(no subject)

[lizzybennet]

I'm currently "reading" (i.e. listening to) "The Graveyard Book" by Neil Gaiman. This year's Newberry Medal winner, this book was recommended by mortuus as an excellent read.

I listened to it this morning as I measured manuscripts. It's mindless work and listening to books is a way to make the task pass more quickly and painlessly. So there I was, listening when suddenly I hear this:

Scarlett was happy. She was a bright, lonely child whose mother worked for a distant university, teaching people she never met face to face, grading English papers sent to over the computer and sending messages of advice or encouragement back.

Her father taught particle physics, but there were too many people who wanted to teach particle physics and not enough people who wanted to learn it, so Scarlett's family had to keep moving to different university towns and in each town her father would hope for a permanent teaching position that never came.

Hearing my life summed up so neatly like that in two beautifully crafted sentences completely caught me off-guard. I felt as though someone had suddenly sucked the air out of my lungs and I actually had to fight back tears. So simple yet so true. Just change "taught" to "attended" for the mother, and change "particle physics" to "chinese history" for the father, and you have my life.

It was a very bizarre incident and I'm sure I can't portray it accurately in words. Very disorientating.

Comments

[t-jay.livejournal.com]

That is indeed an interesting parellel summary!

[themenow.livejournal.com]

Sometimes books just know. They know the intimate details of our lives. When you stumble upon it, it's just like you said, the wind gets knocked right out of us.