Extremely Loud and Incredibly.....

...Depressing. (A book review)

I got a Kindle for Valentine's day. I so love it. It's an old dinosaur of a Kindle, with push buttons and everything. No touch screen or internet here...exactly what I wanted!

One of my first purchases was the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.   I had seen the movie trailers in December and was excited to learn it was based on a book.

I prefer reading to watching. I'm really nerdy that way. (Except the LOTR series... amazing stuff there.)

Anyway. My expectations were that it was a "feel good" book. That this poor boy had lost his dad in the 9/11 terrorist attacks, had found a key left to him by his dad... and the book would detail his search for the lock and in the meantime draw him closer to his dad and mankind in general.  That somehow this search would help to heal this young man, and show him how connected he is to these people in NYC. 

I couldn't have been more wrong.

*****SPOILER ALERT*****

I'm truly sorry, but in order to prove my point, I have to give away quite a bit. Since I have not seen the movie, I have no idea if I'm spoiling anything there. So, read on with caution!

There are quite a few unknowns at the start of this book. And that makes for good, healthy suspense. You read because you want to find out the answers.

Let me outline a few.

~At the beginning of the book ,we meet Oskar (the 12 year old protagonist) on Sept 11th. He is home early from school, alone in his apartment in NYC. He sees that there are messages on the home answering machine. And then the phone rings... it's his Dad.(chapter ends)

~Later on, we start to read letters. Letters to Oskar... and "Letters to my Unborn Son"...

~Oskar finds a key in an envelope at the bottom of a blue vase. He believes it is important to his Dad somehow, and he is determined to find out what it opens. There is a name on the envelope... Black. He decides to ask everyone in the city whose last name is Black if they know anything about the key or his Dad.

~Oskar is a self-proclaimed atheist. He and his dad even joke about his "belief" (or lack thereof)....

We need answers, right?  So I keep reading.

The problem is that the answers are so very depressing.

The atheist answer? Well, at the end of the story Oskar says he's an atheist BUT!... it's "complicated." Ugh.

The letters. Well, his grandfather left his grandmother before Oskar's Dad was born. So, the "Letters to my Unborn Son" are from him.  Through him we find out that the grandmother is mostly blind. The grandfather had her type out letters (her story) and then he realizes that he had forgotten to put the typewriter ribbon in! Volumes of blank pages outline her life. He pretends to read them, just to make her feel better.

The grandmother writes letters to Oskar. She adores him. Through these letters, we find out how unbearable her relationship with her ex-husband had been. He was in love with her sister who had died. They divided their home into "something" places (places they could acknowledge each other) and "nothing" places (places they could be invisible to each other) and everything was either a something or a nothing. Of course, the bedroom was a nothing.... 
We also find out that the grandmother was actually NOT blind. And she knew about the typewriter ribbon. She kept typing anyway. Pages and pages of her story... of nothing.

Keep in mind this NOTHING theme. It gets worse.

The key. Oh, THE KEY!! (imagine me grabbing my head and busting it through a wall)  Oskar embarks on his journey, meeting all of these interesting people.... for months he does this, every Saturday, working his way down the list of people with the last name of Black. The eccentric old man who lives above them (whose last name is Black) accompanies him for part of it. It all seems so promising!  But then. Then he realizes there is a message on the answering machine from months before. It's from one of the first people he meets. She says she does know something about the key... her ex-husband... (click) it ends. He rushes out to visit her. It turns out that her ex-husband has been looking for this very key. She didn't want to say anything because she was mad at him. Oskar then asks why the message got cut off... did his mom pick up? Turns out, yes, she had, and this woman had explained everything to her. So, whenever Oskar had met anyone, his mom had already called ahead to pave the way for him. Even the company of the old man was rearranged. And that friendship they had? Poof. Gone. The old man moved away with no explanations or good-byes to Oskar.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE KEY? What does it open??? It opens a safety deposit box that belonged to the father of the ex-husband. Oskar's dad had bought a blue vase at an estate sale and never noticed the envelope at the bottom of it. Period, the end. The key had nothing to do with Oskar or his Dad.

And the real kicker. We meet Oskar the morning of September 11th remember? And the telephone is ringing. He sees it is his Dad. It is 10:22am. The answering machine picks up. His dad says, "Are you there?" And then he repeats it, over and over and over. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?" He says that for almost 2 whole minutes.  It cuts off. It is 10:24am. The North Tower collapses.

So, his Dad dies asking for his son. And his son stands there, staring at the answering machine.... NOTHING.

*****************************************************

To be completely fair... there are a few gems here.  Oskar is an extremely likable kid. He is clever, not book-smart, but has a vivid imagination and a unique outlook on life, given his age. He likes to "invent" things during the long, sleepless nights. Many of his quirky sayings keep coming to mind... how his "boots are heavy" when he is sad... how he wishes everyone could "see" how you were feeling, like a color on your face... maybe people would be kinder?  And things along those lines. It is endearing.

But what he has lost, and the sense of hopelessness that surrounds him, is unbearable. And the lack of redemption for anyone here, overwhelming.

Some may argue that Oskar has begun to find healing. Knowing that the key has not brought him closer to his Dad, he will find other ways to mend. But I'm not convinced. The only thing I walk away with, is that it all means NOTHING.

This is not the story we want to read when it comes to 9/11. We want to read a different story. We NEED to read a different story. We need a story that shows us the beauty of mankind, if only to help balance the horror of that day. That day showed us how evil man can be.... we need to know irrefutably how precious  and how meaningful each life was that we lost that day. And we need to hear that those of us who remain can find hope and healing amongst the rubble.

The Mediocre Mama

That's me. 

The one who is not an expert at ANYTHING.

Oh sure, I can cook, bake, and clean. I make sure the red shirts stay out of the white sock loads... 
I usually remember to pick my kids up on time, am generally not too late arriving at functions.

Stuck backpack zippers? Stubborn shoelace knots? Untucked bedsheets? My forte, apparently.

This lack of specialization can bring a woman down. What can I do well? Maybe even, dare I say it, especially well?

We all have our gifts, that I know.  And I can give you a laundry list of exactly what my gifts are NOT.
Crafting (in any sense of the word) comes to mind as #1 on that list. Being organized is a close second.

I pondered this question as I stood outside the other day, minding Little Dude while shooting hoops with Action Man.

I thought of it again as I haphazardly stitched together an errant seam in one of Little Dear's skirts.

I was reminded of it while kicking the soccer ball around with Sports Fan at one of Little Boo's games.

And I realized... I have just enough.  Just enough skill and know-how to be the mom to these kids.  These specific children placed in my care...

I may not be able to beat my 14 year old at a game of H-O-R-S-E, but I can make a good showing of it.

I can stop my 12 year old from deking around me with a soccer ball, at least 80% of the time. And probably deke him out just as often, still. (well, at least for now... expecting to see that number dwindle rapidly)

I can stitch a (somewhat) straight line... and years ago actually used a sewing machine to make jedi robes for the boys. (swoon!)

Little Dear defers to me during her baking adventures.

Sports Fan listens to my soccer advice during his games.

Action Man comes to me for Latin difficulties.

Little Boo lets me help her with Math. (That's about it, but I'll take it. :P)

And I'm still pretty much the center of Little Love's universe. (Can you say "baby-girl"?)

As a mom-of-many, I have a lot of hats to don. The personalities and preferences of my children dictate which hats are the most important ones. And while I'll never be that perfect, put-together, uber-organized paragon of expertise...

I'll be me. That mediocre Mama who has just enough wisdom, grace, and soccer-skills to get the job done.
:P