Does my bad news apply more to me or to the kids? Depends who you ask, of course. I know they feel exhausted, over-extended, brain-fried, and I empathize with them, but oh how I envy their endless stamina. By the end of a day, my midlife brain starts letting me do things like putting my keys in the refrigerator or packing an empty tupperware for tomorrow's lunch. The kids may feel tired, but I'm thinking that seventeen-year-old tired has nothing on forty-something tired.
Bad news - I am forty-something, and I am not getting younger. Good news - teaching kids is pretty close to reversing the effects of aging. That's why I get to dress up as Ursula for homecoming. Teaching means you never have to fully grow up. What a perk!
Teaching also means I get to read books ALL THE TIME. Eight-year-old me that used to walk home with my nose in a book (and run into things) is thrilled! In the past two weeks, I finished The World Without Us by Alan Weisman (75 thoroughly depressing pages of Earth's decline), I made major progress in Missoula by Jon Krakauer (259 more pgs. - should finish this week, but I'm so angry that I had to take a small breather), and I finally got into The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt (about 180 pgs., though I'll read more tonight). All together, I read over 500 pgs in 420 minutes of reading in the last two weeks. If I finish Missoula and The Goldfinch by the end of next week, I'm on pace for two books every two weeks, and I'll be on track to finish close to 60 books by the end of the year. Question is - can I beat Ms. Mayo?
Bad news - I probably won't beat Ms. Mayo. Good news - I will have many more titles to recommend to my students. At 771 pages, The Goldfinch is a beast of a book, so I will recommend it with caution, but it represents what I loved about books when I was young; they take me away to a different world where I can just about smell the scents surrounding me and hear the whispers of shadows. The first book I remember that made me feel that way was A Wrinkle in Time. When Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which whirled into Meg's world, I felt their presence as keenly as if they were whisking me away via tesseract. With Tartt's tale, I have the same sensation.
The book opens with the narrator and his mother visiting The Met. Tragically, a bomb explodes, leaving Theo's mother dead and Theo unconscious. When he comes to, he begins searching the wreckage for his mother, but instead he finds a man "flat on his back and whitened head to toe with dust," a man "very frail, with a mis-shapen hunchback quality" and a "face...stippled with an ugly spray of burns" (33). Tartt's reference to a hunchback has me guessing this man is decent and kind, and the remaining imagery clearly signals he's not going to survive, but he has enough time to give Theo a mysterious old ring and inscrutably asks him to deliver it to Hobie, who must "close the register and get out" (40). In those moments of interaction, I am lured into this New York City scene and anxious to find out who Hobie is, why he needs the ring, and why he needs to "get out."
Bad news - did I mention that the book is 771 pages long? Good news - Tartt wastes no time in introducing Hobie. When Theo finds out his mom didn't survive the explosion, he feels desperately alone, and he seeks out Hobie, who offers Theo an escape from his grief. Hobie, a furniture restorer who worked with the man in the museum, begins to teach Theo about precious old furniture that differs from restorations and their "flat, dead quality of wood, lacking a certain glow" and instead carries the "magic that came from centuries of being touched and used and passed through human hands" (170). Now Tartt has me lost in a world of antiques and varnish and trinkets from the past. Though I live in a thoroughly modern space with conveniently mass-produced furniture (thanks, Ikea!), I love a book that surrounds me with all things old.
If I were going to buy antiques, now is the time. This article in Forbes discusses the cut-rate prices on once priceless antiques - tables and chairs from 1700s France selling for one quarter of their previously extravagant prices. Seems that everyone's going modern, wanting furnishings that match our tall glass and metal buildings. People are also, apparently, giving up the sentimental attachment to family heirlooms. They're ready to sell off great-great-great grandfather's writing desk for a hefty sum of cash to spend on a new Porsche. Sad.
According to Tarrt's book, new things carry no experience, no wisdom. They are fresh, clean, and unsullied by the world. They are like my students, finishing their tests and suddenly lively again, filled with adrenaline, ready to march in the homecoming parade, to grasp every moment of life. But old things, while not as shiny and pretty, carry their own special glow, the light of their experiences, and though they have rough edges and wobble a little at times, they carry memories of youth inside. Hey, wait, I'm talking about something other than furniture here. I purchase modern items out of necessity based on space and budget, but I do like the idea of reusing and preserving what is old because with a little patience and a little attention, everything old can be new again.
Tartt, Donna. The Goldfinch. Little, Brown, and Company: New York, 2013.
Tarmy, James. "Now Is the Best Time in Decades to Buy Fancy Antique Furniture."
Bloomberg. Bloomberg. 21 Sept. 2016. Web. 21 Sept. 2016.
All That Jazz. Directed by Bob Fosse. Twentieth Century Fox, 1979.
You might beat me! I just started book #40.
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