.html#article_continue

First, let me apologize for my late post. As this is my first time with chicklit, it is also my first time with blogging. And, as I found out today, “Save” is not the same as “Publish.” So, my post was saved, and not published. Here it is, published:

This time, I almost enjoyed the book. The story is interesting, somewhat exciting. One feels that they are also on an adventure, learning from travels while reading the book. I, as a reader, could really relate this time to the desires of Liz.

But I didn’t like her. Why? Maybe other people feel the same way, maybe other responses to the book can help me pinpoint why, while I can relate to Liz’s desires, I do not like her. So, I look them up. First one I read: A New York Times book review by Jennifer Egan.

“This is easy to believe. If a more likable writer than Gilbert is currently in print, I haven’t found him or her. And I don’t mean this as consolation prize, along the lines of: but she’s really, really nice. I mean that Gilbert’s prose is fueled by a mix of intelligence, wit and colloquial exuberance that is close to irresistible, and makes the reader only too glad to join the posse of friends and devotees who have the pleasure of listening in.”

O.K, so clearly my dislike is not a general consensus. So, I think deeper as to why I do not like this woman. I relate to her, I really do. She is needy and independent at the same time. Obsessed with being with another yet striving for freedom from any one else. Trapped by the constraints of forming needy relationships, and using all her might to get out. This is me: this is me right now. I am experiencing the exact thing that sent her on this journey right now!

Maybe I do not like seeing myself reflected in others. Maybe it hurts to much to see one’s own faults by reading about them in another. No, I like that part. I like being able to see my own faults without the harshness of placing them all on myself.

I know, she is pretentious. She is yuppy pretentious. She thinks she is so open minded because she spends time with an Indian Guru. She thinks she is so spontaneous and brave for picking up and leaving for another country. She thinks she is so strong-willed to leave, stay away, learn another language etc. She is conceded and in no way humble and I don’t like her. Really? No, I sound like a jealous high school girl. Maybe Elizabeth Gilbert really likes herself, but why shouldn’t she? She is a nice, fascinating, smart woman. She is not pretentious, she likes certain parts of herself and is proud of them, and she should be.

So why do I not like her? Why can I not connect with her? I think I am jealous. I think that horrible, awful, useless feeling is blocking my connection with Elizabeth Gilbert: She’s doing it and I’m not. She is breaking away from neediness, re-making herself a strong woman who will be better after the fight, and I am not. She is stopping herself from falling back into her same old routine, and I am falling back into that same old routine.

What is interesting about this is that usually people like reading about fantasy worlds they would like to be in, about things they want to be doing. The Harry Potter phenomenon: everybody has a secret desire to be a part of that magic world. The common themed children’s book of running away into the woods, as in My Side of the Mountain. Children like reading that book because they escape to a world in which they themselves have run away to a mountain and are living off of fish they catch with their bare hands. Or take the common mystery book. People like to escape into worlds. That’s what so much pleasure reading is. So why don’t I like escaping into a world that I so want to be a part of, the world of breaking free, re-finding happiness without needing anyone else?

Because it is to real. While no one can actually escape to a world of magic, or run away to a mountain, I could break free as Liz is doing. And, she is not fictional. She is real, and she is doing it. And I am not. She is showing me that I could do it, and yet I am not breaking free. She is proving to me that I could if I wanted to bad enough, if I was stronger; but I am weak. She is stronger, and braver, and she will come out happier after her experience. And I will not. I do not like Elizabeth Gilbert because I relate to her too much, and she is doing what I wish I was strong enough to do.

She’s doing something about it and I’m not, and, even worse, I probably am not going to.

One thing that stood out to me in this book was the plethora of references to a traditional family model where the wife is in charge of the domestic realm and the husband is in charge of finances. In many ways, this model makes the wife dependant on her husband. I can’t tell if Bushnell is defending this way of life, or simply acknowledging that a working father/ stay-home mother family is still the norm in our society (I hope it is the latter).

This idea presents itself at one point in the first half of the book, when Wendy wonders why she had kids. She knows that the kids are the only reason she has stayed married, but also knows she had children for another reason as well. “She’d had children simply because it was the most natural thing to do- she’d never even questioned the possibility.” To me, this unquestioning belief in raising a family represents Wendy following the traditional female gender role in our society, without thinking of what she would actually like out of her life. I see that this complacency, or lack of thought was not the best path, resulting in Wendy’s unhappiness, but I wonder why it took her so many years to become aware of her life decisions and realize that she is not happy.

Another section worth quoting on this topic appears a little later in the story.

“Everyone always said that women had choices, but it wasn’t exactly true. Women didn’t really have the grab bag of options everyone said they did- and itchy reality Wendy began to understand in college. By her sophomore year, she had decided that there were basically two types of women in the world: women for whom men went crazy, fell in love with, and eventually would marry and pay for; and women who, for whatever reason, didn’t inspire much ardor in men- at least not the kind of grand passions that would cause a man to ‘provide.’”

First of all, I do not think women can be separated in to these two groups. Also, I think it is terrible to divide women in to these two groups regardless of its possibilities. It is completely devaluing to categorize women according to how men will “provide” for them. Doing this only promotes women to see themselves in relation to how men will take care of them.

Although Lipstick Jungle is about women in powerful careers, it contains a lot of jargon about female dependance on men, witch the book would do much better without.