Unhappy Muses
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
I love this quote from Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. It's the stuff of life. And the stuff of novels.
I find myself fascinated by the coverage of Aaron Spelling's death--and the news that his wife has made certain her daughter was stiffed out of his will. He was worth a HALF A BILLION dollars. But in the old adage of money can't buy happiness, Mrs. Spelling apparently feels no need to share.
I'm not blogging about gossip because I really CARE that Tori Spelling will only get slightly more than Mrs. Spelling's MANICURIST in the will. But I am blogging because it's just so damn amazing. People who should have everything can't seem to remember they could help the destitute, they could create a foundation like Bill and Melinda Gates and Warren Buffet, they could help make sure the victims in Dafur get rice and medicine or that every child in the U.S. get vaccinations . . . and most of all, even if they don't want to save the world, that they could love and share with each other. I don't get it.
But Tolstoy is right. The themes of novels . . . and the themes of life . . . may differ in the details, but when it comes right down to it, they're pretty much the universal. Love, loss, betrayal, murder, more betrayal, deceit, death, grief. But it's those horrid details, those slights and backstabbings and broken trusts that are unique and fascinating. Sure, you can write about happy things, but really, we all seem to gravitate to those core themes. Look at fairytales. Most have a happily ever after . . . but what would Cinderella be without a dysfunctional family? Snow White's stepmother wanted her dead!
I look at my own writing. In The Roofer, dear old dad is a murderer. And he's actually one of the good guys. Even comedy is laced with tragedy. In Spanish Disco, the heroine's father is slipping away from Alzheimer's disease . . . and she is afraid of saying good-bye to him. Or anyone.
Yes, unhappy families are unhappy in their own unique ways. Thank goodness . . . or we'd have nothing to write about.
I love this quote from Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. It's the stuff of life. And the stuff of novels.
I find myself fascinated by the coverage of Aaron Spelling's death--and the news that his wife has made certain her daughter was stiffed out of his will. He was worth a HALF A BILLION dollars. But in the old adage of money can't buy happiness, Mrs. Spelling apparently feels no need to share.
I'm not blogging about gossip because I really CARE that Tori Spelling will only get slightly more than Mrs. Spelling's MANICURIST in the will. But I am blogging because it's just so damn amazing. People who should have everything can't seem to remember they could help the destitute, they could create a foundation like Bill and Melinda Gates and Warren Buffet, they could help make sure the victims in Dafur get rice and medicine or that every child in the U.S. get vaccinations . . . and most of all, even if they don't want to save the world, that they could love and share with each other. I don't get it.
But Tolstoy is right. The themes of novels . . . and the themes of life . . . may differ in the details, but when it comes right down to it, they're pretty much the universal. Love, loss, betrayal, murder, more betrayal, deceit, death, grief. But it's those horrid details, those slights and backstabbings and broken trusts that are unique and fascinating. Sure, you can write about happy things, but really, we all seem to gravitate to those core themes. Look at fairytales. Most have a happily ever after . . . but what would Cinderella be without a dysfunctional family? Snow White's stepmother wanted her dead!
I look at my own writing. In The Roofer, dear old dad is a murderer. And he's actually one of the good guys. Even comedy is laced with tragedy. In Spanish Disco, the heroine's father is slipping away from Alzheimer's disease . . . and she is afraid of saying good-bye to him. Or anyone.
Yes, unhappy families are unhappy in their own unique ways. Thank goodness . . . or we'd have nothing to write about.
posted by Erica Orloff at 10:11 AM
4 Comments:
Hi Erica,
I've always found it fascinating that the original Grimm's Tales are so much more violent and gruesome than, say, the Disney versions. In Cinderella, for example, the step sisters hack off parts of their feet with a knife in order to fit into the glass slipper, and their eyeballs are plucked out by pigeons in the end. Some bedtime story, huh?
We love it though, don't we? We love to see the good guy win and the bad guy suffer. In essence, it's the basic formula for fiction, although we usually try to find some gray areas in more modern works.
Hi Jude:
When I was little, I had an old Grimm's hardcover with the original versions--so yes, I think they're amazing. Snow White and Rose Red . . . Cinderella's stepsisters. They never gave me nightmares, but they were dark, dark, dark.
And you're right. Good guys vs. the bad guys is more subtle now. I think part of that is we love the anti-hero. The not-perfect guy who challenges the system and wins. Like John Grisham's The Firm--the guy got his brother out of prison and got the millions and so on. We like beating the system.
E
There was a study carried out in the UK recently that found 10% of all families fall out over wills. And that in a lot of cases they never speak to each other again!!
My dh's family is a case in point. His mother fell out with her sister over the parents' will, and a set of medals (to complex to go into). And they didn't speak again. Dh's mother even refused to go to her sisters funeral! It totally beats me how family can be like that... but it happens.
Sara:
My own family, too. My aunt and her children are estranged from my father's side of the family and us. It's a story ripe with betrayals (big ones) . . . and it is BEYOND me how they could back stab to such a degree. But you're right. It happens. To me, life is so short. It's a MOMENT and then gone. How you could carry on about THINGS is beyond me.
E
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