whose misadventured piteous overthrows
I'm a little teenage twat - this I know.
I'm full of self-deprication and angst - duly noted.
Now, my literary intentions may lie in the thematic complexities of Bradbury, Dostoevsky, Kafka, Orwell, Rand and Somerset, but at the end of the day my mind's simplicity is drawn into books by Alex Flinn, Julie Anne Peters and the legendary anonymity of Go Ask Alice. So I'm a closet 14 year-old, sappy little girl trapped in a grown ass man's body... So what?
I concede defeat, for I must say that my latest linguistic adventure is gently warming the cockles of my heart. The title itself, "Head over heals," causes certain gastric outburts to errupt in disgust, but trust me when I say no such regurgitation is needed - Fabio's not on the cover or anything like that. Now, it's not a work of genius but a quaint story of high school melodrama geared toward preparing the high school demographic into increasing their SAT vocabulary and peddled by those same SAT profiteering gluttons, a noble and efficient endevour.
Within the first couple of pages, our heroin, Francesca Castarelli, displays an amazing sarcasm that very much reminds me of my childhood idol, Daria Morgendorfer. She's a spit-fire of wit, similar to Rachel Leigh Cook's character in She's all that, Julia Stiles' character in 10 Things I Hate About You or, more recently, Ellen Page's character in Juno. Truly my cockles are warmed by an intense nostalgia.
Anyway, enough about my cockles and how warm they are right now. Francesca Castarelli engages her friend into a very unique discussion about relationships, or rather a lack thereof. The question is of a predatory nature. How does one approach a member of the opposite sex, lure them into conversation and seduce them into your... uh... cockles? As Francesca eloquently put it, it is a question of "Context." Chasing someone on the mere premise of his or her "hotness" is rank with the deepest levels of vapidity that obviously seem not to appeal to the archetypal "perfect people." So instead we must feign a certain level of depth in order to get into another's pants.
Sure, it's an accurate description, but truly, the reference to context is more suited to the denotation of "Causality." The only real relationships and storybook romances occur out of a sheer happenstance. Many of you have experienced this when a person you thought was cute ends up in most of your classes sitting next to you, or when two people simultaneously blurt out the same sentence. Although many will deny the existence of fate, it's role in our lives and decisions is undeniable. That instant spark of electricity when you're thinking about someone and then they call. More so, you'll find people connecting over odd food preferences or a disturbingly large database of trivial information that mirrors their own.
It's all a product of causality. Romance in the fullest sense of the word, whether in relation to the writing style or the sappy genre, is doused in its intoxicating fumes. Causality is both a rare gem to find and also love's greatest equalizer. Wealth, power, looks and intelligence will all be cast aside in a moment of passion. When Cunegonde kisses Candide or Oliver marries Celia's fake persona, wealth and social acceptability were not concerns. It's the Casablanca effect where, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine. To say that love can strike at any moment is a falsehood, since causality is in effect in perpetuity. A chain of events since the beginning of time has been unraveling like a Rube Goldberg machine, slowly turning the cogs of destiny.