L.S. Causes Cancer

(Tongue in cheek ...)

Just before learning of Mom's cancer, I bought a book by an irritating author whom I shall refer to as L.S. This was my first encounter with the author, and since she had recently won an Orange Prize for her work, I thought, heck, I'd give her a go. Big mistake. I remember boring Mom to tears back in August as I read passages from her book, and frustrating the others with her circuitous, and oftentimes esoteric, paragraphs on this, that, and the other. Her language seemed more a reflection of her own high-brow personality, than a true portrayal of her main character, as clearly demonstrated in her biography, where she continued to use archaic language to describe her wonderful accomplishments and peripatetic life. To steal a few lines from Don Quixote:

And as this piece of yours aims at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence which books of chivalry have in the world and with the public, there is no need for you to go a-begging for aphorisms from philosophers, precepts from Holy Scripture, fables from poets, speeches from orators, or miracles from saints; but merely to take care that your style and diction run musically, pleasantly, and plainly, with clear, proper, and well-placed words, setting forth your purpose to the best of your power, and putting your ideas intelligibly, without confusion or obscurity.

In other words, dumb it down sister! Why I harp on old L.S. is due to the fact that her inability to speak plainly caused my family much grief, as, out of frustration, I felt the need to read examples of her inane language aloud.  They grumbled and sighed and feigned strokes just to have me stop. But alas, my annoyance of L.S. was too powerful to keep at bay. I preached and preached that, in an effort to appear sophisticated, she sacrificed an otherwise personal relationship with me, the reader. William Carlos Williams, Alice Munro, Hemingway, they all had a knack for speaking convincingly through simple language. How this young author missed the memo was vexing and worth relaying to the rest of the fam., if only for a little entertainment. When the family fled, Mom, the captive, was the proverbial last man standing.

Knowing all along that L.S. may have had a hand with Mom's diagnosis in August, I made the mistake of picking up her second novel just before Craig was diagnosed with R.C.C. The second novel picks up where the last one leaves off in irritating, high-brow rants. So, to recap, I bought a book in July and then Mom was diagnosed with cancer. I bought another book in February, only to have C diagnosed with cancer. If A+B=C, carry the two, add the one ....the only logical conclusion is L.S. causes cancer -- that, or a really bad headache. Either way, I now realize the cruelty and injustice involved in bringing the rest of the fam. down by reading. Mom wasn't too pleased when I offered to read her passages from her latest. In fact, Craig asked just the other day why I keep torturing them with this drivel. I'm not sure, exactly. Good question. L.S's material has become such a fixture of our life, it's hard not to... (C, D, E, and Dad know what I'm talking about...) -- J