My first cat, Mycroft, was also black, and very hard to photograph. Usually I got little more than an outline. But there were a few notable excpections, here's one of my favorites: https://rlareau.net/sharefiles/Mycroft.jpg He lived to be 22 and died peacefully, and he was a good cat.
He was a beauty! And Mycroft is a wonderful name for a cat! (A friend had a basset hound growing up named Sherlock—it only makes sense that a cat would be named after Sherlock’s smarter brother!)
Shame seems to be too strong of a word here, as though Florence had done something wrong. None of her choices were bad, even her real mistakes were few. Her downfall was really the result of the miserable collection of people in the town, so she's really only guilty of poor judgement. The author creates too much bad luck as well, which is some point or lesson that escapes me.
In the movie version, as Florence is leaving, the house is seen going up in flames, I think it's revealed that Christine set the fire. I doubt Fitzgerald would have approved of that, as it would give the audience too much pleasure. I would have liked instead that Florence default on the bank loan, and tell Mr. Kible that since her house was the collateral, and the town had taken it by force without compensation, that he would need to sue the town for the repayment of the loan. And to go fuck himself.
My favorite part was when Florence asked Christine what kind of present she might want. "Not one of those books." and "I'd rather have the money instead." made me laugh out loud. Then Christine returns wearing a new cardigan with the money Florence gave her in lieu of ... a cardigan. What a brat.
I would like to find if the author had any deeper meaning intended, perhaps one needs to be more British to see it. I think I am frustrated by the style, which is not quite a driving plot, but not just a poetic collection of scenes. Perhaps the author means us to feel better about ourselves when we see characters that are collectively so pathetic? Or do we feel inspired to be just a little bit nicer to our neighbors, more supportive in small ways, and to do our homework before we think to take on a project which is potentially doomed from the start.
I think we will have to have a longer conversation about this book—maybe while walking around Lake Harriet in December? Florence definitely made some mistakes (those stupid bookmarks!), but none of them would have been catastrophic, were it not for Mrs Gamart, and her inability to see Florence as a human being who had a right to her own happy story. Mrs Gamart actually reminds me of a girl in my high school, but that is a topic for another conversation.
I do think that Fitzgerald’s point—which many people still need to hear to this day—is that we ought to let other people be. They may want to live their lives in ways we might not choose. Let them! Maybe they have even thwarted some vaguely imagined wish we once had. Too bad! They are no less human than we are, and if they had the gumption to fulfill their wish, well, we ought to just accept it rather than calling in favors from above to ruin their lives.
And I love your idea of Florence standing up to the bank manager. Let him try to recoup his costs from the ruins of the house. Seems only fair.
My first cat, Mycroft, was also black, and very hard to photograph. Usually I got little more than an outline. But there were a few notable excpections, here's one of my favorites: https://rlareau.net/sharefiles/Mycroft.jpg He lived to be 22 and died peacefully, and he was a good cat.
He was a beauty! And Mycroft is a wonderful name for a cat! (A friend had a basset hound growing up named Sherlock—it only makes sense that a cat would be named after Sherlock’s smarter brother!)
Shame seems to be too strong of a word here, as though Florence had done something wrong. None of her choices were bad, even her real mistakes were few. Her downfall was really the result of the miserable collection of people in the town, so she's really only guilty of poor judgement. The author creates too much bad luck as well, which is some point or lesson that escapes me.
In the movie version, as Florence is leaving, the house is seen going up in flames, I think it's revealed that Christine set the fire. I doubt Fitzgerald would have approved of that, as it would give the audience too much pleasure. I would have liked instead that Florence default on the bank loan, and tell Mr. Kible that since her house was the collateral, and the town had taken it by force without compensation, that he would need to sue the town for the repayment of the loan. And to go fuck himself.
My favorite part was when Florence asked Christine what kind of present she might want. "Not one of those books." and "I'd rather have the money instead." made me laugh out loud. Then Christine returns wearing a new cardigan with the money Florence gave her in lieu of ... a cardigan. What a brat.
I would like to find if the author had any deeper meaning intended, perhaps one needs to be more British to see it. I think I am frustrated by the style, which is not quite a driving plot, but not just a poetic collection of scenes. Perhaps the author means us to feel better about ourselves when we see characters that are collectively so pathetic? Or do we feel inspired to be just a little bit nicer to our neighbors, more supportive in small ways, and to do our homework before we think to take on a project which is potentially doomed from the start.
I think we will have to have a longer conversation about this book—maybe while walking around Lake Harriet in December? Florence definitely made some mistakes (those stupid bookmarks!), but none of them would have been catastrophic, were it not for Mrs Gamart, and her inability to see Florence as a human being who had a right to her own happy story. Mrs Gamart actually reminds me of a girl in my high school, but that is a topic for another conversation.
I do think that Fitzgerald’s point—which many people still need to hear to this day—is that we ought to let other people be. They may want to live their lives in ways we might not choose. Let them! Maybe they have even thwarted some vaguely imagined wish we once had. Too bad! They are no less human than we are, and if they had the gumption to fulfill their wish, well, we ought to just accept it rather than calling in favors from above to ruin their lives.
And I love your idea of Florence standing up to the bank manager. Let him try to recoup his costs from the ruins of the house. Seems only fair.