I’ve been thinking more about Eowyn Ivey’s The Snow Child, specifically about the ending. What makes the first two-thirds of the book so interesting is Ivey’s ability to hold possibilities in suspension. Is Faina a snow child, magically born out of the snowgirl Mabel and her husband Jack made? Or is she just a normal girl, living alone in the
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There's nothing wrong with ethereal beauty of course, nothing wrong even with unknowable, inaccessible wondrous characters--I guess what makes the MPD type so hateful to people is that,she ends up being a mere device, a foil for other characters, a route to others' improvement. And while it might be all right for a bit-part angel or fairy to play those roles, it seems kind of a copout to create a human character who is actually not fully human at all.
When I realized that some of the characters I yearned after and admired were mere objects, it really got me started thinking about what it would mean to be in their heads. What would it mean to be them, for real? And then I realized that it's like a parade: a parade is so beautiful to watch, but that is not at all what it's like to be *in* a parade--being *in* a parade is an interesting experience, but the aching feet, the seeing nothing but the people right in front of you and beside you, barely even noticing the onlookers, unless you're on an edge of the column--very different from watching a parade.
… I feel a major tangent coming on here; I'd better save it for my journal.
And yeah, that's one thing that is very cool about Saaski and Eepersip (haven't read the Anne of Green Gables books, but I'm sure you're right about them, too): that we're in their heads. Ivy, less so, though I think she comes through in her letters and in her behavior.
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It's probably a difficult balance to pull off.
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