Destructive thought destroys.  But it had failed to destroy.  What I realized was this; it is a thousand times more difficult to destroy than to create.  You will laugh and say I am mad; that destroying is far easier.  But it isn’t so.  Try to destroy anything – try to annihilate it.  Burn it and consider the ashes.  Then consider how easily you create.  Every time you open your mouth you create something.

If I’d stayed on that bridge another second with her, I honestly believe I’d have picked her up and thrown her into the river.

My gosh!  I thought – how grand God must have felt when He’d said ‘let there be light’ – and it worked.

I drank more.  A curious happiness, a contentment, a warm glow crept over me.  It wasn’t only the beer.  I dare say, if you’re a composer or a poet or a painter, you’ll know that I-don’t-care-a-damn feeling you get when you’ve finished what you reckon is a good piece of work.  It’s a grand sensation.  That’s how I felt.

‘Oh.’

(Have you ever considered the word ‘oh’?  Have you?  How it is full of infinite variety of meaning?  How it can be at moments the most sinister-sounding word in the whole language?  ‘Oh.’ In italics without an exclamation mark.  ‘Oh.’ Like that.)

The train was horribly punctual.  I shall never forget the train, the train that brought me my punishment.

‘Women,’ said my father, ‘have never really been my cup of tea.  They do not understand major issues, and their passion for realism is something I have never felt agreeable to.  Nevertheless, the race, as a race, would crumble without them.’

The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

December 12, 2010

The Help

I don’t usually review any of the books I read, but I felt moved to do so for this one.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

When I read this, not only was I moved by the love/hate relationship between white people and their black caretakers (a topic I am not extremely familiar with), but also the story made me think of the current civil rights movement involving the LGBT community. The parallel hit me in a way I wasn’t suspecting. Maybe if you read it you’ll see what I mean.

The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

December 11, 2010

Mississippi is like my mother.  I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother, too.

The Help, by Kathryn Stockett

December 10, 2010

“But, as I said, I have made a decision.”

I nod, listening, with the same numbness as my father a moment ago.

“I have decided not to die.”

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