Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
2011 Books
With 39 days to go, I am 5 books from reaching my goal of 50 in one year. I am almost done with one, so that is good. I still need to read The Stupidest Angel, a Christmas tradition. That means I really only need to come up with three more. Yay! I may complete a goal this year!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Little Women
I am 6 books in to my New Year's resolution to read 45 books in 2011. (Be sure to check out my 2011 book page if you are interested in keeping tabs on me). Book number 6 was the classic Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.
I loved this book as a kid, but hadn't read it in many years, at least since high school. After finishing the book last night, I was amazed at my different reaction to it this time. I still loved it, don't get me wrong, but kid-me and adult-me took two totally different messages away from the book. (Spoilers ahead, just in case you haven't read the book. Can there be spoilers for a 150 year old book? And if you haven't read it, you need to go get it!)
When I was young, I loved the idea of having sisters who would always be there for you. My brother and I have a tumultuous relationship, to put it lightly, and while we do love each other, I never saw it as anything like what the March sisters had. I also loved the romance of it, how each of the three surviving girls found their soul mate and seemed to live happily ever after, at least until the end of the book. I cried deeply the first time I read it when Beth died. The book has held a sentimental place in my head ever since, and I always assumed that my reaction would be the same if I reread it.
Fast forward 15 years or so, and I am reading it again. I did not cry this time when Beth died, probably because I knew it was coming. This time I was more focused on what a bad wife I would have been back in the Civil War era. Every time I looked up from the book I shuddered thinking what the characters would say if they ever saw our house. I found it a bit preachy in parts, but I may have focused on that more because Christianity and I parted ways a while ago. Then, Meg had her twins. And all of the sudden, I saw myself in the book. The struggles she had putting her children before her husband. The little boy who would not stay in bed, and was way to smart for his own good. It was my life, seen through an 1840s lens. And I fell in love all over again.
Have you ever read a book as a child only to go back as an adult and find new meaning in it?
I loved this book as a kid, but hadn't read it in many years, at least since high school. After finishing the book last night, I was amazed at my different reaction to it this time. I still loved it, don't get me wrong, but kid-me and adult-me took two totally different messages away from the book. (Spoilers ahead, just in case you haven't read the book. Can there be spoilers for a 150 year old book? And if you haven't read it, you need to go get it!)
When I was young, I loved the idea of having sisters who would always be there for you. My brother and I have a tumultuous relationship, to put it lightly, and while we do love each other, I never saw it as anything like what the March sisters had. I also loved the romance of it, how each of the three surviving girls found their soul mate and seemed to live happily ever after, at least until the end of the book. I cried deeply the first time I read it when Beth died. The book has held a sentimental place in my head ever since, and I always assumed that my reaction would be the same if I reread it.
Fast forward 15 years or so, and I am reading it again. I did not cry this time when Beth died, probably because I knew it was coming. This time I was more focused on what a bad wife I would have been back in the Civil War era. Every time I looked up from the book I shuddered thinking what the characters would say if they ever saw our house. I found it a bit preachy in parts, but I may have focused on that more because Christianity and I parted ways a while ago. Then, Meg had her twins. And all of the sudden, I saw myself in the book. The struggles she had putting her children before her husband. The little boy who would not stay in bed, and was way to smart for his own good. It was my life, seen through an 1840s lens. And I fell in love all over again.
Have you ever read a book as a child only to go back as an adult and find new meaning in it?
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