On the Shelf

I love rereading books. Books are almost better the second time around, you can catch all of the details you didn't get the first time and you know what's coming, so you're not so overcome with emotion when something dramatic happens. When you're crying, you generally start to skip things and miss important details, at least I do.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is one to read. And reread. And rereread.
It's the tale of Junior, a dirt poor Native American teen, riddled with medical, emotional, and every other type of problems. After being expelled from his reservation high school, Junior is faced with a choice, and he chooses the lesser of two evils and decides to go to the all white high school in a neighboring town. A school filled with white kids that are filled with hope and money and the only other Indian is the school mascot.

Junior's journey is chronicled with wit, joy, tears, and hilarious cartoons that he draws throughout the story. How can a teen overcome grief, first love, poverty, and trying to fit in all while being marked by as a traitor by his tribe and trying to get good grades in a place that he doesn't belong?

Some might say friendship, that's how he gets along. That is the biggest cliché I've ever heard. It's partially true, the new friends he makes help him keep his head above water, but they never really understand his situation. After all, they have futures and things to look forward to while Junior's future is looking bleak. 

After winning the basketball game against his former school, Junior reflects on the impact of the win:

Okay so maybe my white teammate had problems, serious problems, but none of their problems were life threatening. 
But I looked over at the Wellpinit Redskins, at Rowdy [his old best friend from the reservation]. 
I knew that two or three of those Indians might not have eaten brekafast that morning. 
No food in the house. ...
I knew that none of them were going to college. Not one of them.

I don't think Junior gets his strength from his friends, his dwindling family, or his teachers, but from himself. This is also a giant cliché, but it's true. Junior knows that he could do something if he wanted to, make a better life for himself. He could get out. He also knows that he deserves it, which is the hardest for most people to grasp. Everyone deserves it. 

This blog post has been brought to you by the letter "C" for Cliché, Campy, and Corny 

On the Shelf

“Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is… Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever." 
                                                              -Girl, Interrupted 

Girl, Interrupted is my favorite movie. Angelina Jolie, Winona Ryder, Whoopie Goldberg. It's sensational to me, but most people think it's weird and don't like it. It scares some people, but not in a horror way, but a worrying way, like because I'm emotionally attached to this movie, I'll suddenly want to kill myself or I'll go crazy and go to a psych ward. Like being crazy is contagious. 

Is it?

Backing up... Girl, Interrupted is a 1993 memoir written by Susanna Kaysen, a woman who in 1967 at the age of 18 was sent to a psychiatric facility for two years after trying to kill herself (to her, the attempted suicide was metaphorical, she was trying to kill an aspect of her personality.) She didn't find out what illness kept her there until 25 years later. Borderline Personality Disorder was the final diagnosis.  

As I'm reading, I completely rationalize with her, which scares me more than a little. She's a completely rational, extremely intelligent woman. How can she possibly be crazy? I notice that I have some of the same tendencies as she did. Her process of thinking is scary similar to my own process of thought. 

Am I crazy? 

This is the constant question in my head though out my reading. I want to say, "Obviously not. I'm a normal person," but I know deep down I am. We all are, aren't we.

Kaysen says, “Was insanity just a matter of dropping the act?” 

Is it?

She recounts her experiences in the working world after her release. She could tell people were questioning their own sanity while talking to her. They saw her normalcy and wondered about their own state of mind.

"A person who doesn't talk to herself or stare off into nothingness is therefore more alarming than a person who does. Someone who acts 'normal' raises the uncomfortable question, What's the difference between that person and me?... If you're crazy, then I'm crazy..."  

We're all crazy. There's a thin line. Sanity is mostly chemical, a malfunction in the brain between neurons and neurotransmitters. Right? 

How can we differentiate between the sane and the crazy when the lines become more blurred everyday. "Crazy" people run countries and religious groups and are influential people, but are they really crazy? 

What's the definition? Is it the ability to be rational or rationalize actions. Susanna Kaysen is perfectly capable of rationalizing her actions. She's a fully functional, health adult, she's written best selling books. How did she earn two years in a loony bin? 

It makes you wonder about the lines we draw. Sanity isn't black and white. It's all grey. 

Insanity can be contagious after all. 

On the Shelf

He stared at me. "She liked you, boy." 

The intensity of his voice and eyes made me blink. 

"Yes," I said. 

"She did it for you, you know."

"What?"

"Gave up her self, for a while there. She loved you that much. What an incredibly lucky kid you were."

I could now look at him. "I know."

He shook his head with wistful sadness. "No, you don't. You can't know yet. Maybe someday..."

                                                                     -Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli

I took on a new book over Labor Day weekend. It's one of those books that's been sitting on my sister's shelf (my ultimate source for books) for ages. I knew it was good, but I just never read it. I though I knew what it was about, and I mostly did, but I wasn't prepared for how much I really loved it. 

It was Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli.

Stargirl is the tale of a junior in high school, Leo Borlock, and the girl who steals his heart. She's the new girl in school, a previously home-schooled sophomore, and she's anything but ordinary. Susan "Stargirl" Caraway is her name. She changes her name every once in a while, she plays the ukulele, she wears sweeping pioneer skirts, she carries a pet rat around with her, she is kind, sweet, and selfless. Absolutely selfless. 

Dropping her in the Mica High student body is like dropping a fish in desert. She couldn't be more out of place in the sea of conformity. The other students don't know what to do, so they worship her. They worship her until they don't. She's shunned by the entire school, except for Leo. He only wants to be with her, but he can't handle the pressure of going against the grain, so he forces her to do the one thing that can destroy her: normalcy. She conforms and they still don't accept her. 

Stargirl's transformation into the normal teen "Susan" is completely devastating. Watching the pilot light on the furnace of her originality makes you want to shake Leo and show him what he's really doing: stifling her, drowning her in the sea of conformity. All because he couldn't deal with the consequences of being with an outcast. 

Everyone's blind in this book. Leo blinded by selfishness and his need to be accepted. Stargirl blinded by love, selflessness, and her driving want to make everyone be truly happy. The entire school is blinded by their social expectations, their psychological need to fit the "norm" like a sad, boring puzzle pieces. 

Stargirl is a symbol for selflessness and individuality. I want to strive to be like her, we all should. If everyone was like Stargirl the world would be a place of loving, creativity, maturity, and honestly, spiritual awareness. We wouldn't all conform to one type of "Stargirl" because there is no one type of "Stargirl." The world would flourish. 

As usual, I'm probably reading too far into things, but that's just me. I'm taking away something special from this. Something as special as thinking that you might have heard a Moa. 

We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew.