A Personal Giving Tree

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      Guess. What.

      The most exciting thing happened the other day in class. And by the most exciting I mean it made me smile and it made me happy, but that is about the extent of it.

      One of my many english classes back here in the land of the south is 20th Century American Literature. Now, I am not a fan of American Lit and I think I have said this before, so I will try not to be too repetitive.  I have often found American literature to be rather dry and humorless; lacking the romance and thrill of English or Russian novels. I admit, I went into this class shackled by my oppositional bias. I considered dropping even before my return to school for the sheer fact that I tend to loathe American Lit with a burning, fiery passion. Ask my mom. She knows how I feel about it.  However, I suppressed my desire to stick up my nose, and walked into class with a semi-open mind.

      Truth be told, I have never read any of the books on the list we were given. I know what you must be thinking; how can I have an informed opinion on American Lit if I have never read anything on the list? Well, reader, I HAVE read other works by the authors we are destined to explore this semester. Hemingway, Faulkner, Flannery O'Connor are all on this list and I have read multiple works by each. The interesting thing is, for this class, we are reading their less popular works of those very popular people.

      As always, I have digressed. I decided to keep the class on my schedule despite my intuitive hesitations and let me tell you, I am delighted that I resolved to give the class a chance. 

      Let me set the stage for what happened. Two days ago, a monday. Blue skies, a few marshmallow clouds.  It was one o'clock in the afternoon, right after a lunch of cantelope and cheese pizza. I was wearing indigo blue jeggins and a colorful striped tank-top. (I realize none of this has to do with what actually happened and I apologize because I am building this up to a skyscraper and it really is no more exciting than a free lolli-pop after a childhood check-up, but it is just so fun to exaggerate). I walked into class and sat down in my seat in the middle row, second seat from the back and waited for the lecture to begin.

      My teacher passsed out a handout packet with a few stapled pages. I gave it no particular attention because I figured, "Great, another handout on something that I really don't give a hoot about"....I was also a little feisty that day. Not the self-righteous and courageous feist of Princess Merida in Brave nor the witty and covetted feist of Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice.  I hate to admit this, but it was almost on the verge of Regina George meets Lisbeth Salander.  Although, I pat myself on the back because I hid it better than a needle in the haystack. So, I was despondent. There was nothing that could have cheered me up.

      And then it happened. My teacher started reading from the handout: "On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York."  Upon hearing these worlds, my horrendous mood faltered. I thought "This cannot be!" and looked down at the handout for the first time since it was passed back to me. There are the top of the page in bold letters was the title The Age of Innocene by Edith Wharton. The quickly flipped through the few pages and saw that the first three held an excerpt from this twentieth-century Pulitzer Prize winning novel and its use of American Realism.

      Needless to say, my mood was lifted, if only for a few moments in time. I was the only one in my class who has read this work and I sat there with a bemused and knowing smile on my face as I recalled my long nights this past summer reading the book which inspired the title for my blog. As I so eloquently (see what I did there?) expressed before, I love that novel. I do. It cannot be helped and I am truly convinced that anyone who reads it will share my sentiments. They must. There is no possible way to not love it. Yes, I was astonished and even perturbed by the ending.  My heart ached for Newland and I so terribly wanted him to be with the Countess again. But alas, the ending is not always happy. The love does not always flourish. But that just adds to the greatness and relatability of it all; does it not?

      My excitement at reading this excerpt in class eventually wore off but my previous mood was kept at bay and I was able to enjoy the rest of the class. I hope, reader, that you have read a book or seen a movie or a play or listened to a song that brings you such joy and warmth everytime it is brought to mind.  If not, go out and explore the world so that on an Anne Frank kind of day, you have something filed away to smile over.  Just rememering The Age of Innonce gave me something. It gave me a smile and a happier dispostition. It gave me the ability to get through class without bursting into tears, or an outrage. I know it sounds abhorrently dramatic, but that is just who I am.

                                                                        Sincerely,
                                                                                  Me