What Is Love?
What is true love really like? Is it as portrayed in mushy romantic movies or is there something deeper that is more difficult to demonstrate concretely in dramatic terms? The author has a theory:
“I was reminded of just how lucky I truly am. Movie characters might chase each other through the fog or race down the stairs of burning buildings, but that’s for beginners. Real love amounts to withholding the truth, even when you’re offered the perfect opportunity to hurt someone’s feelings. I wanted to say something to this effect, but my hand puppets were back home in their drawer. Instead, I pulled my chair a few inches closer, and we sat silently at our little table on the square, looking for all the world like two people in love.”
Fear and Loving
That mixture of emotions one half of a devoted feels when the other is away overnight is framed in imagery which combines the profound sense of missing with the absurdity of encroaching fear. The two working together creates for the author a spectacularly ludicrous sensibility portrayed through imagery:
“I used to lie awake for hours, but now, if Hugh’s gone for the night, I’ll just stay up and keep myself busy: writing letters, cleaning the oven, replacing missing buttons. I won’t put in a load of laundry, because the machine is too loud and would drown out other, more significant noises — namely, the shuffling footsteps of the living dead.”
Going Dutch
Christmas in the Netherlands is different from America. Significantly different as the author discovers. After several pages of discussing these differences in great detail, he imagines how different Christmas Eve is parents there as opposed to Americans, concocting an image of what a typical conversation is as children are tucked into bedroom on Christmas Eve:
“`Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things together before going to bed. The former bishop of Turkey will be coming tonight along with six to eight black men. They might put some candy in your shoes, they might stuff you into a sack and take you to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don’t know for sure, but we want you to be prepared’” This is the reward for living in the Netherlands.”
Tiffany’s Feet
The author has other sisters besides the equally famous Amy. The complaint department of autobiographical writing would certainly—one imagines—have had to deal with the following imagery related to a sister named Tiffany and a description of her feet:
“My sister has appendages connected to her ankles. They feature toes and arches, but I cannot call them feet. In color they resemble the leathery paws of great apes, but in texture they are closer to hooves.”
