Back to Back Jeffrey Eugenides

At the end of February, Jeffrey Eugenides had a reading/signing at Stanford University (CA), which is actually where he received his Masters degree. I had been keeping Mr. Eugenides on my radar for upcoming readings/signing since 2010 when he was scheduled to do a reading/signing here in Northern California the weekend of my birthday. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend that reading because being my birthday weekend meant I had already planned on day drinking at a local Oktoberfest celebration. Even though I knew I wouldn’t be attending that reading, I still went ahead and read Middlesex in preparation for his next yet-to-be-determined-future-visit to Northern California. The reading in February was great. He shared a few stories of when he was a student at Stanford. I learned how to correctly pronounce his last name. But what really stood out the most to me was my interaction with him when he signed my books.

When it was my turn, I handed him my book. I didn’t initially see a pen in his hand and I didn’t want to be rude or assume he didn’t have a pen, ’cause really, what author doesn’t have a pen handy when they know they are going to be signing books? So I told him I didn’t have a pen and this fool responds with: “So how do you want me to sign them?” Um, ACA-SCUSE ME?! (See movie Pitch Perfect if you don’t get that reference). Look, I get that it was getting late for a weeknight event, so he was probably tired. I’m sure he had old professors and colleagues that wanted to catch up with him. He probably even had dinner plans with some important/influential Stanford folk. Blah blah blah. But to not have a pen/marker on you and THEN get kinda sorta testy with me? Nope, not having it. As an event attendee, I really don’t give a crap. I have NEVER been to a reading where I had to bring my own pen/marker! I don’t know who that fool thinks he is and I seriously don’t give a crap how many books he’s written, I should NOT have to be the one to give an author tips on proper book signing etiquette. Rule #1, Jeffrey (besides bring a copy of the book with your notes), BRING A PEN OR MARKER! Duh. Ok, rant over.

BookfessionsChica’s Note: This post is full of bookfessions.

Hardcover 1st edition, which I own 😉

The Virgin Suicides
(started reading on 2/18/2013, finished reading on 2/24/2013)
Rating: **

The following description of The Virgin Suicides was borrowed from barnesandnoble.com: In a quiet suburb of Detroit, the five Lisbon sisters—beautiful, eccentric, and obsessively watched by the neighborhood boys—commit suicide one by one over the course of a single year. As the boys observe them from afar, transfixed, they piece together the mystery of the family’s fatal melancholy, in this hypnotic and unforgettable novel of adolescent love, disquiet, and death.

Below are some of my favorite quote(s)/passage(s) from The Virgin Suicides:

Four

She did refer, however, to her own misfortune at the hands of love some sixty years earlier. “You never get over it,” she said. “But you get to where it doesn’t bother you so much.” And then before hanging up: “Lovely weather down here. Best thing I ever did was to throw down the old shovel and hoe and get out of that town.” p. 144

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: I wonder, does everyone have that one person that they just never get over? That one that “got away”? That every once in a while just lingers in the back of your mind, sometimes when you least expect it? Or is there a difference between someone that “got away” and wishing you had done things differently with that someone? The latter seems more bearable, less painful. I cannot possibly imagine myself old, sippin’ mimosas at brunch (senior citizens special, of course) with my sorority sisters laughing, talking about our wild days, and bringing up our exes. Then one of us utters those similar words: “I never got over it, I just got used to it”. That’s just depressing. And now I need a drink. And a good cry.

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The Marriage Plot

The Marriage Plot
(started reading on 2/25/2013, finished reading on 3/3/2013)
Rating: ***

The following description of The Marriage Plot was borrowed from goodreads.com: It’s the early 1980s. In American colleges, the wised-up kids are inhaling Derrida and listening to Talking Heads. But Madeleine Hanna, dutiful English major, is writing her senior thesis on Jane Austen and George Eliot, purveyors of the marriage plot that lies at the heart of the greatest English novels. As Madeleine studies the age-old motivations of the human heart, real life, in the form of two very different guys, intervenes. Over the next year, as the members of the triangle in this spellbinding novel graduate from college and enter the real world, events force them to reevaluate everything they have learned.Are the great love stories of the nineteenth century dead? Or can there be a new story, written for today and alive to the realities of feminism, sexual freedom, prenups, and divorce?

Below are some of my favorite quotes/passages from The Marriage Plot:

A Madman in Love

It wasn’t only that this writing seemed beautiful to Madeleine. It wasn’t only that these opening sentences of Barthes’ made immediate sense. It wasn’t only the relief at recognizing that here, finally, was a book she might write her final paper on. What made Madeleine sit up in bed was something closer to the reason she read books in the first place and had always loved them. Here was a sign that she wasn’t alone. Here was an articulation of what she had been so far mutely feeling. In bed on a Friday night, wearing sweatpants, her hair tied back, her glasses smudged, and eating peanut butter from the jar, Madeleine was in a state of extreme solitude. p. 49

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: I think I’ve said this before. Actually, I think I’ve said both of these things before: 1. I LOVE books about books and 2. One of the things I love most about reading is that it validates ones feelings and thoughts. When my thoughts don’t necessarily match up with my feelings and I think that I’m kinda sorta going a little bit crazy, but then I read that a character or an author is feeling the EXACT same thing and I feel sane again. Even if it’s only momentary sanity, until I get to the end of the page or the chapter, it’s a brief welcomed relief. Or even better, when a character or author verbalizes what I could not, it’s like I’ve struck gold. Hmm…I’ve just thought of something. If I strike gold while reading books, then my over-crowded book shelf is like my own little gold mine and the heaps of books that no longer fit on my book shelf, little treasure chests. Basically, I’m rich, bitches! 🙂

The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away…And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? p. 65

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: There are many details of my breakup that I have not mentioned that are still painful, pathetic, and embarrassing. But the name of my blog is a constant reminder of why I started it in the first place, so here goes. In the midst of our breakup my brain was trying desperately to rationalize my next moves. You must understand that I wasn’t eating or sleeping, and therefore spent all my time crying and thinking. Two horrible combinations. I’d lie in bed or sit on my floor crying, plotting, trying to figure out what to do to get him back. Madelaine’s thought process was my thought process. It seemed so simple, it was brilliant. Sincerity. If I figuratively stripped myself of clothing and skin so that all that remained for him to see was the real me, that raw, sometimes not-so-pretty part of you that you allow your lover to see, how could he not respond? I believe there is strength and courage in showing/sharing weaknesses, flaws, fears, insecurities.

I remember my ex once telling me that he wasn’t certain how I felt about him because I always had my guard up, even well into our relationship. I didn’t always ask him for help when I needed it. I held on to independence. He wanted to be there for me and I wouldn’t always let him. He asked me what would happen if we ever broke up. I think my exact words were something like: “I’m not sure, but I’d survive. I was fine before you came along and I’ll be fine afterwards.” Seriously? Who the fuck did I think I was? Who says that to the person they love? That was a shitty thing to say and I’m a shitty person for saying it. I can’t even imagine what it felt like for him to hear that from me. I can see now why he left me. He had every right. Now, I’m not making any excuses, but I think I said that because I was terrified of what would happen to me and to our relationship if I gave him all 100% of me.

Now do you see why my plan was to go for sincerity? It was something I should have given him more of and which he had every right to have and deserved. I mean, what the fuck did I have to lose? I’d already lost him and therefore felt as if I’d lost myself as well. I still cringe a little, but it is what it is. I’m sure he could smell and sense the desperation just oozing off of me. I did and said everything short of getting on my knees to beg him to take me back, to reconsider. I’d plead with him on the phone to let me see him so I could just talk to him in person. When he’d finally agree to see me, I’d come bearing gifts or letters that I’d written for him that were numerous pages long. I’d show up at his house, unannounced, distraught, and in tears so he could see what a mess I was. I tried so hard. I tried so hard it literally, physically hurt. Fun fact. Did you know that heart break and desperation make you feel EVERYTHING and NOTHING at the exact same time? I’d go through my days with headaches from lack of sleep and food, stomach aches from not eating for days, and my skin burning, literally on fire, from anxiety attacks. And yet, I felt wholly and completely numb. I could tell you more, but I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one post. Perhaps it was just too little too late by then.

In the weeks after breaking up with Leonard, Madeleine spent most of her time at the Narragansett, lying on her bed. She dragged herself to her final classes. She lost much of her appetite. At night, an invisible hand kept shaking her awake every few hours. Grief was psychological, a disturbance in the blood. Sometimes a whole minute would pass in a nameless dread…before she’d remember the brutal fact that had caused it.
She expected Leonard to call. She fantasized about him appearing at her front door, asking her to come back. When he didn’t, she became desperate and dialed his number. The line was often busy. Leonard was functioning just fine without her. He was calling people, other girls, probably…
…Sprawled on her bed…she reviewed all the things she’d done to drive Leonard away. She’d been too needy…wanting to be with him all the time. p. 78

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: Pretty self explanatory.

A Lover’s Discourse was the perfect cure for lovesickness. p. 79

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: I have added this book by Roland Barthes to my goodreads to-read list.

The lovelorn English major contemplated the symbolism of this.
…Though at this moment she felt abused, abandoned, and ashamed of herself, Madeleine knew that she was still young, that she had her whole life ahead of her- a life in which, if she persevered, she might do something special- and that part of persevering meant getting past moments just like this one, when people made you feel small, unlovable, and took away your confidence. p. 104

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: Today I am feeling unlovable. Not worthy of love from a man. Heartbreak humbles you, though. I am not better than my ex. I am not better than anyone. I am not perfect. He deserves love just as much as I do. He is now in a relationship with someone else. I am single as fuck. I still wonder why it’s not me he’s with instead. Why her? Why does he get to be with someone and I don’t? Is he more deserving of love/companionship than me?

Pilgrims

She was petrified of becoming the half-alive person she’d been before. p. 200

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: I know that I bitch and moan about being single and not finding anyone. I even signed up for an online dating site, so you can say that I’m actively dating. But (yes, there is a ‘but’), I’m not sure if the right word I’m looking for is ‘relieved’, but a little part of me is almost relieved that I haven’t met anyone I’d seriously consider being in a relationship with because I am terrified beyond words that I will once again end up curled up on the shower floor, sobbing uncontrollably, and heartbroken. Again.

Brilliant Move

…the power dynamics had completely reversed. Now he was the needy one. True, he had Madeleine back, which was a wonderful thing. But Leonard’s happiness was compromised by the constant fear of losing her again…What was interesting about being the needy one was how much in love you felt. p. 249

BookfessionsChica’s thoughts: The power struggle in relationships is interesting. I was 19 years old when a professor of mine in college told me that no two people who are in a relationship ever feel the exact same way about each other at the exact same time. In other words, someone always loves someone just a little bit more than the other person. I think he may have scarred me for life when he told me this. No, I’m sure of it. I’m not gloating when I say that I believe I maintained the “upper hand,” whatever that means, in my relationship the entire time until the day he broke up with me. It was a necessity for me to hold the upper hand, instinct really. Although, looking back it was to my detriment that I held this position. Then the tables turned and I became the needy one and suddenly felt all the love I felt for him on my like a ton of bricks.