from my unsympathetic point of view

Book Review

This year for my birthday my SnL (sister in law) gave me a book. That in itself is no surprise each year at Christmas we all make up lists of books for gift ideas and the lists are so long there are usually plenty of leftovers. Oddly enough she never chooses to give me any of those. Maybe it’s a comment on my taste, maybe she looses the list, I can’t say. Last year it was “Gilead” and that took me some time to read. I started it right away, even tho’ the jacket promised a religious story about a minister in Iowa in the 1950's, but got waylaid by the boring premise of writing letters to his child who was still alive and set it down. The imagery was vivid and having spent a lot of time on a farm enjoyed the picture it painted but also got a tad tired of religious rambling. I did finally finish it and it has better moments, but just not my cup of tea. Anyhoo, color me tangential, so this year it was “We Need to Talk About Kevin”. I have to admit I was glad she wasn’t there when I was given the gift all I did was turn the book over and read “Eva never really wanted to be a mother”. I distinctly remember a guffaw and a comment questioning the reason for the book and a weird response that she had specifically picked it out for me. Uh, okay, thank her for me.

So another tangent needs to be inserted here. I don’t want children. I have been telling people this for about 20 years and the general consensus is Shock that a woman NOT want a baby, “It’s different when their your own” or “You’ll change your mind”, blah, blah, blah, discounting my statement because “why would you a mere woman know what you want”. Bullshit. I do not foresee myself getting less selfish with my time as I grow older or becoming less rigid and demanding. Oh, also. I have no patience and believe in corporal punishment: a lovely combination. I know my limitations; I have made an excellent babysitter, but would make a horrid parent. Why people have trouble believing me, I will never know.

I just got around to reading We Need to Talk About Kevin (also written in letter form) and devoured it in 2 sittings. Every so often R would walk by and I’d say, “next time someone tries to tell me I don’t know my own mind about how I feel about children I’m just going to hand them this book”. It’s the freakn' worst case scenario of my life were I to give in to bringing another life into this world, minus the fact I’d have started slappen’ that kid around at an early age and kept it up escalating as he did. I know. I’m a horrible person. I’m okay with that. It’s not like I’m running around town slappen down other people’s children. Hell most of them are well behaved and their innocent discoveries are endearing, but we’re talking about my kid. The kid that would be horribly scarred from daddy saying, “you have to hide in the basement” every time mommy came home. The kid who was treated less as a child, allowed to make childlike mistakes and have childish habits, and more as a small adult: held responsible (and they would learn about responsibility) for everything. After all, as their parent, I would be held responsible for their actions.
You know you hate me, you know you want to send me hate mail, track me down and rip out my uterus or try to convince me none of that would happen…
May I suggest you read this book.

Good night and enjoy the buffet

ps apparently this book wasn't supposed to be about what happens when the ill advised experiment with raising children, but about a "Columbine" experience. Meh, same diff.