In case you didn't get to read this, this was the blog post I wrote last year, back in October, after reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close...
I have very mixed emotions, although strong in both directions, about this book.
On the one hand, I spent 180 pages being completely and totally confused about what was actually taking place. I couldn't keep up with the characters, I had no idea what any of them, except Oskar, was doing, and felt certain that it was my age and lack of genious level intelligence that was keeping me in the dark. In addition, the stream of continuous dialogue made my head ache as I tried to follow along and figure out who was really saying what. Bottom line, I spend 180 pages feeling like a total idiot who was not smart enough to read this book.
Turn to page 181, everything changed, and the tears started flowing. All of the pieces of the story connected for me (FINALLY) and the story came together. In that moment, as I was calling for one of my girls to find my tissues, I could feel Oskar's pain and it overwhelmed me. I knew going into this book that it was about 9/11 and a boy who lost his father on that terrible day. I knew that it was going to be sad, but I felt like I could distance myself from it. I am a bad judge of my own character.
I might be able to distance myself from some of the events if 9/11. I wasn't in NY that day, I didn't know anyone in NY that day, my family was safe and sound, and I just prayed that we would prevail on September 12. But as I read this book, what I couldn't distance myself from was Oskar's search for his dad. In one quick moment, I was 13 again. The year I discovered how my father really died. A friend connected the dots for me and we were able to piece together the entire story (it was my version of Oskar's key and the Renter) and I have never been the same. I remember spending my teenage years searching for clues--what did he like to eat, what was his favorite color, who were his friends in High School--and praying that there was someone who could tell me something new about him. Just like Oskar, I searched. When the memories of this came back, I couldn't breathe. Sobbing to the point of not being able to talk (and won't my husband feel badly now about laughing at his wife who always cries over books) I plugged on and finished Oskar's story. I knew I had to see where his search took him. I knew where mine had led.
But it wasn't just Oskar's story that I was reading, it was his mother's story, and his grandfather's story, and his grandmother's story. And, it was about all of the people he met along the way while he searched. They were all connected. They were all a piece of each other's story.
Yes, this novel is about 9/11, but it's about so much more. For me, it was a reminder that even though I grew up without a dad, that even though I am still missing pieces of his life puzzle, I am part of him and he is part of me. For one short year, we were a part of each other's lives. I was too young to have memories of what he looked like, I have to rely on pictures. I was too young to know his personality and I rely on others to tell me stories of what he was like. I will never really know what he was like. I will never really know what happened in his mind the day he died. I will never really know anything for certain. But, like Oskar, when the searching was over, I was OK. My mom was OK, my family was OK, and we came to peace with it all and we all moved on. We don't forget, but we aren't crippled by the sadness anymore.
I do know that I can't possibly see this movie when it comes out. I will need to wait until it comes out on DVD and I can watch it in my own home. I know I am going to cry and I know that it's not going to be pretty, so why subject strangers to my drama? For those of you brave enough to venture out, let me know how you like the movie. Personally, I really liked the book (after page 180, that is!).
Yesterday, I watched the movie with my friend, Meghan, who may/may not have read this blog post last year and may not have realized what she was getting into when she headed up to our third floor to watch this movie yesterday. Thanks for being a good friend, Meghan!
Luckily, I had some insight into the plot and could follow the movie way better than I was ever able to follow the book. It still flashed back and forth, which was at times confusing even within the movie. I was even able to watch until the very end without crying. But when Oskar took the key back to Abby Black and she took him to her ex-husband, the tears began to flow. And they are flowing again as I type these words. I have just never read a book, or watched a movie, that literally brings me to my knees every time when I think about the pain that Oskar or his mom or that Mr. Black felt. Because when I think about their pain, I remember my own. I knew I was going to cry and I was right. I think the only thing that kept me from falling completely apart was that I was sitting in a room with a friend, who happens to be Emily's teacher, and I really didn't want to totally freak her out. :)
Yes, this blog post is totally self-indulgent. But, writing has always helped me sort through things. I did not talk to Meghan about this yesterday, and I did not talk to Rob about it either. I saved it all up for today...to sort out and to post. The thing is, there are people in my life who have heard this same story for YEARS and they are probably tired of it. But I think that just speaks to the breadth of sadness...you can keep going, but you never forget and there are times when it all comes flooding back and you have to give in, to cry, to think about it, to talk about it (at least I do) and then you can move on again until the next reminder. That just about sums up the past 27 years of my life.
The part of the movie that I loved the most, and it's a part that surpasses the same scene in the book, in my opinion, is the end, after Oskar has talked to Mr. Black and has realized that the key was never intended for him. It was never a clue at all, but was accidentally left inside the vase Oskar's dad bought for his mom. Oskar goes home and there sits his mother, who tells him that she had known all along about his plan and had gone to talk to each person on his list herself, explaining what Oskar was up to and asking if each person would help him in his search. She did it to protect him, to keep him safe in an unsafe city. The flashbacks to the hugger, the girls grooming the horses, and all of the other people along the way who talked with Oskar made me so hopeful and I think that's the real reason why I was crying. I think people are generally good, especially in times of crisis, and especially in reaction to 9/11. They seemed to truly want to help, even if they couldn't, and their hearts seemed to break for this little boy who was searching for clues to help him know his dad just a little bit better. Now, if that goodness and kindness could extend beyond times of crisis, our world would be a better place.
But I was also crying because I remember how kind people have been to me over the years as I searched for clues about my dad, or asked for stories, or for anything that would help me to understand and their kindess and strength overwhelmed me. Or, how my friends from middle and high school would just let me talk it out, or cry it out, never trying to fix things but just listening, probably because no one really knew what to say. But, like Oskar, who was trying to hang on to those last 8 minutes, my 8 minutes are beginning to fade, too. I have an entire scrapbook that I made several years ago that helps, and messages like the one I got from my cousin after I blogging last year help, too. I'm stretching those 8 minutes as far as I can get them. Unlike Oskar, I have never written a personal letter to each and every person who told me a story about my dad, or helped me learn to know him. I like the idea, the personal touch, but wonder where Oskar found the time to write to over 200 people? I would like to think, though, that all of the people in my life who have listened, held me as I cried, or shared a picture or a really great story, know how much I appreciate their contribution to the picture of my dad that I carry in my head and in my heart every day. If it weren't for these people, some relatives, some friends, my 8 minutes would've faded long ago.
For you, and for him, I am forever grateful.
beautifully written Dodie
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