August 15, 2012
"You know, I blame Philippa Gregory for all of this. The Red Queen wasn't worth it. Five hundred pages and not one sex scene? Who does that? That's not to mention the technical faults, like the fragmented perspective and changing psychic distance. Now, I love historical fiction, especially her historical fiction, more than I probably should. I just don't think that this particular example of her craft is worth the fifty dollar fine." This is what I imagined myself saying to the librarian, possibly (hopefully) mortifying her for the rest of her literary loving life. However, what really came out of my mouth was, "Oh, I put the book in the return thing. It's not lost."
I don't usually incur fifty dollar library fines that require a mildly threatening letter from the debt collector people, but when I do, I chicken out of doing my only library appropriate comedy routine. Instead, I walk in sheepishly, hanging my head in shame. There is nothing so disgraceful as being persona non grata at your local library. Supposedly, my good name will be reinstated once my check clears. (Funny how things work like that, right?) Still, that doesn't lessen the hurt or embarrassment of today.
The only highlight of this experience is that once I returned the black sheep of the Philippa Gregory family, I found out that I would receive a partial refund. I think the book cost about twenty-six dollars, so I should be getting about half my money back. However, I still maintain the twenty-six bucks is a tad pricey for five hundred pages of unfounded visions of grandeur interwoven with religious ramblings. Furthermore, The Red Queen lacked Gregory's staple plot twist-- a clandestine sex scene(s) to take away some of the pretension of the main character. If there is anyone who I would have liked to enroll in my "How to Get Laid" school, it would be Margaret Beaufort.
Still, I bet Margaret never got a fifty dollar fine for overdue library books. And I'm not just saying that because the public library was invented by Ben Franklin roughly 300 years later. She was just one of those people that, despite the surrounding chaos, had her shit together. Even so, the fact that I don't might make me more interesting.
At least my 500 page memoir would have a sex scene. At least.
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