An eventful week, to put it mildly. I still have hours of work with my temperamental and not-so-trusty chainsaw ahead. Why are chainsaws so temperamental, anyway?
Everyone has a story about the storm. So here is mine.
On Monday, being stranded at the house since the college had closed, I was restricted to reading a book I had on hand. Since I was reading Stephen Crane’s poetry (more about that at some later date), I had my Library of America volume on hand, and thus decided to read one of his novels. I almost reread The Red Badge f Courage, but, at the last second, decided to read Maggie: A Girl of the Streets. It is one of those books which is too short to be a novel, too long to be a short story and thus gets called a Novella, which is a word I have always, and probably irrationally, detested—it is an ugly word—it’s like condemning a book to being permanently nothing, neither novel (a noble art form) or short story (another noble art form)—have you ever seen a list of the 100 best novellas of all time? Of course not. Has anyone ever asked for a recommendation for a good novella? Surely you jest. So, let us just agree not to (further) insult poor Maggie and call her a Novel.
It’s a good novel. Indeed, after reading Crane’s poetry and this novel, I am now determined to spend lots more time with Crane.
Reading this novel on Monday was a nice coincidence of fictional and real life. Here I am in the midst of hearing tales of woe from people living in 21st century America without power, reading a novel of people living in rather poor conditions a century earlier. Not even close who had it better. Our story revolves around a family with a perpetually drunk father and a perpetually drunk mother who abuse each other physically and verbally at all times. The have a son, whose goal in life is to be able to be able to physically crush anyone he meets. They have another child, a baby, who dies, presumably from neglect. And then there is Maggie, the sweet kid. So sweet, in fact, that she falls for an acquaintance of the son. Pete’s claim on Maggie’s affections is the self-assured manner in which he carries himself. Pete takes notice of Maggie, who looks sweet and clean. Maggie goes out with Pete, and is fascinated by a world of alcohol and strip clubs (well, the late 19th century version of strip clubs). Maggie becomes a fallen woman. Pete, predictably enough, eventually leaves Maggie for a higher class of prostitute. Maggie, however, has degraded herself beneath the standard of her drunk and violent family and thus they refuse to allow her back into their home. So, she walks the streets. The whole things ends miserably enough in murder or suicide (it isn’t clear which).
Meanwhile, some people in the area in which I live went without power for a few days.
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