The Fiction of Fancy
I wasn’t allowed to watch much television when I was a child, but I worshipped the actors in the few shows I was able to see – among them, “The Waltons” and “Little House on the Prairie.” I was certain we’d all be best pals if we met.
It’s taken me about a year to get over the fact that Melissa Gilbert, who played Laura Ingalls Wilder on LHOP, was snorting cocaine during the final seasons of the show. Her autobiography came out last summer. I’m 38, for God’s sake. Why should I even care? But I did.
In a short profile in today’s New York Post, Richard Thomas, who starred in the “Waltons,” said he enjoyed the book The Pregnant Widow by Martin Amis. He said the book was “about the sexual revolution and the end of the ‘60s. I was just 19 in 1970, but I was very much a part of it.” There’s nothing I want to imagine less than John Boy being part of the sexual revolution.
Likewise, I idolized the authors of my favorite children’s books. A few years ago I suffered a crushing blow when I read about the lefty politics of Judy Blume, the author of Superfudge, Otherwise Known As Sheila the Great, Blubber, and Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (and about 50 others). I tore through those books. I’d read them at the dinner table, the book propped up against my plate. Or outside, sitting still so long I’d get sunburn. Or on the comfy chair in the living room as my mother vacuumed around my feet. But I came across an article that referenced a Mother’s Day fundraising letter Blume wrote recently for Planned Parenthood. It also described battles with conservatives over the racy parts of her more adult books. Truly, in these cases, I prefer to live with my blinders on. I mourned a little bit.
Blume’s grandson just got into trouble on Martha’s Vineyard (where else, right?). I saw her name in the headline but didn’t want to read too much about her again. It was actually painful to remember how very little I have in common with someone who – yes, it must be said – shaped much of my youth.
Please don’t tell me anything salacious about Beverly Cleary. I couldn’t deal.
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Comments :
Jun '10
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
It's probably easier to express your vulnerability--what actors strive to do--if you have plenty of it in real life. But if you plan to make a long career of acting, probably better to just use good technique. :)
May '10
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
What about those of us in the appropriate age bracket (or with little sisters in the appropriate age bracket) to think Full House was good in the'80s? Hoo boy... talk about a cast of messed up characters. When Bob Saget's the straight arrow of the bunch, it's bad news, haha.
I still haven't recovered from finding out the Alanis Morissette song "You Oughta Know" was about Uncle Joey!
May '10
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
Try looking at it from the other side. No matter how wretched we might become, we are ever capable of producing great and beautiful works. So many artists destroy themselves yet find some redemption in the fruits of their callings.
May '10
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
My very conservative mother bought me a copy of Are You There God? It's Me Margaret thinking it was a innocent Christian novel for teens. Should've seen her face when I told her that it was about girls obsessing about puberty and competing to be the first to be endowed with a menstrual cycle.
Don't know why but I was a little nervous the other week when the 9 year old that lives in my house started reading Superfudge.
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
Jason Hart: What about those of us in the appropriate age bracket (or with little sisters in the appropriate age bracket) to think Full House was good in the'80s? Hoo boy... talk about a cast of messed up characters. When Bob Saget's the straight arrow of the bunch, it's bad news, haha.
I still haven't recovered from finding out the Alanis Morissette song "You Oughta Know" was about Uncle Joey! · Jul 4 at 10:05pm
Ah, yes, Jason you young'uns have it much worse! The media protected the stars of the shows I watched a bit, so at least my disillusionment came while I was well into adulthood. I *do* feel for those kids who love Miley or Lindsay or whomever, and then by the next week, are bombarded with images proving the fantasy is a monumental joke when Miley's on the stripper pole and Lindsay's wearing a SCRAMx alcohol-monitoring bracelet.
Re: The Fiction of Fancy
It's funny, Ursula, I've been pondering these matters ever since that recent story about Mel Gibson's painfully awful rant against his girlfriend. I'm not a big fan of Gibson's Passion of the Christ. I thought it displayed a deep hatred of humanity out of keeping with, you know, the passion of the Christ. (When the lights came up in the theater, I impulsively turned to the stranger next to me and said, "Gee, the book had a happy ending!") But I love Braveheart and just think Gibson's a terrific film artist. I think child rapist Roman Polanski's made a couple of wonderful films as well. The number of artists who've lived the sort of lives you'd want from them - Keats and Wordsworth come to mind - is small. Socrates talks about this in Plato's Apology: poets, inspired, say fine things they don't understand - and then believe themselves wiser than they are. I suppose - even in the midst of our celebrity-worshiping age - we have to learn to celebrate the artist's creation as a gift from God and leave the artist himself to his foolishness, imperfection and inner darkness.