Recuperation
May. 7th, 2003 08:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarigwaemirAd Mundo Exteriore,
Those of you who saw me on Monday knew the extent to which my voice was utterly inaudible and not fit for public hearing. Well, let me tell you that modern medicine is indeed a miracle. We went to the doctor that very afternoon, and Mother pleaded, "Oh, doctor, she has an AP French exam tomorrow, and she must be able to record her voice for the oral section!"
The doctor said, gravely, "Are you sure? Do you really want me to restore your voice?" I was thinking of course that he was probably going to slap me on some awful medication with three thousand side effects that would leave me half-paralyzed for the rest of my life. This sense of paranoia wasn't alleviated by the fact that after Mother nodded yes, he muttered "glucocorticoids" under his breath while hunting through a huge phone directory of drugs.
In the end, I was prescribed an allergy nasal spray, antibiotics and, yes, a steroid. And to my complete surprise, the next morning I woke up without a sore throat! I was able to swallow! My voice was back! And in only one night...talk about amazing.
But I am suffering large intestinal problems due to the antibiotics. Ah, AP Biology, so useful for telling me exactly what the doctors are doing to my body...I should probably eat yogurt after the "therapy" is over and hopefully restore my vitamin K levels. Regardless, I am feeling better, thanks to all my well-wishers. ^_^
So, I took out Sir Apropos of Nothing against my better judgment and laughed my head off, though honestly, it's a bad book, and you shouldn't read it if you have any self-respect. There are wittier ways to make fun of fantasy clichés. I also took out Ficciones, after being reminded of L.P. raving about Latin American authors. I feel deceived. I mean, technically, L.P. was right—the language isn't difficult, and the writing is very enjoyable. But! It's as if I was dumped into the middle of the Atlantic and left to flail around for myself, without knowing how to swim. I need at least a year's worth of further education and possibly a life experience or two in order to read these short stories without feeling as if I was missing half of what was going on. But, no, haven't given up (quite) yet on trying Latin American authors. I still need to see whether the AP Lit class' raving about A Hundred Years of Solitude was worth it or not.
(By the way, Tina, if you're reading this post: by no means will I read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead until I'm desperate. I looked at the back cover, which I know is far from reliable, but the synopsis sounds exactly like the kind of book that will make me feel miserable while reading it.)
I'm also in the middle of The Age of Innocence, and I must admit that I probably don't appreciate Edith Wharton much either. For one, the book for all its virtues still seems to be little more than a cross between a novel of manners and a romance paperback without any sex (if the latter isn't a complete paradox). I know there is literary merit to the book, and I can even tell that it's excellently written, but the content isn't particularly thought-provoking. I suppose I was always a bit impatient with social commentary, and as for the psychological aspects, I always do have a strange impatience with a certain type of weak character. I like Newland Archer well enough, but occasionally, I feel like shaking him by the collar. Someone like Willy Loman inspires my sympathy (I know you don't agree,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lush_rimbaud, so hush) in his weakness, but Archer makes me rather impatient. And though The Age of Innocence is far from a feminist book, whenever Ellen Olenska opens her mouth, I can just hear all the feminist critics raving about her unconventionalism and refusal to abide by social stereotypes. Blah, blah, blah. I find Olenska's nonchalance about social subtleties and unspoken rules more artful dissimulation and willful stupidity than anything admirable. And she annoyed me with her, "Oh, do you know artists?" Silly girl. What's so mature about that? In comparison to May Welland, I suppose, Olenska seems wiser, but she is not particularly more modern. After all, any normal high school has a similarly bewildering social structure that refuses to admit any mention of unpleasant things in "polite company", though what is unpleasant and pleasant is certainly very different. I admire people who can master and navigate this system, and any other similarly complex system, with ease. That of course requires deception, sometimes self-deception, and going against the pop credo of "truth to self", but no one actually lives by that credo anyway, and it's only a more involved self-deception that leads us (the teenagers) to think so.
That...was...a pretty strange digression. I suppose I should just give in, enjoy the descriptions and read it like a novel. It's not so much Edith Wharton herself (who I'm sure was perfectly aware of subtleties and did not intend her novel to be a blind critique of New York society) but the introductory critic who keeps echoing in my head as I read the book. I knew I should have avoided the Foreword; it's spoiling the book for me.
You may wonder why I've taken out so many books when I have two APs and a math final next week. Let's just say that books are the most effective form of stress relief. (Also, I'm a procrastinator. ^_^)
...Tari
Post-script: By the way, I'm not an anti-feminist. Just...after a couple of years of being expected to be a feminist has brought out the perverse side in me. Especially since I don't have any reason yet to be concerned about gender issues. I'm all for women's rights, but I'm even more supportive of my right to be passive and indifferent about it if I want to be.
Those of you who saw me on Monday knew the extent to which my voice was utterly inaudible and not fit for public hearing. Well, let me tell you that modern medicine is indeed a miracle. We went to the doctor that very afternoon, and Mother pleaded, "Oh, doctor, she has an AP French exam tomorrow, and she must be able to record her voice for the oral section!"
The doctor said, gravely, "Are you sure? Do you really want me to restore your voice?" I was thinking of course that he was probably going to slap me on some awful medication with three thousand side effects that would leave me half-paralyzed for the rest of my life. This sense of paranoia wasn't alleviated by the fact that after Mother nodded yes, he muttered "glucocorticoids" under his breath while hunting through a huge phone directory of drugs.
In the end, I was prescribed an allergy nasal spray, antibiotics and, yes, a steroid. And to my complete surprise, the next morning I woke up without a sore throat! I was able to swallow! My voice was back! And in only one night...talk about amazing.
But I am suffering large intestinal problems due to the antibiotics. Ah, AP Biology, so useful for telling me exactly what the doctors are doing to my body...I should probably eat yogurt after the "therapy" is over and hopefully restore my vitamin K levels. Regardless, I am feeling better, thanks to all my well-wishers. ^_^
So, I took out Sir Apropos of Nothing against my better judgment and laughed my head off, though honestly, it's a bad book, and you shouldn't read it if you have any self-respect. There are wittier ways to make fun of fantasy clichés. I also took out Ficciones, after being reminded of L.P. raving about Latin American authors. I feel deceived. I mean, technically, L.P. was right—the language isn't difficult, and the writing is very enjoyable. But! It's as if I was dumped into the middle of the Atlantic and left to flail around for myself, without knowing how to swim. I need at least a year's worth of further education and possibly a life experience or two in order to read these short stories without feeling as if I was missing half of what was going on. But, no, haven't given up (quite) yet on trying Latin American authors. I still need to see whether the AP Lit class' raving about A Hundred Years of Solitude was worth it or not.
(By the way, Tina, if you're reading this post: by no means will I read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead until I'm desperate. I looked at the back cover, which I know is far from reliable, but the synopsis sounds exactly like the kind of book that will make me feel miserable while reading it.)
I'm also in the middle of The Age of Innocence, and I must admit that I probably don't appreciate Edith Wharton much either. For one, the book for all its virtues still seems to be little more than a cross between a novel of manners and a romance paperback without any sex (if the latter isn't a complete paradox). I know there is literary merit to the book, and I can even tell that it's excellently written, but the content isn't particularly thought-provoking. I suppose I was always a bit impatient with social commentary, and as for the psychological aspects, I always do have a strange impatience with a certain type of weak character. I like Newland Archer well enough, but occasionally, I feel like shaking him by the collar. Someone like Willy Loman inspires my sympathy (I know you don't agree,
lush_rimbaud, so hush) in his weakness, but Archer makes me rather impatient. And though The Age of Innocence is far from a feminist book, whenever Ellen Olenska opens her mouth, I can just hear all the feminist critics raving about her unconventionalism and refusal to abide by social stereotypes. Blah, blah, blah. I find Olenska's nonchalance about social subtleties and unspoken rules more artful dissimulation and willful stupidity than anything admirable. And she annoyed me with her, "Oh, do you know artists?" Silly girl. What's so mature about that? In comparison to May Welland, I suppose, Olenska seems wiser, but she is not particularly more modern. After all, any normal high school has a similarly bewildering social structure that refuses to admit any mention of unpleasant things in "polite company", though what is unpleasant and pleasant is certainly very different. I admire people who can master and navigate this system, and any other similarly complex system, with ease. That of course requires deception, sometimes self-deception, and going against the pop credo of "truth to self", but no one actually lives by that credo anyway, and it's only a more involved self-deception that leads us (the teenagers) to think so.That...was...a pretty strange digression. I suppose I should just give in, enjoy the descriptions and read it like a novel. It's not so much Edith Wharton herself (who I'm sure was perfectly aware of subtleties and did not intend her novel to be a blind critique of New York society) but the introductory critic who keeps echoing in my head as I read the book. I knew I should have avoided the Foreword; it's spoiling the book for me.
You may wonder why I've taken out so many books when I have two APs and a math final next week. Let's just say that books are the most effective form of stress relief. (Also, I'm a procrastinator. ^_^)
...Tari
Post-script: By the way, I'm not an anti-feminist. Just...after a couple of years of being expected to be a feminist has brought out the perverse side in me. Especially since I don't have any reason yet to be concerned about gender issues. I'm all for women's rights, but I'm even more supportive of my right to be passive and indifferent about it if I want to be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-05-07 06:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-05-11 10:52 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-05-13 11:39 am (UTC)its tina
Date: 2003-05-08 06:43 pm (UTC)and oh please, go read the fountainhead already, for petes sake, its so YOU. haha. yer all about "ego," like in the most fundamental sense.
-tina/ l.p.