Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Are you there God? It's me Margaret.

I don't believe there is a Margaret. I think Margaret as feel good construct. Margaret is like Virginia, girls who ask questions to characters larger then themselves to find feel good answers that will put the world to rights. Girls who want an answer, girls who want to feel there is some space of wisdom outside of themselves.



It don't believe in Margaret as useful construct for many of the women I know. The women I know never had time for Margaret. By the time we got around to reading anything so trite as Judy Blume we had been initiated into the mysteries of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.



There is the possibility that it is just the girls I know. The girls I know had no patience for the populist pacifier offered by Margaret and her ruminations on God. The girls I know where reading a book they had written, where the answers were experience and where questions went unasked. We looked to Shakespeare, and Socrates, and Stephen King for our answers. In our world those authors had more to say and the insight imparted was often far more useful then anything that could be found in a conversation between a make believe girl and her hope for enlightenment.



We are the foundering unfostered generation of women who have raised ourselves. We are the ones who stood there and railed against Margaret, and Ms, and Nancy Regan because they had all of them failed us. We scorned our parentage, our community, or relations and trusted that only on our own and with faith in ourselves could we be successful. We are the women in a bastard generation of our own making.



Margaret is an impossible archetype for women like me. By the time I had gotten around to reading the book I could do nothing more than laugh on occasion and feel uncomfortable about Margaret's insecurities. I could not fathom her relationship with her family then as I could not imagine it now. I have spent too much time knowing myself and my own way out to trust in either Margaret or God.



I don't believe in Margaret. I don't believe in her simplicity. I've never been simple. I don't want to be simple. I'd rather be complicated, difficult, destructive, deprecating, and divine. It suits me better then simple.



No Margaret, I'm not God, I'm Sara, and you need to learn to help yourself.




Same theme, different authors. Blogpick.

1 comment:

Jill said...

I remember that I read that book, but that's about all. I'm always for complication though! :-)