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@gracie-j You know, I’ve the slight impression that a certain young lady on this forum greatly enjoys Gone With the Wind. Mind you, I have no apparent proof, but the clues certainly suggest the proper motive. Nay, I haven’t watched the movie and certainly I have no intention of doing so anytime soon. I’ve long heard rumors that this novel was and still is what some people call “a classic”. No doubt, ’tis true, for many people have enjoyed it such that it has become something of a legend among the people. Even those who, indeed, have not read it know at least of its fame among the nations, and thus prescribe merit unto its name and title. I am not yet one of those people. Not yet one of the crowds, but rather one of the Kingdom. I do believe that it certainly has potential for a good (ack, yes, even great) story, since from reports by certain young and old people through various outlets have informed me of such an opinion. Even also the “blurb”, as some would call it, has provided proof in my mind of this assertion.
But one book, one story, does not hold all the greatness in the world betwixt its dignified covers. Even one which has traveled the world by wind; substance, indeed, Mademoiselle. I could put forth the assumption that Death on the Nile, by Agatha Christie is one of the better books ever written. But many people could disagree with me. Even I may disagree. I may one day read Gone With the Wind. Most definitively so, even soon.
Define for a minute, if you will, the word “uncultured”. For one could say that the majority of youths in America are very “cultured” since they are the majority, and follow certain patterns of life. Those who sit around all day, on screens, on social media, listening to music, in essence their way of “shutting out the world”. There can be found a great amount of proof for this. But no. I think you mean rather cultured or educated in the arts. It is a sad fact that many people of the day are inadequately informed, ignorant of their history, and consumed only with pitiful selfish desires. Such is the position of the unbeliever. That is: depraved, consumed with themselves and their own glory. They love the Darkness, indeed they do. But the Light has not been extinguished; it never has been extinguished and is, indeed GREATER than the darkness. I’ve heard it said that Earth is the closest Christians will ever be to Hell, and Earth is the closest unbelievers will be to Heaven. Very adequately put, I think.
You know, I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice lately, and since I’m pretty bored, it’s no wonder that just happened.
*eyes bulge, heart begins to pound, a sure sign that something is wrong* *clears throat, choking on words, saliva, a certain rogue tongue* Lord, this guy has the most beautiful writing ever. I just, I just…ah…
*glances up to find the most outrageous smirk pasted upon the face of one writer* *blushes furiously, ducking her head* Did I really just say that out loud? For real? As in, voiced the words with my lips and larynx so that people–a particular person–can hear? Like, with their ears?
*clears throat once more, struggling to regain her composure, whilst fiddling with wild strands of hair* @leon-fleming You make very strong points. (Good grief, you make ordinary words taste like chocolate…no, wait, that’s sound weird. Never mind.) Gone with the Wind ’tis indeed a classic, or, at the very least, heralded as one, and most especially by the preceding generations, quite a many members of which happen to be related to the aforementioned girl on the forum who “greatly enjoys” Gone with the Wind. I do not, of course, intend to sing the praises of an imperfect (as it could not even strive to be) work of literature, but merely wish to inform you that, should you be so inclined, you could find it in your heart, the smallest crevice, to read the book. It simply presents a different view of quickly stereotyped aspects of the South’s history, wielding an unlikely (and, to some, unloved) heroine to tell the tale of love and loss and the slightest bit of hope during a most trying time. Is it that I am biased, being a Southern and descendant of several fans of the book, or that it is simply so good a work? I know not. Alas, I doubt I ever shall. It did, in retrospect, appeal to me in a way, being not overly humdrum and unremarkable, but instead quick-paced and intriguing, factual yet not bodged down in textbook material. It, to some degree, in one perspective, was a story brought to life.
Nay, do not so hastily presume that I would desire to force something wholly unwanted down your throat–may heaven surely forbid! And, of course, as you have said, no one book is perfect, its entirely consummate in not only its subject or its prose but in every known aspect of literature–of humanity. Only, I would say, in good sooth, can the Bible be so described. I’m well assured you would agree.
*returns to the third paragraph of the post above, sighing with the twist of her heart, knowing that perhaps, for once, she is not alone in this world* I shall comply–cultured, as of 1777, is defined as “refined, improved by exposure to intellectual culture,” and so of course, per the Proto-Germanic un, uncultured would simply mean the opposite. Uncultured would readily define the description you have already provided–“inadequately informed, ignorant of their history, and consumed only with pitiful selfish desires.” An uncultured youth, as I perhaps inaccurately have labeled the whole of my generation (seeing as that, apparently, you do not fall into this category, aside from the small infraction of having not read Gone with the Wind) would be, in my own terms, with no added offense, mind you, someone you listens to and enjoys Harry Styles and thinks that Christopher Columbus actually found America. He didn’t, if the Native Americans and the Vikings are of any consolation. And don’t get me started on pop music. These sort of folk could never be considered “cultured,” as they have obviously never been exposed to–or at least have not accepted the ideals and values of–intellectual members of our society. In fact, the majority of which you speak can not use their patterns of life, social status, or their state as the majority as basis for being “cultured.” Far from it, I say! Far from it! Intellectual first meant “grasped by the understanding,” as opposed to the senses, and surely the majority’s habits are proof that they are sensual beings, and perhaps, in nature, we all are, but some of us have been so grasped by understanding, causing us to become intellectual beings. Without exposure to intellect–understanding–or other intellectuals, one could not hope to become one. Now could they?
By the way, how is Pride and Prejudice? I watched the ’05 movie, which would have been really good if Mr. Darcy weren’t so ugly–no offense intended to the poor actor, I assure you–but I’ve yet to read the book. I read Persuasion this summer, which is rumored to be her best work of all, in multiple aspects, but I can only say that the ending was particularly good–and I don’t mean because it ended. I actually enjoyed the last couple chapters. Everyone does rave about Pride and Prejudice–or perhaps ’tis Colin Firth they’re raving about–so I have to admit that I feel, shall we say, uncultured to have not read it yet.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j *sits with rather an amused expression on his face, suit rumpled, looking in need of coffee…days have passed and he has not yet left the confines of his apartment on this Baker Street…a maid walks into the room and throws open the curtains as slow music begins slowly wafting in the air, reminding him of the currents of the ocean; tea is placed before him and the man-servant leaves without a sound. The room has cleared and all is silent except for the slow dripping of water from some hidden place. All seems unclear and muddled, and time is at a standstill. His hand rose, rubbing his chin in slow, methodical, concentration and still nothing stirs within the room. His head turned, intent gaze laid full upon the still rays of light falling in from the window, like slow moving rivers of slumber. Dust flows through the air.
A soft click sounds and sound bursts through the room, overcoming that of the music; the thunder of stone grinding against stone rumbles, sending vibrations down into the confines of his ears, reverberating off the insides of his still mind. Then silence falls and the man sits facing the wall opposite his desk. A piano begins faintly playing a sad tune down the street, and he can hear rain pelting the rooftops some miles away. He stands, facing the open door in the wall and the darkness past the threshold. Then a light bursts to life within the darkness and a beam filters down to the floor of nothingness therein. A thump and dust rises into that beam of light, but quickly leaves it clear. Another light bursts to life, and still yet another. The man walked into the open doorway, closing the door of stone behind him as he passed through…*
My goodness, girl, dost thou need a glass of cool water? Mere writing is mere writing and easily accomplished at that; practice, persistence and a constant flow of good reading quickly smooths the fractures of a broken hand. I’m glad that you enjoyed the writing, though, for it was enjoyably written. I haven’t ever experienced chocolate tasting words as of yet though that does sound culinarily and realistically compelling. Imagining the reality of phrases of speech can be intriguing in many ways…
Methinks I’ve a crevice or two to within my heart to one day read a book that has given rise for so much conversation. It must spin a tale most beautifully if its reputation is to be trusted, as many other books and tales have done so well. Although I am not directly from the South but rather the North, I have read a fair number of novels more than the average adolescent of this age, and so may not neglect the perusing of Gone With the Wind in its finished state. That is, in order to provide my most truthful and sincere opinion of the book in question. After the time that I do read this book, you may rest assured that Goodreads shall receive yet another review of the novel among its thousands.
In all honesty, you make it sound quite exotic and captivating. In all aspects of my reading past, it seems like the sort of novel which has the potential to be pleasurable to me. The difference and means for hesitation on my part is that Gone With the Wind is just the sort of book that you would be inclined to read; you being the sort of girl, if I am correct in assuming, who being caught up in your own mild fancies (as have we all, I’m sure), has so endeavored to produce the facts of your interest in romance fiction. I have no intention of shining a negative light upon the proffering of one’s interests, mind you; I do that quite a lot. My point being said that I am not naturally drawn to full and expressed romance fiction in my reading, and thus would not choose full-blown romance on the usual occasion for casual reading. While I do enjoy reading romance in other books of different generally focused genre, I don’t gravitate or fall back upon the romance fiction genre as a basis for necessary reading. Correct me if my assumption that you are more inclined towards the romance is flawed; I wouldn’t wish to put forth anything fraught with falsehood, whether consciously or unconsciously.
I will console your thoughts with the statement that, nay, I do not indeed think you capably willing to force something down my throat. In fact, that picture is quite strange, one might readily agree, and on the whole, I may not mention it again for the duration of this conversation thread (unless I feel totally disposed, of natural course). And most definitely YES; I do agree with you that the Word of God is truly and fully perfect and complete. Of that, you can also rest assured.
*laugh/coughing into mine sleeve* Yes, well, although those multitudes of certain people out of the whole whom you have declared as uncultured may indeed have deserved it, let’s not fall into bouts of insultry (I made that word up for lack of a better description of the meaning). Exactly right on the “finding” of America. Believe it or not, but the Vikings are actually my ancestors, as crazy as that would seem.
Indeed, those people are not literally cultured at all. In fact, their lines of expertise lie in things unnecessary and unessential to the actual realities of work and life. My point was that, in their minds, they are “cultured”, being involved with the culture, or the people. And thus, their ignorance strikes again. Intellectually, they have “not much left in the upper room”, if you comprehend my meaning. Indeed, they are fallen, corrupt, and consumed with themselves. They all doth believe in God, no matter what opinions they durst choose to voice.
I have a sure feeling that, were Hercule Poirot an actual person, he would have found that comment quite agreeable. That is “some of us have been so grasped by understanding, causing us to become intellectual beings”. For, you see, Poirot is very conceited and proud of himself, though he does not express this in a haughty manner. He would very hurriedly agree with the fact that he himself is an intellectual being, though that, in his own peculiar way of speaking and acting. For ‘intellectual’ also means “possessing a highly developed intellect”, and Poirot thinks very highly of his little grey cells. You have, no doubt, heard of Hercule Poirot? To be more precise, the greatest fictional detective in literature? Sherlock Holmes comes in second to him, if not equally composed.
I must quote you for a second. “Without exposure to intellect–understanding–or other intellectuals, one could not hope to become one.” This is true, and it brings up the fact that something cannot come from nothing. This is the singular, most obvious flaw with the whole idea of evolution. God created the world, not a “big bang”. And for those scientists who came up with that fictional title for that fictional event, one would think that they could have put together something a little more descriptive for something like that. Especially since it is all fiction.
Pride and Prejudice is going quite well, except for the fact that the book had to be packed into a box recently. I’m going to have to acquire the library’s edition. It has excellent prose, courtesy of Jane Austen, and excellent dialogue. I highly recommend it. I’ve watched two of the film adaptations of the novel (both the 1995 TV series, which is more like two movies really; and the 2005 film), and it is my strong opinion that the 1995 production is much better than the 2005 film. Obviously, there are flaws and strengths in both of the movies. But, for one, Colin Firth played a much better Fitzwilliam Darcy than that actor in the 2005 film. That’s just one point, as well. Be assured, there are many. I have not read Austen’s Persuasion, but I have watched the 1995 film many times. And I highly enjoyed it, on the whole. Indeed, though, I would not consider you uncultured for not having read Pride and Prejudice. This is only my first read through, and I am quite a bit older than an ant.
@leon-fleming *a bemused expression forms upon the young lady’s face, dusting her cheeks with the faintest of blushes and alighting her dark eyes with the twinkles of laughter. A dainty glass of iced water appears within her hand, as sudden as a thunderbolt from the blue, and with suppressed giggles (although some would, admittedly, refer to them as snorts) she sips from it carefully before a much less ladylike laugh, one even she would deem a snort, arises from her pursed lips and hitches the water in her throat. Hacking, quite frankly, she blinks slowly at the little card accompanying the water, as realization dawns upon her as to just who supplied her with the glass. Her lungs having finally cleared, she utters a low, rasping, “Thank thee, kind sir,” with no small amount of sarcasm*
Mere writing is mere writing? I heartily disagree! Unless you speak of the mere writing used in the context of a menu or a text message, than yes, of course–you speak the truth! But good prose–nay, in fact, beautiful prose–is quite complexly much more! Beautiful prose is the gateway to worlds and the portal to untold stories–to life and love and laughter, to colors our eyes have ne’er beheld and beauty our tongues cannot tell and sounds our ears have not once heard and tastes which surpass our mortal senses.
I digress. I suppose I must apologize–you have caught me with stars in my eyes. You see, it is a rarity among the company with which I associate myself to find such thought and consideration, such care and devotion, instilled within “mere writing.” (Proof of the sort of company I associate with, I daresay.) Oh, and you simply must try tasting your words once and a while. Let me see… *flips through the dictionary which remains stationary at her bedside* Illumination tastes like cream–light and fluffy, whipped to perfection, with only the slightest twinge of lemon and calmest brush of vanilla. Experience tastes like black licorice, as strong and pungent, forever ingrained upon the mind, as any good (or bad, if you detest licorice) experience is. Reverberate smells strictly of cinnamon and cloves, but bursts into an array of spices, bitter coal, earthy sweet potatoes, and rhubarb. Exotic tastes of oranges, limes, and coconuts, of course, with undertones of papayas and pineapple. Romance (indeed a favorite word of mine) tastes of roses and lavender, violets and raspberries, with a breath of musk and pure earth.
In speaking of your origins, I do hope I’ve not offended you–I come from a long line of Southerns, most of whom fought for the Confederacy during the war–but rest assured that Gone with the Wind features no large amount of prejudice, upon the author’s part, at least, simply a factual representation of differing opinions–some of which are more self-centered, others more traditionally-inclined, and others still emulating the unconditional love of Christ.
In speaking, now, of romantic content, I must pose the question–can one call it a romance? Perhaps someone who sees the outer layer, the tragic love story of Scarlett and Rhett, which has inspired many across the span of years, or even the reputation it has for being one of the greatest and most classic romances of all time (second, I would surmise, only to Romeo and Juliet). But, after tearing through layers of reputation and description, dialogue and plot, characters and narrative, one can peer in and see it as a romance by earliest definition, in its purest form–a story meant to entertain, the tales of a hero, written in such a way as to capture the attention of generations. In fact, the phrase “romance novel” didn’t even come into usage until thirty years after Gone with the Wind‘s publication.
But surely I no longer need convince of you its merits–it is a widely known fact that, truly, it possess some–and surely I must assure you that have in no way whatsoever offended me by assuming that I am “the sort of girl” who adores romantic fiction. I am not ashamed of the truth–far be it from me to be! I am a hopeless romantic, ’tis true, and I shall proudly proclaim that fact, even unto the point of rejection and persecution. I understand if one such as yourself does not fancy romance as much I as do–the genre most certainly has many faults. But a good romance, one which quickens your heartbeat and shortens your breath and fills your mind with a myriad of fantasies and hopes and dreams, is always appealing. And a great romance, the sort fraught with turmoil and trial, bleak situations and hopeless encounters, the sort which seems to provide no happily-ever-after, which has no fairy godmother to turn things about, which can only demonstrate an intense, dramatic, reckless unto the point of insanity kind of love, one so powerful that it would flood a nation and wipe out adversity, is as Solomon intended it–a portrait of Jesus, head adorned with a crown of thorns and body beaten and bloodied. A great romance leaves one hungry with the supplication found only in Christ, the being loved in such a way, the outward and inward living of such a romance story.
All this being said, it never hurts if there’s a wee bit of, I don’t know, piracy or fantasy or piracy or danger or piracy or action or piracy or tribulation or war or piracy or espionage or piracy or…have I mentioned piracy yet? Romance on its own is so bland, so unrealistic. I mean, name one couple whose time of dating/courtship/acquaintance/what have you leading up to marriage consisted of several well-organized dates in a fancy restaurant, complimented by a few heated kisses and a heartwarming profession of love, then a long, quiet happily-ever-after. *waits for at least three minutes whilst crickets begin to chip in the background* I didn’t think so.
Moving on, I do appreciate you disposing of the frightening image (for it really is quite disturbing) of me jamming a huge anvil down your throat. Did I say anvil? Oh, no! I meant a, uh, a-a book, of course! A small, slim little book, you know, consisting of only a chapter or two. Certainly not an anvil–oh, heavens, no! Why, that’s so…so…cruel! Yes, yes. Let us put this behind us, for I most certainly would not want to start off on the wrong throat…er, anvil…uh, foot, I mean. Foot. The wrong foot.
Insultry. Hmm. I do quite like that word. And its meaning, of course, since I really am quite found of lapsing into bouts of insultry. Have you tried it recently? It makes one feel quite…bad, honestly. A sort of a sick-to-the-stomach type feeling. I should probably cease to do so as often as I do. Well, surely uncultured is too heavy of an insult. Nay, I do believe clodpate or doddypoll or perhaps even jobbernowl would be considered fine examples of prime insultry. (And, yes, those are all real words.) And, yes, I do comprehend your meaning, which leaves me wondering…are you doing a wee bit of insulting yourself? Why, my good sir! How hypocritical of you! Not that, of course, you aren’t entirely correct in your implication. But I wouldn’t dare voice that, for I’ve finally put insultry behind me–thanks to those jobbernowls who keep leering at me every time I call them uncultured. *turns about to shout offscreen, “Well, of course you’re uncultured! You’re eating with your hands, you blighted clodpate!”
I have indeed heard of Mr. Poirot, but only by reputation, of course, which far precedes his visiting the state of Georgia. But should he ever make an appearance, I’ll be certain to seek him out. He sounds like quite the intellectual fellow, if I do say so myself.
Ah, and now you speak of evolution! The worst tale I’ve ever heard–rife with plot holes and inconsistencies, written with a tattered narrative and lacking any good world building. I can’t even find any good characters in this story! Hmm. I’ll have to move on, I’m afraid. Mr. Darwin is not a favorite author of mine. (Aside from the whole something from nothing situation, doesn’t it bother you that there aren’t any fossilized Neanderthals or half-evolved creatures, or even creatures evolving now? I mean, you really think people are going to buy a product that doesn’t even exist? Oh, wait. Never mind. Those doddypolls already have. Uncultured, uninformed, uneducated…oh. Oh, my. Excuse. I was practicing insultry again, wasn’t I?
Packed into a box? Oh, good heavens! I do so hope that Lizzie and Mr. Darcy will be able to see in there. You’ve provided them a peephole, haven’t you? And some air holes? And a pillow or two? Surely you know how stuffy and uncomfortable it is in those boxes. Ugh. I’ve still yet to recover from that traumatic experience. The claustrophobia will never leave me, I fear. Oh, and don’t forget the air freshener. The body odor of the Regency era was unbearable. I can only imagine what a box would do.
I nearly had the chance to watch the film series, and, to be honest, I quite wanted to. Unfortunately, when one has three younger brothers and a decidedly not romantic father, one must forfeit historical romance (ah…) for dinosaurs and superheroes. *cue Taps and a succession of fat tears* On the other hand, I’ve been wanting to watch Persuasion for quite some time, and I do believe that the film’s reputation is what spurred me to read the book. I’ve never been much of an Austen fan, which is evident by the fact that Persuasion is the only book of hers that I’ve read, but I wanted to give it a chance, and I did, of which I’m not disappointed.
Older than an ant? Pardon my lack of culture, but I’ve not the slightest clue as to what in tarnation you mean by “older than an ant.” And I even googled it and all I got was evolutionist propaganda about ants being millions of years old and, wait…that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?
Either way, I’ll be keeping an eye on Gone with the Wind‘s reviews, and when I see your name appearing upon its landing page, I’ll be shooting you a hundred million questions, rest assured. Or else with one eye open.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j OHHHHH…come on. I just tried to post that whole thing…and some error happened.
@leon-fleming I feel you. That’s been happening to me several times since last night. Hit the back button and you can copy all that you wrote.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j Yeah…I tried that, but it didn’t work. Thankfully I’ve already copied and pasted a large amount of it onto a Pages doc. But still…all that about Elizabeth, Darcy, and all the rest…gosh.
@leon-fleming I hope it works. I’ve had to save three documents full of posts that didn’t go through, just in case.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j Ouch; it’d better work, then. I’m gonna have to make sure to save it to something.
@leon-fleming Yeah. I’ll say a prayer. Is this a common thing?
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j Thanks. Not usually. It did this a lot when I first got on here, and from other reports, it happens when the site is bogged down. But that theory is highly unlikely since we’re the only two people on here.
@leon-fleming Interesting. Maybe my newbie status is messing it up for you–I’m apparently the only one whose had this problem recently. I smell a technological mystery. And you’re welcome, by the way.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j That is interesting; for all of the flair of technology, it’s still flawed.
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