The Shelter of Each Other: Rebuilding Our Families I: First Paragraph

The first section of this book examines the lost of old-fashioned communities, the rise of an electronic community and a consumer mentality, and the influence of popular psychology. I want to explore the relationship between this family psychology and family well-being. I tell two main stories, that of my grandparents, who homesteaded on the harsh plains of Colorado in the early part of this century, and that of a family I saw recently in therapy. I'll compare these families on a variety of dimensions--their relationship to the broader culture, their tools, their media exposure, the importance of time and money and the involvement of mental health professionals in their lives.

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Not exactly a scintillating story opening, is it? Well, it's not a story, it's a nonfiction by one of my favorite authors (Mary Pipher also wrote Reviving Ophelia, a book about adolescent girls). The paragraph says it all: it's a summary of what she'll write about in the first part. The book is a lot more interesting than this paragraph sounds. It's really very readable for a layperson. So, if you're intrigued by the family and how our families interact with the broader culture, you should consider reading this book for yourself.

A is for Alibi I: First Sentence/First Paragraph

My name is Kinsey Millhone.

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My name is Kinsey Millhone. I'm a private investigator, licensed by the state of California. I'm thirty-two years old, twice divorced, no kids. The day before yeserday I killed someone and the fact weighs heavily on my mind. I'm a nice person and I have a lot of friends. My apartment is small but I like living in a cramped space. I've lived in trailers most of my life, but latey they've been getting too elaborate for my taste, so now I live in one room, a "bachelorette." I don't have a pet. I don't have houseplants. I spend a lot of time on the road and I don't like leaving things behind. Aside for the hasards of my profession, my life has always been ordinary, uneventful, and good. Killing someone feels odd to me and I haven't quite sorted it thorugh. I've already given a statement to the police, which I initialed page by page and then signed. I filled out a similar report for the office files. The language in both documents is neutral, the teminology oblique, and neither says quite enough.

Under the Tuscan Sun IV: First Paragraph

I am about to buy a house in a foreign country. A house with the beautiful name of Bramasole. It is tall, square, and apricot-colored with faded green shutters, ancient tile roof, and an iron balcony on the second level, where ladies might have sat with their fans to watch some spectacle below. But below, overgrown briars, tangles of roses, and knee-high weeds run rampant. The balcony faces southeast, looking into a deep valley, into the Tuscan Apennines. When it rains or when the light changes, the facade of the house turns gold, sienna, ocher; a previous scarlet paint job seeps through in rosy spots lke a box of crayons left to melt in the sun. In places where the stucco has fallen away, rugged stone shows what the exterior once was. The house rises above a strada bianca, a road white with pebbles, on a terraced slab of hillside covered with fruit and olive trees. Bramasole: from bramare, to yearn for, and sole, sun: something that yearns for the sun, and yes, I do.

Wuthering Heights First Paragraph

Oooooohkay, so that post was Monday, and it's now Saturday, and I haven't even gotten the darned book off the shelf! Bah! Phooey on me!

Pause for a moment while I go get it and blog the first sentence.
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Ready? Ok!

1801--I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.

Woo hoo! Good job, "Currer Bell"! Onward:

This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthopist's Heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.

Doesn't that just make you want to read on? What's the narrator's name? Why does he/she like the barrenness? Why is the desolation of the landscape so great? Is the desolation of the landscape only cosmetic, or does it reflect a deeper truth about the people who live there? (I admit, these questions are influenced by others' reactions to this book, but only slightly!) Why would Mr. Heathcliff's suspicious eyes make the speaker's heart warm toward him? (That was a clumsy sentence. Oh well. You've just got to deal.) Why were Mr. Heathcliff's eyes made suspicious toward the speaker...is he naturally suspicious of others, or is the speaker someone to be wary of?

Ok. I'm hooked. Toodles.