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Dear Judy,
First, allow me to apologize for my tardiness. This is not a Festive-Ass Flicks Situation, I literally lost a day this week and still have no idea whether it was Monday or Tuesday that I left in the dust somewhere. I thought yesterday was Tuesday and woke up this morning, ready to finish reading and write to you, but discovered it was Thursday while checking the weather. I even had a conversation with my dad about it being Wednesday yesterday because we both thought it was Tuesday. Was it aliens, Judy? I’m scared.
Second, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great was pretty okay! Sheila is particularly irritating, even as a background character in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, so I wasn’t particularly surprised at how irritating she was in her own book. I was surprised by how irritating everyone else was though.
Libby is a brat and Mouse is such a snot — I swear if she said “Don’t you think?” while trying to convince Sheila to be honest one more time I was going to reach through the book and smack her — and the twins are terrible. But as I grew more and more frustrated with them, I remembered: kids are awful, just utterly unbelievably awful. I was one. I was awful. Well done, Judy.
Part of why Sheila is so frustrating is because I was her, I was totally and completely her as a kid, and it’s really unpleasant — no matter how long it’s been, I’m 27! — to be reminded of what a monster you were. I was bossy and manipulative and I lied a lot because I just wanted people to like me. I even made a newspaper once! But I was at least smart enough to delegate stories to other kids. (I wrote a review of Mrs. Doubtfire and another girl went to work with her mom for a day and wrote about it. That’s all I can remember at this point. I’m getting so old.)
In the end, that was the saving grace of the book for me and made the irritation and frustration of youth worth it. I know that Sheila will grow up into a pretty awesome person. I know because I did. I know she’ll figure out that lying is a waste of her creativity as a person, that her bossiness can be better spent on getting things done when they need to be, and that… Well, she’ll probably realize that manipulating people is actually really useful and it will last well into adulthood. Sorry, Sheila. Two out of three ain’t bad.
Thanks for reminding me of where I came from, Judy. I needed it.
– Ash
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I was going to stop recapping Face Off because it was sort of killing my will to live and also my girlfriend just started her new job, so we’re still working out the kinks in time management and I obviously can’t watch this thing without her, since it’s her fault ENTIRELY that I ever watched it in the first place, so that meant we didn’t actually watch it until yesterday morning. But. Here we are.
This week on Face Off… » more: face off, “alice in zombieland”
Dear Judy,
I started talking about Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to my girlfriend last night while we were sitting at the dinner table. Dinner was delicious — mashed potatoes topped with chicken breast, broccoli, onions, and parmesan slivers — and I was expressing my displeasure at feeling pretty blocked with what to write about this one. I read it in about an hour and a half on Thursday morning, set it down on the side table next to our couch, and forgot about it immediately.
This isn’t to say it’s forgettable, Judy! Not at all. Quite the contrary, I learned, as my dinnertime conversation devolved into me screaming, “He ate the turtle! He just ate it! He just swallowed his brother’s turtle and no one cared. It was all ‘Poor Fudge!’ and ‘We have to save Fudge!’ and no concern that this sociopathic animal child just ate his brother’s pet!” I could say it’s unlike me to dissolve into outraged screams over fiction, but it’s really, really not.
I recounted Fudge’s many and sundry sins to my girlfriend as we were finishing up our meal and grew more and more outraged by the utterly dreadful parenting going on around these kids. They are so permissive of Fudge’s abominable behavior that it ends with him eating an animal alive! I wish you could hear me screaming through the internet, Judy, because I am that outraged. And then, once the drama of Fudge passing the turtle through his digestive tract has ceased, these atrocious parents buy the kid a puppy and joke that they made sure it would get too big for Fudge to eat.
Judy, can we stop and address the absolute terror you’ve inflicted on the world here? Fudge eats his brother’s pet! A tiny, helpless, living creature with whom his big brother Peter has formed a bond and with whom Fudge has been told time and time again not to touch. I am so traumatized!
I’ve never been a parent and, barring a large seismic shift in the universe, will never be, but even all other behavior aside, I can assure you that if my three-year-old ate someone’s pet, I’d at least be taking him in for psychiatric observation. This is not a cricket or a caterpillar or dirt. This is someone’s beloved companion. This will be the only thing I ever think about ever again in my life.
I am going to be screaming about this turtle being eaten by a three-year-old until I die. My last words are going to be, “He was just a little turtle! How could you?! How could you?!” and then I’ll expire in a great gust of breath and unanswered questions.
Judy, I love you, but gawd save you. Gawd save us all.
– Ash
P.S. RIP DRIBBLE
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Dear Judy,
It’s Not the End of the World was… I’ve been sitting here trying to do a pun thing and I’m finally giving up. It’s Not the End of the World was okay!
It’s not a book I particularly identify with because, by the time divorce was imminent for my parents, I was kind of praying for it. And maybe that’s what struck me the most — that Karen could be living in a pretty toxic environment and not have realized what was coming, not been hoping for it. My parents are together now — the announcement of their forthcoming divorce ended in my mother’s attempted suicide, subsequent therapy, and a year of separation before they decided to reconcile — so clearly Karen and I were in very different boats, but I was her age! And I still knew what was coming. Granted, it was 1996 and divorce rates were almost double what they were when Karen was twelve, so I suppose I’ll account for relativity.
What I think amazed me most about reading this one was that I had a dual-reaction to every one of Karen’s freakouts — at one end, I understood, and was terribly frustrated on her behalf and kind of kept yelling to no one in particular, “She feels like her family is falling apart! Have a little compassion!” and at the other end, I was old and crotchety and telling her to get over it and stop being so dramatic. Divorce is not the end of the world! The title! THE TITLE!
Regardless of her drama, Karen’s got some good advice. While she’s out ice skating with her friends, she has a good laugh because her best friend is terrible at skating even though she’s been taking lessons for years. Karen remarks, “I had forgotten how good it feels to laugh. From now on I’m going to concentrate on laughing at least once a day–even more if I can arrange it.” And, let’s be real, that’s legitimately good advice. And an astute plan of action for a young kid. “Laughter is the best medicine” and all that, right?
Judy, this might be shocking to you, since you’re new around here, but I struggle, often, with managing my emotions. I just remarked on Twitter the other day that as we get older, we’re supposed to get better at it, but that it seemed like I’d never gotten there. I still sometimes react as strongly to hurtful or stressful things as I did when I was a tween. Granted, I was a very well-bahaved kid, that obnoxious one that never gets in trouble and teachers love and adults always say to their parents, “Oh, she’s so mature. Twelve going on thirty” etc etc. (I know it’s an obnoxious personality type! I own it! I owned it then! It’s who I am.) Regardless, I don’t always modulate my emotions well, is what I’m saying, and I’ve been in, to put it politely, a funk and I needed that reminder. Karen’s too right. I feel better when I laugh. I think we all do and we’d be well served to remember it.
I was going to end there, on Karen’s mighty wisdom, but even though that’s a great line and a wonderful reminder, it’s not my favorite passage in the book. No, no, not when Karen makes this sparkling observation early on: “If I had to describe myself I would say Karen Newman is ordinary looking. I plan to do something about that in a few years. I might wear purple eyeshadow.”
Now, Judy, I know pointing this out initially might sound mocking, but I swear I don’t mean it that way. I just love it. I love it. Because it’s not just about Karen being plain looking; it’s about her being the middle child, the forgotten one, no one’s favorite and how she can feel, even that early on, that she’s doomed to fade into background noise. But she won’t let that happen! She’s going to fix it and make herself noticeable. I love that. It’s such a youthful thought and such a hopeful one. I love you, Karen. Never change.
That goes for you too, Judy. Never change.
– Ash
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Dear Judy Blume,
First, let me say that I’m sorry to hear about your recent bout with breast cancer and that I’m terribly glad that you were on the mend so quickly! And also thank you for writing about it with your usual honesty and good humor. You are as wonderful as ever.
Second, I read Then Again, Maybe I Won’t this week and it was nearly as enjoyable as Margaret. Granted, it is Margaret except with Tony’s boners, and wet dreams for Margaret’s periods and bras. And the central struggle with religion replaced with sudden wealth. Tony even moves to an unfamiliar suburb! Though for entirely different reasons than the Simons do.
Had I read this when I read Margaret, I would’ve been obsessed with boners and peeping on the neighbor girl and wet dreams because I was obsessed with boy things as a tween and teen. I know what periods and bras are like! I’ve been wearing a bra since I was, like, ten. But I’ve never had a boner! (I do remember the first boner I saw. I was in sixth grade. In high school I heard that he had three testicles. Three!)
As an adult though, I really loved the stuff about Joel constantly shoplifting and how much it upset Tony. When I was twelve or thirteen, one of my best friends shoplifted a bracelet from the dollar store at the mall and when she showed it to me I made her take it back! Because I too was completely outraged. She took it back and unlike Tony, it didn’t occur to me that I might look uncool or that she might be mad at me. I was just so shocked she’d take something! I was totally not cool. And I’m okay with that, I think.
I was also particularly interested in/upset about Joel’s mother changing their maid’s name because she couldn’t pronounce it. I was actually aghast and gasped out loud. And then when she did it to Tony’s mother! I would’ve been even more outraged than Tony was if someone had done that to my mother and especially to have her accept it so readily in the name of fitting in. I know that lots of versions of this have happened and likely continue to happen. I know that changing a servant’s name is an act of subjugating and othering them, alienating them from their identity and self. I know all of this historically and logically, but damn does fiction bring stuff home. Thanks, Judy. Bless.
The Kirkus review on the back of the book talks about Tony’s problems not being “magically resolved” but I was sort of aching for that by the end. Tony goes to therapy! And starts to learn to deal with his anxiety and stress, which was great and also kind of refreshing! Joel gets busted for stealing, which is also great. But the one problem I wanted to see a happy ending to was Tony’s grandmother. I was so angry at Mrs. Miglione for not standing up to Maxine and getting her mother back in the kitchen where she was happy. Infuriating to my bones! But Kirkus isn’t wrong, it’s not a bad thing that some of Tony’s issues go unresolved. That’s what life is like, right? Even when it’s frustrating as hell.
I might not have had this one as a kid, but thanks for it anyway, Judy.
– Ash
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