What is Seized
So I was just reading some more Lorrie Moore. I was struck by how much hurt can be conveyed in just two, small passages:
"Cold men destroy women... They woo them with something personable that they bring out for show, something annexed to their souls like a fake greenhouse, lead you in, and you think you see life and vitality and sun and greenness, and then when you love them, they lead you out into their real soul, a drafty, cavernous, empty ballroom, inexorably arched and vaulted and mocking you with its echoes--you hear all you have sacrificed, all you have given, landing with a loud clunk. They lock the greenhouse and you are as tiny as a figure in an architect's drawing, a faceless splotch, a blur of stick limbs abandoned in some voluminous desert of stone.
... That is what is wrong with cold people. Not that they have ice in their souls--we all have a bit of that--but that they insist their every word and deed mirror that ice. They never learn the beauty or value of gesture. The emotional necessity. For them, it is all honesty before kindness, truth before art. Love is art, not truth. It's like painting scenery." (Lorrie Moore, "What Is Seized," from Self-Help)
Happy Father's Day, bitches!
posted by Julia @ 8:19 AM
2 Comments:
Nice try, Lorrie.. I think we both know who you're talking about here, despite your clever "metaphors."
OK. In my defense, I only locked her in my desert-like ballroom because she took a dump in my greenhouse and blamed it on the plant from "Little Shop of Horrors." As for her characterization of my ballroom... well, I would dispute that, too. How many people have both a greenhouse AND a motherfucking ballroom, much less attached to each other?! How many different rooms do I have to own and furnish and attach to each other to impress you? How will I win your hyper-critical love Lorrie?! HOW?!
I locked a chick in my ballroom once. And you know what? She painted it...some baby shit green color and put up curtains and nicknack shelves. Bitch...
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