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Gone With the Wind Quotes

In honor of my second reading of Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell (I read it for the first time about six years ago, and now I'm reading it again, to be followed up with Scarlett, the sequel) I offer up my two favorite quotes, so far. (The subject matter is rather typical). If you like it, I suggest reading the book. My copy is 1037 pages long and they are the most easily-read pages I have ever enjoyed.

The heavy hominy stuck in her throat like glue and never before had the mixture of parched corn and ground-up yams that passed for coffee been so repulsive. Without sugar or cream it was bitter as gall, for the sorghum used for "long-sweetening" did little to improve the taste. After one swallow she pushed her cup away. If for no other reason she hated Yankees because they kept her from having real coffee with sugar and thick cream in it.

Now that's real privation. That last part is the one I identify most with - it's so easy to harbor bitter feelings for anything that comes between me and my coffee.
This next part is very beautiful. I love when people talk about a love of the land, it's something hard to explain, sometimes, and Margaret Mitchell always puts her finger right on it, and keeps it there. She really understood the South. Since the sequel Scarlett was written by a different author, I hope she keeps that spirit intact.

When she looked at Tara she ecould understand, in part, why wars were fought. Rhett was wrong when he said men fought wars for money. No, they fought for swelling acres, softly furrowed by the plow, for pastures green with stubby cropped grass, for lazy yellow rivers and white houses that were cool amid magnolias. These were the only things worth fighting for, the red earth which was theirs and would be their sons', the red earth which would bear cotton for their sons and their sons' sons.

And from Gerald O'Hara, Scarlett O'Hara's father:

"Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything...for 'tis the only thing in this world that lasts, and don't you be forgetting it! 'Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for - worth dying for."
"Oh, Pa," she [Scarlett] said disgustedly, "you talk like an Irishman!"
"Have I ever been ashamed of it? No, 'tis proud I am. And don't be forgetting that you are half Irish, Miss! And to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like their mother. . ."

Better

[This is the live version, which I like a lot, but the album version is just as good].
Lately I've been thinking about this song. Maybe because we're at my grandparents' house right now.
I first heard this song last summer. At least, even then I'd felt like I'd heard it before, but I don't know. It was when some of the kids were sick. Josiah was sick, Maura was "sick".
But they had all been feeling so much better, and Maura had slept through the night the night before.
I had put a movie on for them and was checking my email, listening to Pandora radio, when Josiah and Maura both came screaming into the office. And this song came on.
Josiah collapsed, crying because his stomach hurt, and so did Maura, rolling on the floor and screaming, coming out of her skin. And at this time I made a choice. It was a wrong choice. For a little while afterward, I comforted myself with the thought that "nobody should really have to make a decision like that." But I couldn't pretend that very long. Because the truth of the matter is I chose to make a choice I didn't have to.
Both of my siblings really needed me. Josiah was suddenly limp and lethargic, and Maura seemed to be in indescribable pain. She was, but at the time it was easy to believe that she was overreacting. I suppose I've always thought that she had zero pain tolerance, and I chose to use that as an excuse in this situation.
I won't say that Josiah is my favorite sibling, because he's not. But for some reason he's the person I can most easily communicate love and affection to. He's just easier for me to deal with.
At that time, for whatever selfish reason, I felt I could only deal with one of them. Both were lying on the ground, and I chose one person to attend to. I chose Josiah. I told myself it was because he was the baby, he was probably sicker, he was probably in more pain, etc.
And I told my little four-year-old sister, whose pancreas was beginning to fail her, to stop being a baby and act like a big girl. I said I was very sorry but I couldn't make it better and she needed to try and be strong because there was nothing I or anybody else could do to fix it, and I had to take care of Josiah.
All this happened while the song played. I held Josiah and we just sat and listened. I don't think I really thought it through then, but subconsciously, my decision was already bothering me. Maura left and cried in the living room. The song ended, and Josiah started to cry again. I looked it up on Youtube and he stopped crying to listen. I suppose this should have been a broad hint that he wasn't in any sort of excruciating pain. I suppose I didn't see it that way.
But I did feel badly because I gave Maura medicine, several times. It would make her feel better for a little while and then the pain would start up, worse, it seemed. My parents were gone, since we had all thought they were better. There were several moments - especially that one, when the two of them were writhing on the floor and crying - that I almost called them and begged them to come home, something I had never done. I also wished so bad they would take Maura to the hospital, something I never vocalized, but now I wish I had.
But I didn't call my parents. Once through the bad moments I would realize it wasn't logical, they couldn't fix anything, they might as well be able to go out together and do a few errands.
Later I thought about the medicine I gave her, and wondered how much sugar it had in it, how wildly it drove her blood sugar up.
When my parents got home I was somehow angry with them for leaving me with those sick children, not able to explain what had happened or why it was so bad. Now I realize it wasn't because their pain was so traumatic, but my own choice of catering to one child and completely neglecting the other made it a painful experience. I failed my sister, I failed both of them, really.
Later, when my sister was in the hospital, being treated for her Type 1 diabetes, and I was at my grandparents with the rest of the kids, I know I looked up this song up on Youtube and listening to it again. . .and again. . . and again. I wanted to be able to ask her that - "Will you feel better?" I suppose I was wondering it myself.
As often happens to me, I remember nothing else about those days at my grandparents' - two or three, I think. Even the song I have no conscious, clear memory of. I can't see it in my mind's eye, I only know I did. I can hear the music.
This is strange because I was caring for five other children. I know I must have made them lunch, maybe even breakfast, but I don't remember. Did I leave that to my next eldest siblings? I hope not. I don't think I would. It does bother me that I don't remember eating. I don't remember anything at all. I remember the visit to the hospital, but sometimes I worry that this memory too will fade. I can't remember if we went once or twice. I sort of remember the first drive there, and I remember one ride back.
But I remember this song. I know there must have been my five other siblings in that house, talking, watching TV, playing outside in the sun. The place would have been filled with noise and life as it always is. I know it was because I dimly remember the angry feeling that they weren't taking things seriously.
But in my memory I'm sitting there, in front of the computer, as 'Better' plays, over and over again. I'm completely alone, and everything is silent except for the music, even though I know that's not the way it was. I was probably never alone for a moment. But I guess in an abstract sense, I was alone the whole time. It's probably a deep reflection of my own selfishness, and I hope I took care of the kids. I hope I didn't leave them alone, but that fact is I just can't remember.
And sometimes, now, when Maura is sitting somewhere resting while all the other kids play because her blood sugar is low and she feels awful, I have to wonder. As our lives go on all around her, as the house is filled with the noise of everybody else carrying on as usual, I wonder if later she remembers sitting at a blank and empty table in an empty house while she waits to feel better, all by herself. Maybe childhood protects people from such things, but I don't know.
Only a few days ago she got very low and felt awful. Her blood sugars having been going up and down a lot lately. I saw her sitting on the couch and staring into space. The other kids were all playing. I wanted to do something for her but unfortunately I had no idea what. I didn't think my affection would be particularly well-received at that moment. I was walking towards her, when Josiah came to me, whining and crying a little about something. I can't remember what any more. I stopped and knelt to talk to him, and pick him up, but I kept looking over at her and wanting to get away, the most terrible guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't understand why.
So I made him happy, and then I went to Maura. It was only later that I realized I had recreated that awful situation all over again. I was probably attending to him during the moments when she needed me most.
She had done her own hair, with all sorts of different clips in it, and I sat really softly beside her and touched her head really softly, because I wasn't sure if she'd want to talk to me.
"Do you feel better yet?" I asked.
"No." She said.
I thought she would tell me to go away or stop messing with her hair, but she didn't. She didn't seem to notice me or anybody else. And then I wondered if this was just something she'd have to be alone in. Even if I sat next to her and held her hand, if she was still going to be alone no matter what.
And because we were at my grandparents, I again remembered all this. I remembered, also, how she looked on that hospital bed - so little and white and frail, like it would swallow her up, and the IV in her arm. I remembered how I had asked her, "Is it sore?" And then almost cried. . . throughout the whole visit, how I kept thinking; better, better, better - I want to make it better.
And I had to understand that I couldn't fix her. Nothing I had done had helped or would help. But that entire time, to me, is marked by the word 'better'. We were all saying, hoping it, thinking it. It still sprinkles our vocabulary too much, and in a different way than it did before.
So I knew I had to write about it, to let it go. I still can't make it better. No matter how much we ever 'manage' her diabetes, she'll still have to wait 15 minutes to feel better again after her blood sugar gets very low or high.
I'm just hoping that she's not always alone during those bad times.
I'm trying to see the bright side of these things. I suppose it can help me learn not to care for whoever is easiest for me to understand, to communicate better on the things that matter, and not to retreat so far into myself and my guilt at whatever calamitous situation I've created by my own stupidity that I can't remember months later if I fed my own family.
So that's the story, and I hope that writing this will help me let it go. I'm sure I'll regret posting something so personal and ridiculous later. Oh well, too late.

And. . .

. . .Another reason why Holmes is cool.
Oh yeah. Drinking coffee. And Starbucks, no less! Look at that man's discriminating taste. I now feel totally justified in spending twenty bucks on Sherlock Holmes when it comes out on DVD, because I know my money is going to discerning, classy, responsible people. ;-)

Sherlock Holmes

As you may know, I am a passionate Sherlock Holmes reader, and have been looking forward to the new movie since before it was even officially announced. Thus any empathetic person can imagine my vast excitement when I set out to see the film with a friend a few days after Christmas.
While my movie experience could have been severely dampened by the morons who decide they can price a small generic water bottle at $3.45 just because they think you're too desperate to hold out for anything better, I soldiered on. (You know who you are). That said, back to the title subject.
The movie centers around the fabricated villain, Lord Blackwood, (played admirably by Mark Strong), the leader a powerful cult intent upon - well, to put it plainly, taking over the world. Starting with their own country and politics.
You see, Lord Blackwood is sentenced to be hung for human sacrifice. Which he is, after Holmes (Robert Downey, Jr.) and Dr. John Watson (Jude Law) bring him to justice, with the legal sanction of Inspector Lestrade (Eddie Marsan). The only problem is, Blackwood is soon roaming the streets of London again - apparently risen from the grave. And, even more problematically, Watson was the attending doctor who pronounced him dead.
What follows is really a treat. Even if you are discontented with the plot, which takes certain liberties, it is still very possible to appreciate the scenery and setting. The film gives a wonderful glimpse of 1880s London, which was, to my amateur eye, quite accurate. It was like bringing my books of dog-eared black-and-white 19th-century reprints to life, in bustling color. It lights up the more sordid sides of the famous city with vibrancy and thought - I think Doyle would have been pleased. It's all swirling lower-class humanity, noise, life, and dirt. Really quite beautiful.
The camera itself was used creatively and beautifully. There are some very interesting shots - twists of the camera, tricks that give you the feeling of rushing along down the street with the characters. Also there are some wonderful elements that cost somebody a lot of money - several different angles and shots of an unfinished Tower Bridge,as well as a wonderful scene of construction in the shipyards.
Holmes is definitely an action film, featuring a wonderful boxing scene, several tense fights, and chase sequences so suspenseful they keep your adrenaline on a steadily growing high until the final scene. I love the overall athletic quality of the movie - too often the unapologetic, scholarly languor of Holmes is overemphasized.
I also enjoyed several witty lines from an assortment of different stories, most prominently the analyzing of a watch, which has always been one of my favorite Holmes scenes, so I was very glad they included that. If you've read all the stories obsessively (ahem) it's very fun to watch and try to pick them all out. I'll admit I was not quite astute enough to match all the lines to their stories of origin.
There was a very sweet portrayal of Watson and Mary Morstan's romance. Ms. Morstan was played by the lovely Kelly Reilly - I'd like to see her in more movies, I think she has great potential. It was hard to believe she is the same woman who played the seductive, catty Caroline Bingley in Pride & Prejudice a few years ago. She did an excellent job of Mary, really put some spirit and personality into it. She stood up to Holmes, which was a nice part of the film.
The presentation of Homes and Watson's rooms was very well done, indeed. The cold neatness of Watson's contrasted to the bohemian slovenliness of Holmes' was perfect, as good and better than what I had ever imagined. Very messy and nice. They were not too oppressively Victorian, which I think would be very inconsistent in a bachelor's set of rooms, but still reflected the fashions of the times in the subtle, mild, creeping way that current styles affect everybody's homes. Holmes and Watson's clothing was also very expressive of their personalities: Watson's neat and trim, fashionable but not showy, and Holmes' careless and yet thoughtful, vibrantly Pre-Raphaelite with a touch of impressionism. And thank God, they did not put a ridiculous deerstalker cap on the man! He had his signature pipe, but it was a believable one, not a massive, drooping thing that looks like it should be a gag gift made of rubber.
And the soundtrack! It was absolutely perfect. The movie pulls you up, draws you in, and I believe they own half of this to the music. It was just right - it had been another one of my anxieties, I was afraid it would be corny or too modern, but it was very classy and enjoyable. A big round of applause to Hans Zimmer, the composer, whose work you heard in Black Hawk Down, Pearl Harbor, The Last Samurai, Thelma & Louise, Driving Miss Daisy, and the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, just to name a few. He's awesome, very diverse. I didn't guess. (And I'm very good at guessing composers for movies).
Now we come to an interesting topic: the character of Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams). Ms. Adler is old Holmes alumni, well known for her notoriety in the story of the Scandal in Bohemia, where she appears as the woman - the only person to ever really outsmart Holmes. However, the film makers took her character a bit too far, I think. Most people seem to assume that romance is necessary for a successful Hollywood film, but I do not agree at all. Moreover, in this particular film, the love story between Watson and Mary Morstan could have sufficed. But alas no, they had to make constant insinuations about Holmes and Adler, quite openly suggesting that they had been lovers in the past. Which is ridiculous. Holmes isn't romantic at all, he scorns romance. This sentiment was amply expressed in his feelings about the relationship between Watson and Morstan, which only serves to make his own affections for Adler ridiculous and psychologically inconsistent. But they couldn't very well make him have had a relationship with Irene and have no feelings at all without turning Holmes into a cad, so I suppose that inconsistency was the film makers' only choice.
Also, there is a scene in which Adler is changing, and Holmes has that helpless deer-in-the-headlights look that seems to occur mostly when men just can't look away from something fascinating (like someone dressing). Now the cold logician of Doyle's stories would really not have cared less, I think, although one could attribute half of his indifference to a simple concealment of his real feelings. But Doyle never did, so I see no reason to take that liberty. I think Doyle's Holmes would not have been fazed if a woman had walked down the street naked, although he might have been interested in analyzing her motive. And while I'm being picky and critical, I might also mention Irene Adler's costume. Now, her clothes really were lovely and detailed and beautiful, if not a little flamboyant; but probably perfect for a woman of the stage. However, I had a slight problem with her decidedly modern bangs and makeup. I think it will be a bit of a regret in thirty years - rather like the 1960s tendency to throw winged eyeliner on any woman who's face was going to appear on screen with a complete disregard of historical accuracy. Also, for a crucial part of the movie she was supposed to be dressed as a man. I say 'supposed' because that really didn't work out too well. First of all, as a woman with acting talent, it is obvious (and actually stated in Doyle's work) that she would have known how to successfully disguise herself as a male - enough to fool Holmes. My argument is, if that were true, she would have made at least some effort to conceal those unpardonable hallmarks of femininity, her breasts; and she would not have worn eyeshadow, either. That was just ridiculous.
Also, I found myself re-saying a few of Ms. McAdam's lines for her. I'm very suspicious that this is a possessive affectation on my part, since she's a professional actress and probably knows what she's doing, but some of them seemed to ring a bit hollow to me. I hope to feel a bit differently when I see the movie again.
I will say that Adler's was a very exciting, physical role, something I consider an improvement that Doyle probably would not have minded, and McAdam's played it remarkably well.
The character was satisfyingly spunky and independent, too. Overall, such a vast adaptation of a character who only appeared in one story could have been disastrous, but it was not that at all. She was done very well, I liked it.
Also, a big relief: there was a scene, shown in the previews, of Irene prancing around in red satin negligee and, horror of horrors, kissing Holmes.
This scene does not appear in the movie! It must have been cut towards the end, because they certainly used it in their commercials. Maybe they thought it would draw more audiences, who knows. Anyways, I was immensely relieved, since it definitely would have brought the overall quality of the film down a bit for me.
Robert Downey Jr. did an excellent job, he's almost made it on my 'Like' list, Jude Law is the absolutely perfect Watson, correct in every way. The film was also very witty and humorous, which is nice - I like laughter between my adrenaline rushes.
The plot-line circles to such fantastic heights that I despaired of it ever being worked out scientifically, which is the key to Holmes. If it hadn't, it would have ruined the film. But it did. When the final crash of excellent music sounded, everything had been sorted out properly - but not all the loose ends had been tied up. I think they left it very, very open for a sequel. I'll be incredibly disappointed if there isn't one, in fact.
So there it is: my Holmes review. I give it nine out of ten, and would suggest it to any of my friends. It would be a great renter for a movie night, and a film I wouldn't mind owning some day.

And, as always. . .
This New Years made possible by Coffee!