FanFiction Confliction

I am almost embarrassed to admit what I've been reading throughout March, but here goes: *deep breath*  I've been reading fan fiction.  A LOT of it too, and rather obsessively.

I've always harbored this aversion to fan fiction, thinking of it as the poor writer's refuge -- taken up when one cannot be bothered to create characters or worlds of one's own.  Instead, though, I'm finding that these stories have offered me the chance to delve even further into a universe I love: that of Bioware's video game series, Dragon Age.

I have played far too many hours of Dragon Age in the last year or so -- Origins, at about 40+ hours per playthrough, twice, Inquisition (at about 70+ hours per playthrough) twice, and I'm in the midst of Dragon Age II right now (currently logged at about 19 hours).  It's been spread out since last June, but nonetheless, that's a lot of hours spent gaming.

I cannot deny, however, that I've loved every minute of it.  The universe is carefully created to be deep and fulfilling, rife with complicated situations to be resolved, religions to be understood, and characters that I can't help but come to care about.  In fact, what I quickly realized when I picked up Dragon Age is that I want more of these characters, their lives, their struggles, and I had to be content with that the games offered.

Until about a month ago, when I stumbled upon a blog filled with short stories constructed around one of my favorite characters, Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition's military.

Inquisition stands as the most recent of the Dragon Age universe, and I have fallen madly in love with it -- those two playthroughs, 70+ hours each? Yeah, those have both been since January began. Obsessive? Not at all! *heavy sarcasm*  Anyway. Within Inquisition, you play as the Inquisitor, who in my case is a female rogue about 27-30 years old.  She's sarcastic and a badass, wielding dual blades against anyone who crosses her path and dispensing justice and one-liners in equal measure.  In short, she's everything I would love to be, if I were actually athletic and perhaps thrust into a world where I had to destroy monsters and demons in order to survive.  Unlikely, if I do say so myself.

There's a lot to her story in 70 hours or so, but not enough. It's never enough, if the number of novel-length fan fics I've read in the last month are any indication.  I always want more -- not more action, lord knows I killed enough demons and darkspawn throughout those 70 hours, but more detail.  I want to know more about each character, know what all the conversations look like, not just the ones with cut scenes attached.  I want to see the lives of the members of the Inquisition come to life!

And that's where fanfic comes in.  All the things I wanted are come to life within these pages, and I cannot look away.

So: Here's the list of what I've read in March. I've tried to include only those stories that are novel length (50K words or more) in the interest of keeping track of the 'books' I've read -- each would definitely count as a book if officially published anywhere other than on a fan fiction site.

1. Of Fear and Lyrium
2. The Soul has Bandaged Moments
3. Though the Darkness Comes
4. Tearing Down the Heavens
5. Herald and Commander
6. In Good Times and in Bad
7. Winter's Grasp
8. As the World Falls Down
9. Her Lion
10. And If I Fall
11. The Inquisitor's Lover
12. Against All Odds
13. Templar Enchanted
14. Of Sweet Memories and Guarded Moments
15. As the Crow Flies

Each different version of the Inquisitor, each different version of the Cullen romance arc, each different imagining of the Inquisition itself offers something wonderful to the universe.  Some of these obviously have titles that are more fitting for bad romance novels, and I have trouble denying that that is, in fact, what some of them are. But even then! It's a perspective I hadn't thought of, one that I'm finding more valuable than I ever expected.  Ah, the nuances of romance!

These stories are just those I read in March, and at its heart, this month was beautiful.  Hours upon hours of reading, hours of romance, and hours of a new, passionate love for fan fiction.

I guarantee there are more stories I've read already, and more to come, in April.  I may started out very skeptical, but I know now I'm a full-on convert to the world of fan fiction.

Now I just have to keep myself from writing it, too...

Diana: Her True Story & The Diana Chronicles

A teacher friend and I were discussing nonfiction recently, and I mentioned that I was currently reading my second biography of Princess Diana.  He chuckled and asked, “Why?”

“… I don’t know,” I realized.  “I’m not sure why.” 

“You don’t know,” he said incredulously, “or you don’t want to admit it?” 

The truth is that I really don’t know why I’ve been reading so voraciously about Princess Diana’s life.  It started with a TIME magazine article about the new biography of Prince Charles that just came out.  Charles has a very interesting and complicated life, one that only seems to become more complicated as his mother The Queen ages and his son has children, and I enjoy reading about it.  Sometimes I've wondered if Charles gets a bad rap due to his presence in the media opposite Diana, so this kind of naturally led to me being curious about her life. 

I originally ventured to the library looking for a biography written after Diana's death in 1997.  I found that in Brown's The Diana Chronicles, but I was also drawn to Morton's 1992 biography, written not only before Diana died but before she and Charles even divorced! Fascinated, I grabbed it -- and ploughed through it in roughly 3 days. 

The portrait it paints is of a depressed, downtrodden woman who is utterly alone, and it's incredibly sad.  The reading experience was fascinating but difficult at times; it's hard to read about her life and know that she isn't some made up character and instead she's really experiencing these things. 

Brown's The Diana Chronicles was something else entirely, and the contrast is quite striking. 

Brown’s biography is much harsher, much more judgmental, in comparison to Morton’s.  This makes sense in retrospect: Diana later admitted that much of the material in “Her True Story” actually came from her as opposed to or via the friends credited in the book.  In that way, she was able to cushion her appearance to the public; Brown offers her no such sanctuary. 

The Diana Chronicles is also from a media perspective; Morton is associated with the media, for sure, but he seems to also be an extreme Diana sympathizer, willing to shelter both her and her image in exchange for her favor.  Brown appears much more removed, more journalistic than anything else, and in doing so, Diana’s story changes.  Where Morton offered exclusively Diana’s opinion and reflection on most topics, Brown expands on events, providing different sides of the stories and drama and interjecting her own opinions about how events played out. 

I think what makes Brown’s account so interesting is that she is constantly suspicious of events, regardless of their origins. Sometimes she has Diana in mind, questioning if the Princess was really as depressed or innocent as she seemed; at other times, she has the Royal Family in the crosshairs, accusing them of destroying opportunities or failing to support the Princess.  There are moments where Brown deviates entirely from accepted versions of events, such as in discussions of who visited Charles just weeks before the first famous Royal Wedding; here she offers her own analysis of events, citing evidence and uncovering stories previously absent from the record.  In this way, her book is absolutely fascinating, perhaps more so than “Her True Story.” 

At their hearts, both books ask the same question: Why is the world so fascinated with Diana?  Both illustrate distinctly different times: Her True Story came out in 1992, years before Diana died, and The Diana Chronicles was published in 2007, about ten years after her untimely deal.  Both are widely read and remain interesting, even when the fairytale wedding that captured the world was close to 35 years ago and Diana herself passed almost 20 years ago. 

Her life and death continue to hold sway over the public, and the question of why remains at the forefront of the discussion. 

Diana famously said that she wanted to be the “queen of people’s hearts,” and Tony Blair crowned her the People’s Princess just after her death.  Both titles demonstrate that allure which Diana embodied (and both also demonstrate why Brown pulls in a lot of psychology in her analysis of Diana’s personality, too).  She was the People’s Princess – she was accessible to the public, a huge change from royalty of the past, and that made her popular in ways beyond anyone’s expectation or control.  Analyses of her life and person make it clear that she thrived on this exposure, wanting to be connected to the people, for good or ill.  (That feeds into the conspiracy theory community surrounding her death too, though that’s a different topic entirely.) 

I understand this about Diana and her life, but I remain curious about why I find her fascinating.  The unfortunate answer remains that, deep down, I’m not really sure. 

I remember where I was when Diana died.  There are few moments in my life like this, where the outside world embedded itself into my memory.  It was August 1997, which means I was only 8 years old, and I was spending the weekend with a friend's family at their lakehouse.  The crash happened in the middle of the night in Paris, which means it was early evening for us, and I recall watching it on the news.  I can still picture the living room where we stood, oddly enough; the TV was canted in one corner near the deck, its blinds moving gently with a breeze from the open door. The ceiling light made the room seem almost yellowy, and I remember seeing the black car, crushed, on the screen.  I had been playing with someone's knee brace but stopped when I realized how upset the adults were.  If I remember right, I think my friend's mom called my mom to discuss the accident. 

I didn't know this was such a significant moment at the time.  Looking back, it's easy to see based on how others responded, but even so, I didn't really attach a lot of meaning to it until I was far older.  Diana's life was important, her death defining.  The world changed, just a little.

Even so, even now, so much about Diana remains unknown.  She has been picked apart for years, and yet it seems like so few actually knew the ‘real’ Diana, whatever that might mean.  She’s so wildly public, and yet she’s so alone; she’s one of the most discussed people on the planet, and yet she’s unknowable. 

She’ll stay this way forever, and I think that’s what makes her life worth knowing. 

The Price of Privilege

Parenting has always struck me as intimidating. 

It involves so much of everything you have: money, time, energy, work, emotion, responsibility, and everything else, so much of your life.  And even if you do everything right, you still have the chance to profoundly fuck something up. 

I’ve never wanted kids – frankly, it’s never occurred to me.  I’ve never had that “parental” instinct, and I don’t feel a lot of affection for little kids either.  I like the kids I deal with – seniors in high school on the cusp of the world, kids who are (for the most part) pretty functional and self-sufficient. That’s about it.  The overwhelming responsibility of raising my own kids, the effort involved, the expense, the idea that someone out there is relying on me for every single thing in their life… no, thank you. 

I can’t even handle the emotional responsibility of a dog; how on earth could I have a kid??

There are those in my life who have undoubtedly decided that this lack of interest in kids indicates something profoundly fucked up about me, and really, I’m okay with that.  I know who I am, and a parent is not part of that. 

This book, The Price of Privilege, is one of those books that confirms all my fears about parenting, solidifying my lack of desire to produce one of my own.  At its heart, The Price of Privilege is about what happens when parents try to do everything right, and how those kids can (and do) still end up screwed up. 

The Price of Privilege deals with children of affluence, those kids who tend to be psychologically ignored due to the obvious and serious issues faced by children of poverty and other poor circumstances.  But the children of affluent parents, affluent lives, struggle with just as many issues as children in other circumstances and their problems have largely gone unstudied until Dr. Madeline Levine noticed a pattern in the patients coming into her private therapy practice. 

Her patients seemed to have everything: their parents were well off, they went to good schools and lived in good neighborhoods, they were involved in activities and extracurriculars, and they wanted for little.  Often they had strong social skills and good grades too.  There was no reason for these kids to have problems, and yet they were deeply unhappy, many dealing with anxiety and depression, involved with drugs and alcohol, or worse. 

Parents, as a group, are under immense pressure.  The ability to raise a functional, well-adjusted person to adulthood stuns me, especially when I consider that it happens fairly routinely.  But sometimes – often, perhaps – things go wrong, and that’s where people like Levine come in, the therapists who must try to collect the broken pieces and somehow re-create a whole person. 

The phenomenon she describes seems to happen when parents have money to support their children but lack the time to devote to them.  In those cases, children can develop the sense that they are being bought off – a car to cover up the fact that a parent missed their birthday, an allowance being spent to buy drugs while the parents are out of town, endless funds devoted to club sports and equipment but no attendance at games, the list goes on.  Over time, this sends a clear message about what’s more valuable, and the kids respond accordingly. 

(There’s so much more to this in the book, so much psychology and detail that I can’t begin to recreate here.  Suffice it to say that the book is a smooth, interesting, and educating read, one well worth your time.)

It is not a universal practice, thank goodness – parents with money are not destined to treat their kids like like, nor are children of privilege doomed to being ignored emotionally but overflowing financially.  But the pattern is clear, and it’s scary. 

There’s a wonderful article in The Atlantic called “How to Land Your Kids in Therapy” (here) that dovetails nicely with this book; it’s a great read that breaks this down into a more manageable size if you can’t get to the book J

I do sometimes wonder about how much of these issues are truly, at heart, the parents’ faults.  

Throughout the book, the ability of kids to make choices is essentially removed from the equation.  So I can’t help but think: what about those situations where the parents are great, involved but not too involved, balanced between emotional functionality and giving their kids independence, but their kids screw around anyway?  I guarantee it happens, but that’s not discussed much here. 

In fact, I see it on a near-daily basis at my job.  Since I’m a high school teacher in a pretty affluent area, I watch all of this happen (that’s how I ended up reading the book in the first place).  I definitely see students whose parents are great but they suck anyway.  It’s a fact of life: kids make choices that aren’t always smart, regardless of the way they were raised. 

Levine is clearly going for a broad picture of this issue, a generic of how this works and how to fix it, but it runs the risk of placing kids into a broad category. 

This book also ignores those kids who have great lives but suffer from depression or anxiety anyway, and I see those kids all the time too.  I have many great kids – smart, capable, independent, friendly – who struggle immensely anyway.  I’ve seen kids hospitalized for anxiety, placed in emergency care due to suicide risk, or something worse.  What things like that happen… well, too often the parents seem to be awesome (at least from what I see).  They’re scared, clueless about what went wrong, and often it was nothing they did.  That falls by the wayside too.   

I know that this isn’t an all-encompassing book, but still.  Sometimes parents do everything right, and that should be acknowledged and celebrated too. 

Levine writes a short section about how to try to address mistakes in the back of the book, a section that I found more interesting than I was expecting to.  The ideas of responsibility and boundaries, the ideas for how to push kids to find independence, to find themselves, are all things I can work to incorporate into my classroom.  Teachers may not be kids’ parents, of course, but we do still see those kiddos a lot – it’s just as easy for me to assess how a kid’s doing emotionally as academically, so I’m glad to have a guide for offering the support and structure that can help them grow and heal. 

It’s a worthwhile book, especially for parents and teachers, and seeing as I’m not planning on leaving my school district anytime soon, it is definitely a resource worth incorporating.  

The Year in Review: 2014

Books I Read in 2014

2014 was a pretty good book-year for me. I enjoyed a lot of what I read, and frankly, reading 44 books in a year where I picked up gaming and spent literally hundreds of hours in front of my computer feels like an accomplishment. I would have loved to read more, but that's a wish of mine every year. There were also times when I didn't quite manage to get a post out every month, which is something I really strive for. Each entry takes me a long time to write, and that coupled with everything else I do (games, teaching, marriage, cooking, exercise, etc) means that sometimes this year I haven't reached that goal.

In 2015, I would like to aim for 50 books in the next year, and I would like to publish at least once a month. I will do my best :)

So here's the list: the 44 books I read in 2014. Here's to 2015!

January

1. Bossypants by Tina Fey
2. Looking for Alaska by John Green
3. Divergent by Veronica Roth
4. This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper
5. Carrie by Stephen King
6. Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King
7. From a Buick 8 by Stephen King
8. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

February

9. Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris
10. Columbine by David Cullen
11. Insurgent by Veronica Roth
12. Allegiant by Veronica Roth

March

13. Spilling Clarence by Anne Ursu
14. Insane City by Dave Barry
15. Mindset by Dr. Carol Dweck (book study; read over several months)
16. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
17. You Can Date Boys when You're 40 by Dave Barry
18. Lunatics by Dave Barry and Alan Zweibel
19. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

April

20. Ashfall by Mike Mullin
21. Hollow City by Ransom Riggs

May

22. Practical Demonkeeping by Christopher Moore
23. Inferno by Dan Brown    
24. The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Christopher Moore
25. Fool by Christopher Moore

June
26. The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper

July
27. Broken Harbor by Tana French
28. I Had Brain Surgery, What's Your Excuse by Suzy Becker
29. American Gods by Neil Gaiman
30. Island of the Sequined Love Nun by Christopher Moore
31. Coraline by Neil Gaiman

August
32. A Wolf at the Table by Augusten Burroughs
33. Stardust by Neil Gaiman
34. Codex by Lev Grossman

September
34. The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman
35. Still Alice by Lisa Genova
36. Life as we Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer

October
37. The Six Wives of Henry VIII
38. The Children of Henry VIII

November
39. Beyond Light by Patrick Bishop
40. Unholy Light by Patrick Bishop
41. Yes Please by Amy Poehler

December
42. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
43. My Brief History by Stephen Hawking
44. Storm Front by Jim Butcher

My Brief History

Let me begin by reviewing my own education.  I was educated in private schools for most of my life, and in well-reputed, academically rigorous private schools to boot.  I graduated a semester early from my undergraduate studies at one of the top public liberal arts universities in the Midwest, and I earned a Master’s degree in Education the following year; in both programs, I maintained a 3.75 or beyond GPA and graduated both with honors.  I teach in one of the top 5 districts in my city, at the top high school in the district. I am currently enrolled in a second Master’s program at the #4 university for Secondary Education Counseling in the country, and I plan on pursuing a Ph.D. when that program concludes.

I start this way not to show off my own credentials but to emphasize my point when I say that I am very well educated. 

So when I picked up Stephen Hawking’s autobiography, titled My Brief History, I felt pretty well prepared to deal with the intricacies he was bound to present.  The science of it, which takes up the vast majority of the book, is in laymen’s terms but still pretty complex; when Hawking eventually delves into some complicated stuff about the quantum mechanics behind the possibility of time travel, I ended up a little lost. 

I understand the basics of physics overall and a little bit of general relativity – enough that Interstellar, Christopher Nolan’s most recent film, made total sense and I didn’t even have to look anything up.  Perhaps that’s a better representation of my credibility on this topic (my English degree, well-earned as it was, may not be the best proof that I understand physics).

The average person would probably agree with me.  I know Hawking works hard to put his work into colloquial language; he’s famous for A Brief History of Time, which I have not yet read but understand that it is meant to be fairly easy to understand.  However, having read this book, I have to question a little how much science you must already ‘get’ in order for that to be true.  No matter how much you try to get things into basic language, when you are so far beyond the average person, I doubt there’s a huge chance of success.  I spend a fair amount of time discussing physics with my brother, who recently graduated from yet another prestigious school (far more prestigious than mine) with a dual degree in theoretical math and applied physics, and I think that background helped me a lot.

With all that being said, this book was absolutely fascinating. 

I picked it up because I am also reading his ex-wife’s memoir, Travelling to Infinity, which was recently adapted into the movie The Theory of Everything.  While interesting, her memoir is a little dry, and as it discussed their relationship, I started wondering what Hawking himself is like.  Jane Hawking paints him very differently depending on the page and story; sometimes he is frail and dependent, sometimes aloof, sometimes cruel, and sometimes loving.  She’s probably accurate I imagine, but I was still curious. 

So I dug it out of my school’s library (where I learned that a student request we purchase it, which is really cool) and plowed through it in about a day and a half; it’s fascinating but only about 100 pages.  As it unfolds with surprisingly deep insight into his scientific life, I was surprised at times by the straightforward logic with which he writes about his family. His autobiography offers his life up with such an unusual light, one that could be flattering or cruel, depending on the reader’s perspective. 

There was one moment that stood out to me to illustrate this style. 

The chapter was discussing Hawking’s work with black holes, one of his most famous areas of expertise, and it says: “My work on on black holes began with a eureka moment in 1970, a few days after the birth of my daughter, Lucy.  While getting into bed, I realized that I could apply to black holes the causal structure theory I had developed for singularity theorems” (pg 69). 

While I won’t pretend to understand the theory he’s discussing (he’s too far beyond me at this point), I do understand the emotional significance of these sentences. 

Hawking doesn’t spend much time in his book discussing his family; in fact, the births of his children are largely skimmed over. That is most clearly demonstrated here, where he gives this one mention of his daughter’s birth.  Its significance, as opposed to being tied to his child, is largely found in its ability to date a moment of discovery in his work. 

This can be read several ways. 

The obvious is that he’s neglecting his family/children in favor of science.  This seems like the simplest explanation, the most clear and easy to quantify. 

Then there’s the possibility of his genius coming into play – this man has so much going on in his brain, more than you or I could fathom (remember too that he has to do everything mentally since he cannot write on his own),that his family is really more of a footnote to his life. 

Both of these possibilities are judgment calls against him, depending on perspective.

From reading though, I think it’s neither.  He spends so little time on any members of his family, including himself; his diagnosis with motor neuron disease or its progression arealmost nonexistent , and he barely mentions his wife at all, even in the chapter where they get married. Instead, much of his book is about his work and the process behind all of it – the big moments of science.

Truly, I think perhaps this is a man who is uncomfortable with the emotions of life, the family life, and instead prefers what he better understands, which is the science he’s spent years chasing down.  I mentioned this to my brother, who said that Hawking has a reputation for being a little cold toward people (as my brother put it, “a douche,” but I prefer to pretty that up).  Maybe Hawking just isn’t comfortable with emotions; it’s clear that he isn’t comfortable discussing his illness, so maybe he prefers to keep his relationships intimate as well.  The man clearly possesses a sharp sense of humor – one need only look at his guest appearances on Futurama or The Big Bang Theory to see that – but he seems removed from his family regardless.  

There’s no argument that he’s a brilliant man, one of the brightest of the current scientific world.  It’s not so far-fetched to argue that perhaps that brilliance doesn’t fully extend to his emotional side. 

I enjoyed this book.  I may never read A Brief History of Time, but I understand people, and Hawking is a fascinating person to explore.  His story makes a good companion to his ex-wife’s memoir, which one day in the future of time, I may actually finish.  

Yes Please

I love Amy Poehler so much. 

Actually, I lied a little: I love Leslie Knope so much.  Parks and Recreation is perhaps my favorite TV show ever.  I never even liked Amy Poehler very much before I discovered her show; I was never much of an SNL watcher or fan, I didn’t think Baby Mama was funny nor do I love her in Blades of Glory, and I always thought the Upright Citizens Brigade was (honestly) a group like Amnesty International, working toward a better world.  (Arguably, the UCB kind of is working toward a better world, but not quite the one I was thinking of). 

But I love Parks and Recreation so much, and I have watched it for years, so when I heard Amy Poehler was publishing a book, I requested it from my library right away.  Months later, when I finally topped the request list, it dropped into my lap just in time for a 10-hour road trip, like a beautiful snowflake of ridiculous stories and insights and thoughts. 

I love books like hers, where I get a little insight into someone I admire’s life and I can walk away feeling like the world is just a little brighter for having this person in it.  I did the same thing with Tina Fey’s book, Bossypants, over the summer.  Again, I never loved Tina Fey until I watched her TV show 30 Rock, but once I binge-watched that whole show in less than a month, I had to read her book.  She too sparkles in her real life, and I can easily imagine these two women as best friends, much as they both claim the other to be (each even has a chapter devoted to the other in their respective books, which is really cool). 

Amy Poehler is a surprisingly good writer.  She’s honest in her work, never once shirking how difficult a task it can be to write a book or parent a child or even just have a successful career.  That honesty is very endearing, although I admit it might be grating if you weren’t already a fan of her.  Regardless, she’s clever – her writing is light and funny, even in the few moments where she delves into the darkness of her life.  Her essay describing the birth of her children, wherein she recounts a hilarious moment on SNL between herself and Jon Hamm contains moments of grief subtly intertwined in the absurdity of the events.  The video interview version of this story is below:

The story is at roughly 1:30 if you want to check it out.  You can always read the book :) 

She also skims over some elements of her celebrity with grace.  For example, Poehler went through a pretty public divorce, an event that I bet would have lots of juicy details.  But she skims right over them; instead, throughout the book, anytime her ex-husband Will Arnett comes up, she has nothing but positive things to say about him.  This is especially clear when she writes about their two little boys.  I have no idea how amicable or awful their divorce was – I don’t pay a lot of attention to the tabloids, so the fact of their divorce is about all I’ve got on the subject – but she talks about all the positive things about Arnett, about how much she appreciates him because of her boys, how he supported her in their early careers, and more.  She could have easily trashed his reputation or revealed intimate details or anything else, but chose not to.  That’s pretty admirable for anyone, including a celebrity. 

I have to admit: Her essay over the experience of Parks and Rec is my absolute favorite.  Let’s face it, that’s a huge part of why I wanted to read the book in the first place.  She recounts how she got involved in Parks and Rec, of course, and spends a little time talking about the evolution of the show and its plot as it moved into its prime seasons (which she defines as 3 and beyond).  But the best part is the section at the end of the essay, wherein she recounts her relationships and experiences with each cast member and even delineates her favorite moments with them on the show.  It’s *amazing* to read, like a peek inside the show.  She and Rashida Jones, for example, really are basically best friends in real life, which to me makes their on-screen friendship that much sweeter and more hilarious.  Chris Pratt as Andy Dwyer spends most of his time cracking Poehler up, and her favorite moments are when Andy stops paying attention to someone, which luckily happens all the time. 

One of my husband’s favorite moments on the show is between Chris Traeger (Rob Lowe), Ben Wyatt (Adam Scott), and Leslie Knope (Poehler), where all three are in the car on the way back from Indianapolis.  Leslie and Ben have been trying desperately to ignore the fact that they are incredibly attracted to each other, and to do so, Ann (Rashida Jones) and Leslie put together a road trip mix filled with awful, awful choices – including Jimmy Carter’s “Crisis of Confidence” speech and recordings of old-timey car horns.  There’s also a banjo track, which plays out as follows:

In an amazing coincidence, this is also Amy Poehler’s favorite Rob Lowe moment, and I could not have been happier about it J

This essay alone was worth reading the entire book.  Frankly I enjoyed the whole thing; Poehler’s writing style allows me to bask in her life, to be absorbed easily and then gently dropped back into my own when I was through.  And if you’re a Parks and Rec fan like me, it’s just one more gem to make you love it even more.  

The Six Wives of Henry VIII/The Children of Henry VIII

I have long been fascinated by Tudor-era history: the upheaval of religion, the reign of Elizabeth I, and of course, the martial affairs of the notorious Henry VIII.  I’ve seen all the movies, watched all the shows, read plenty of the fiction… but I had never read the experts, until I picked up Alison Weir’s Six Wives of Henry VIII a few weeks ago. 

A gigantic tome, the Six Wives chronicles the events, intrigues, controversies, and more behind Henry VIII’s love of women, along with his complication relationship with the Catholic Church and his quest for a legitimate male heir.

Like many others, I knew the basics of his story: His first wife, Katherine of Aragon, was older than him and unable to give birth to a surviving boy; their daughter, Mary, would one day become the first true Queen of England, but she was seen as unfit to rule by her father (and basically everyone else).  Henry sought to divorce Katherine and marry Anne Boleyn, with the hope of their union producing a son; eventually, when the Pope wouldn’t grant this request, Henry removed England from the realm of the Catholic Church and created the Church of England, declaring himself the rule of both church and country.

Eventually Katherine died, and Anne, unable to produce a baby boy (despite birthing Elizabeth I), was sent to the executioner under charges of adultery and treason.  Henry quickly wed Jane Seymour, who produced his only surviving son but died less than two weeks later.  From there, his marriages were in quick and unsuccessful succession: to Anne of Cleves, whom he claimed smelled poorly and divorced within 6 months; to Katherine Howard, who was much younger, cheated repeatedly, and was eventually beheaded; and to Katherine Parr, a woman who had been married several times before and who was the only wife to outlive Henry. 

Until I read this book, though, most of my knowledge came from social studies classes and historically-questionable TV shows like The Tudors, which might be tense and sexy and fascinating but definitely isn’t accurate.  So much of the Tudor story seems focused on Henry VIII’s desire to fuck Anne Boleyn (to put it extremely indelicately); too often, that is explained as the primary motivator behind his divorce and separation from the Catholic Church.  That, as it turns out, proves to be only semi-accurate; far more potent a motivator was Henry’s desire for a son, a desire that put all others to shame. 

Alison Weir’s talent for historical writing is unmatched by any others I’ve encountered.  She blends letters, court records, recovered journals, financial records, and more to bring each figure to life; each record provides insight into the intimate details of these figures’ lives, and each makes them feel much more real, more tangible, instead of over 400 years old.  As I read, I was hearing Henry’s voice in his love letters to Anne Boleyn, listening to Katherine of Aragon’s prayers, witnessing Wolsey’s struggle to persuade the Pope. 

In addition to this powerful ability, Weir has also conducted research far beyond the events and intrigues of the time. She pulls information from all areas to inform this story: religious documents and experts delineate Henry VIII’s case against Katherine of Aragon and various ambassadors offer insight into the treatments of Henry’s wives, children, and nobles at court.  Weir even pulls in medical texts to discuss the possible afflictions of some of these women; Anne Boleyn is suggested, for example, to have suffered from Rh negative blood issues, which would have affected her ability to bear a child after Elizabeth.  I realize that this theory isn’t new, but Weir’s care in analyzing its implications for not only the lives of any potential children but also Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII’s marriage show just how devastating it really was.  There is so much information out there that simply gets ignored in fiction and TV (and sadly, in classrooms), and Weir, by embedding it into her work, helps keep the mystery and intrigue of this era alive. 

I read this book in less than 72 hours; I quite literally sat reading during the slow songs of a Pearl Jam concert.  When I finished this whirlwind of history, I scoured libraries until I found a copy of The Children of Henry VIII, a shorter work that focuses on the facts and stories of the reigns of Edward VI and Mary I. 

Henry VIII’s son, Edward VI, was his final child and eventual heir, who took the throne at age nine.  His reign, cut short by a deadly bout of tuberculosis at 15, was overshadowed by political in-fighting and attempts by his Regents to gain power.  Mary I, his half-sister and Henry VIII’s eldest child, took the throne upon his death; her reign, also brief, was remembered for her ruthless persecution/execution of Protestants.  Mary tried hard to conceive a Catholic heir, but her marriage to Philip II of Spain occurred late in her life, and despite at least one full-blown phantom pregnancy, she never had any children.  When she died, her half-sister Elizabeth I took the throne, paving the way for a period of peace like never seen before in England.  Weir’s book The Children of Henry VIII is just as fascinating as The Six Wives, and I anticipate that The Life of Elizabeth I  (her next work) will be equally absorbing.