Elizabeth Milo

By Elizabeth Milo

Perhaps that title should have a question mark at the end: chicklit is growing up? You can almost hear the incredulity in the inflection required for that question. The idea that chicklit ever could grow up seems like a long shot. How can a genre based around the ideas of perpetual youth and indulgence mature? Chicklit series don’t grow with their readers, their readers grow out of them.

This truth which we hold to be self-evident has now been challenged by a new wave of chicklit novels that are becoming increasingly popular. When chicklit first rose to stardom in the 90s, every book revolved around the same unbearably simple plotline of girl-meets-boy, girl-meets-road-block, girl-gets-boy-in-the-end. Since their rise in readership, scholars have argued that chicklit novels represent an important facet of the sociological and psychological lives of modern women and the effects the demands of society have on them… or something like that. Editors Suzanne Ferris and Mallory Young compiled sixteen essays that argue both for and against chicklit material in their 2005 book Chick Lit: The New Woman’s Fiction. Fifteen of those sixteen were in favor of appreciating and further studying the importance of chicklits based on their sociological merit and context within the literary history of feminist works. These books are supposed to be feminist books because the women totter around New York in really high heels and have sex with lots of men? Okay, maybe. But if the only thing oppressing them is which Yankee to date, that doesn’t sound like much of a struggle for suffrage to me.

As with most good, or at least absurdly popular, things in our culture, the chicklit fad originated in England. Just like The Beatles, scones, and Trading Spaces, chicklit started with the phenomenal success of authors such as Helen Fielding, whose novel Bridget Jones’s Diary was an international phenomenon. After Colin Firth’s revival of his idolized portrayal of Mr. Darcy for the film adaptation of Bridget Jones, most of the world is now familiar with Fielding’s somewhat degrading twist on Austen’s masterpiece Pride and Prejudice. (Ironically, though written 200 years later and after women have gained almost an equal footing in society, Bridget Jones manages to be less supportive of women than P&P. But I digress.) Once the British fad jumped the Atlantic, American authors took no time in turning out chicklit of their own, such as Candice Bushnell’s Sex and the City, which went on to become a behemoth of a cultural icon. I don’t think somebody squirreled away in a hovel could have avoided learning what Sex and the City is by now.

Most chicklit in America has continued to follow the trend of Sex and the City, focusing mostly on city women living their upper-middle-class lives, dealing with issues about husbands, boyfriends, children, jobs, and most importantly, sex. In 2009, Doree Shafrir wrote an article for Publisher’s Weekly entitled “Women's Lit: Chick Lit Gets an Update,” in which she argues that chicklit has grown up. Why does she think that? Because three new books are about women in New York who struggle with issues in their jobs, marriages, and sex life. Gee,that sounds familiar. Her main point is that these characters are women, not girls, who are dealing with real life issues. In Amy Sohn's Prospect Park West, the opening scene showcases one of these “real life issues,” which is so relatable, in fact, that if I had a nickel for every time I had to take the batteries out of my baby’s mobile and risked waking the baby up in order to replace the batteries in my vibrator so I could orgasm...I would have absolutely no money. Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus hit the nail on the head in their wickedly funny portrayal of rich New York woman in their novel The Nanny Diaries: the only thing missing from the lives of these women is a sharp smack upside the head.

Clearly America has failed to grow in the chicklit department, but you can bet on those trusty Brits to pull through. While “growing-up” in the States has taken on a much too literal interpretation of simply looking at older women, UK authors have started to look at older—and more serious—issues. In her latest novel, This Charming Man, Marian Keyes faces the issue of domestic abuse head-on in a not-so-nice way. In fact, when you get halfway through the book, you might feel as if you’ve been tricked into reading a story about abuse, because she allows her darker themes to lie low at the beginning. By the ending, however, if you’re a normal human being with a beating heart, you’ll feel like you should start a shelter for battered women and scourge the earth of evil. Her novel deals with abuse, depression, alcoholism, and of course marriage and sex, in a direct but sensitive way that will not allow the reader to disengage.

Perhaps British author Anna Maxted started the trend way back in 2001 with her hit novel Running in Heels. The story begins prosaically predictable with the “falling apart” of a skinny twenty-something’s life. She’s in self-destruct mode, and the audience is just waiting for prince charming to come along. When he does show up, though, so does another unwelcome guest: anorexia. This skinny-chic-twenty-something is too skinny, and the reader follows along as she goes through all the levels of denial, pain, bulimia, and hair loss until she confronts the rage inside of her that’s put her on this path.

Abuse, rape, and eating disorders aren’t the sort of things that spring to mind when you think of chicklit. And when you unsuspectingly pick up one of these heavy-hitting books, you will find no traces of the darker issues inside on the cover or the back. Authors are starting to sneak your vegetables in on you by wrapping them in chiffon dresses and London flats. But perhaps what chicklit readers need is to have these ugly truths spoon-fed to them. Of course there’s still romance, fashion, and the-best-sex-she’s-ever-had in these brightly colored novels, but there’s a realness, too, that makes these fairy tales a worthwhile read. Chicklits may never be feminist manifestos, but they are starting to grow up.

By Elizabeth Milo

Normally I find memoirs and war stories too contrite or detail-oriented to enjoy, never containing enough of a plot to keep me engrossed. Thus, when Penelope Lively’s novel Moon Tiger was recommended to me, I was skeptical about how much I would enjoy it. Not only were my assumptions proven wrong, but I was also thrilled to find a hidden maze of truly interesting philosophical questions buried within the text. Moon Tiger is the memoir of a dying woman who views the world with a self-conscious awareness of her own narcissism. Claudia, Moon Tiger’s protagonist, recognizes her inability to look at the world without the taint of her own experience. When she imagines history in relation to her own life, she remarks, “Egocentric Claudia is once again subordinating history to her own puny existence.” Claudia’s story-telling method combines facts from history into a jumble of knowledge that all revolves around her own experiences and life.

Peripheral to Claudia’s story are the lives of people who have been significant to her in some way: her daughter, her daughter’s father, her one great love, her brother. Each of these people view Claudia differently and contribute to who she is in some way. Claudia’s first-person narration lords over most of the novel, but a handful of stories told in the third-person are scattered throughout the book, making the reader question whether they are Claudia imagining somebody else’s life, or an authorial voice sharing a new perspective.

Claudia’s awareness of her own narcissism doesn’t diminish how annoying her self-absorption is. To be constantly inside Claudia’s mind can make the reader feel trapped, even suffocated by her. The way she views the relationships she has with other people, especially her daughter, does not cast her in a flattering light. And yet, as the story of her life unfolds, it becomes clear that certain events have shaped her to be this way. Claudia’s strong opinions about life are inevitably undermined by the choices that she makes, which causes the reader to question their own thoughts on these complex ideas.

Moon Tiger can be enjoyed as a memoir of one woman’s remarkable life, or it can be a challenge to the reader to engage in mental exercises that we rarely have occasion to perform. The questions that Lively opens up in Moon Tiger are essentially bottomless pits which the reader can delve deeper and deeper into until they feel the need to surface again. The themes of love, incest, and duty seem paltry and secondary next to the issues of identity and reality that Lively recklessly explores.

By Elizabeth Milo

When I was a kid, my mom knew I would be different when my favorite task was matching all of the markers to the right color of cap.  I’ve always had a touch of OCD, and one of my enduring quirks is my love of making lists.  I used to write them on sticky notes, in my planner, even on my hand.  I’m a member of the Facebook group “I love to make lists.” I love to categorize all of my items, put them in sequential order, use my super neat handwriting to make the list look nice, and I love the satisfied feeling of crossing something off the list when it’s done.  I especially love merging multiple partially completed lists into one new, fresh list.  So, it’s only natural that I wanted to write a list of some kind for my next editorial-- but what should it be?  A list of books to read over the summer?  Overdone. A list of favorite movie quotes?  Fun, but not relevant… You see my conundrum?  I stumbled upon my answer the other day, though, when considering the state of our language: a list of grammar rules that everybody should learn.  Not rules to follow, but to learn.

After a conversation with a few friends (who shall remain unnamed) the other day, I realized that even among the educated elite of our generation, there is a woeful lack of common knowledge about the rules of the English language.  Some of you may remember I wrote an editorial a few weeks ago about why we shouldn’t be concerned that the English language is changing, and I stand by that.  What concerns me now, though, is that fewer and fewer students are learning and retaining the rules of the English language.  If one intends to argue that it is unimportant to learn or follow a specific rule, one should be able to properly identify that rule and present a case as to why it is unnecessary.  There are plenty of rules I find outdated, but I would not be able to argue against them adequately if I didn’t know what they were and why they were invented in the first place.

The English language is changing every day, but it takes some time for the rule book to catch up to the way that people are speaking on a day-to-day basis.  Every year, the newest edition of the MLA handbook comes out so that professors can assign their Writing 101 students to purchase a copy as a reference guide and the Modern Language Association can make more money; but the differences between Editions 3 and 6 are so few, you would have to go through the book with a fine-tooth comb to find them.  (Should I put one space or two after this period in this very specific citation? What to do, what to do??)  Big changes in our language take place over long periods of time and can only be noticed when comparing samples from two different eras.  Metaphorically, as we grow older, we rarely notice day-to-day changes in our appearance; after a year or two we may note some differences, but we see the starkest contrast when looking at ourselves as infants and aged adults side-by-side.  Language change works the same way: we may only see a few differences in our lifetime, but when we compare examples from hundreds of years apart, we start to see big differences.

My list for you is not a list of English rules that I think you should follow-- It is a list of rules that you should go out and learn about so that you can make up your own mind as to whether they are important or not.  Although there’s not much chance that any controversial rules are going to be thrown out the window, there is always an interesting and ongoing debate about those rules that any English speaker has the right to join.  But if you want to play, you have to know the rules of the game. Literally. Sometimes it’s not enough to go by ear or feel when deciding if something is correct.  If you want to see an old-fashioned rule eliminated because it sounds awkward or clumsy, you need to have more back-up to your argument.  What’s the part of speech?  What’s the purpose of that rule?  How could confusion be avoided if the rule were changed?  Knowing about your language and how you use it makes you a dangerous and skilled wielder of words.

Remember, this is a list of rules that you should learn the names of and be able to identify in a line-up, not that I think you should blindly follow. I didn’t define them because part of the challenge is for you to find out what they are on your own.  Once you do that, though, I hope you will come back and share your informed decisions with me.  I added my vote at the end of each in the hopes it will entice you back to engage in a lively conversation, whether you agree with me or not.

Milo’s Relatively Short List of Nit-picky Rules that You Should Learn to Identify and Use Correctly so as to Better Support Your Choices in Your Speech and Writing

1). The Dangling Participle—much dreaded among school teachers and students alike, this common error can cause some genuine confusion (Milo’s vote: for)

2). Never End a Sentence with a Preposition—a volley of arguments is constantly flying back and forth over the validity of this rule (Milo’s vote: against)

3). Misplaced Modifiers—like a bad melon, once you learn to identify them, they will never slip past you again (Milo’s vote: for)

4). The Oxford Comma—the result of too many stylistic formats, it lies at the heart of the MLA v. AP debate (Milo’s vote: for)

5). That vs. Which—to master this rule, you have to really know your parts of speech, including clausal phrases (Milo’s rule: against)

6). Split Infinitives—another rule teachers tend to be sticklers about; this rule sometimes has to be broken to make the intent of the writer clear (Milo’s vote: against)

By Elizabeth Milo

When I picked up The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, I was drawn in by the rich colors and pictures of old books that adorned the cover.  But it only took a few pages before the story drew me in as well.  At approximately 400 pages, The Thirteenth Tale takes its time to work through the multiple storylines that Setterfield masterfully weaves together, but with so much intricacy to the plot, anything less would feel hurried and sloppy.  

The two main characters, Margaret Lea, a bookseller’s daughter, and Vida Winter, a beloved England author, share the spotlight as Miss Winter dictates her autobiography to Margaret.  The juxtaposition of these two characters creates a wonderful tension that prevents the reader from ever getting bored with one storyline.  At first, I was concerned that I would find the construct of The Thirteenth Tale pretentious: it’s supposed to be the narrative of a woman who is one of the greatest living writers of all time.  But as the story progressed, I found it utterly engrossing and completely worthy of such praise, even if it was fictional, intra-novelic praise.

Setterfield’s academic background in literature shines through in the way she utilizes the Gothic tradition.  In homage to the Victorian novels (Jane Eyre, Woman in White) that her characters love so much, she makes use of many of the Gothic tropes that were adopted by sensation novels, adapting them for a contemporary style of writing. In true Radcliffian style, Setterfield hints at ghosts and mysteries that-- for the most part-- turn out to be nothing more than tricks of the mind.  Setterfield strikes a wonderful balance between allowing the reader to make enough connections to feel clever, and still keeping enough hidden so that the twist comes as a  surprise.  Because of the intricacy of the story, once the big reveal occurred, I wanted to immediately go back to the beginning and reread the novel with my new perspective in mind.

The charm of the English culture that Setterfield describes in The Thirteenth Tale  only adds to its allure.  Her debut novel was not quite as successful in the UK as it was in America where it sky-rocketed to 1# on the New York Time’s Bestseller list.  But for an anglophile, mystery-loving, book junky like me, it’s no wonder why it was a break-out hit.

By Elizabeth Milo

I remember the 90s fondly: Pogs, Pokémon, boy bands, bleach-blond highlights, and Britney Spears.  Those were the days of midriff-exposing tops and boxer-baring pants, and of new trends like coffee shops and cell phones.  But what I remember as a defining component of the 90s was what was on TV.  This was the heyday of NBC—they had shows on like Friends, Frasier, ER, Will & Grace, Seinfeld, and Mad About You.  They were in the second decade of a 20-year winning streak, and when they coined their Thursday night catch phrase, “Must See TV,” it was true.  Anybody who was anybody was watching at least a couple of the NBC mega-hits, and the best part was it was free.

This year when they announced the Emmy nominations for the 2009-2010 season, I, like any good fan, was rooting for my favorites.  Of course I’m somewhat prejudiced, but I had pretty reasonable expectations about which shows on my short list were good enough to get Emmy nods.  The Office has been reeling in critical acclaim since day one; Glee was a surprise smash hit because of its unique concept and hilarious cast; Hugh Laurie was just fantastic in this past season of House. But there was one Emmy nomination I was hoping and praying for, one actor who I thought was heads above the rest, whose supporting role literally made the show: John Noble. As Dr. Walter Bishop in Fringe, Noble consistently gives one of the most brilliant acting performances on television. I wasn’t naive enough to think the show would actually get a nod—sci-fi isn’t everyone’s cup of tea—but the acting! Ah, the acting.

Did he get the nod? Of course not, but you probably already guessed that.  When I heard the news, I ranted and raved to the few people who would listen to me and act sympathetic, and then I tried to move on. I went back to look at the complete list of nominees (once I could muster the courage), and I noticed something that stopped me right in my tracks on the path to recovery: of six shows nominated for best dramatic series, only one of them was on network television, and that one (Lost) just ended.  In the comedy department, only two of the six nominees were not from a network, but significantly they were from the premium channels Showtime and HBO. Then I spent way too much time tallying all the totals.  Here are my findings:

Out of the 13 major categories, a total of 75 nomination slots, only 37 different shows were nominated, which means on average every show would be     nominated twice. But that was not the case.  The top 7 shows took up 31 spaces, so 9% of the shows garnered 41% of the nominations.

“So what?” you may say, “Those may have been really great shows.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, “but what about this?”:

Each of the four major networks took a fairly even share of the nominations; CBS     had 12, ABC took 12, FOX had 8, and NBC took a surprising 13 (surprising, considering it is consistently in last place in terms of ratings). This total comes to 45 Emmy nods, which means the other 30 nominations went to cable channels. That’s 40% of the nominations going to shows that aren’t free to the general public.  And of those 30 nominations, 9 of them were for shows that are on premium cable channels such as HBO and Showtime.  That’s more nominations     than FOX had!

What seems completely wrong to me about this situation is the lack of opportunity for the general public to view these supposedly fantastic shows.  I’m not head-over-heels about the content either.  Call me old-fashioned, by I find it a little bit icky when we’re celebrating shows where the protagonist, the person you are by definition rooting for, is an undetected serial killer (Dexter), or a meth dealer (Breaking Bad), or an adulterer and male chauvinist (Mad Men). Of course those shows which are all on cable channels don’t have as stringent FCC regulations as the networks do, holding them back from airing whatever content they like.  But beyond whatever social qualms I may have with these shows, it’s the unnatural control of the industry by the academy that really bugs me.  Almost half the shows nominated for Emmys are on channels for which you have to pay, which encourages non-subscribers to sign-up for those channels.  If people see that Mad Men tied for most Emmy nominations with a whopping 6 nods, they will be much more inclined to fork over the extra cash in order to see that show.  The Emmy board is, in a way, controlling the market by encouraging viewers to pay for the privilege of watching shows that they deem exceptional.  Does this seem suspicious to anyone else?

I’m not ashamed to admit that I like television. I have enough other things going on in my life that it doesn’t consume me, but there are a number of shows that I religiously watch. And then there are a handful that I watch whenever I have some spare time and a couple episodes to catch up on. And then there are shows that I’ve had recommended to me over and over again but I never get around to watching because I’m too busy with the first two lists.  Maybe it’s my lack of ability to watch every show that’s passed on to me which clouds my judgment about the state of television. But if the Emmy nominations are any indication, we are leaving behind the dynasty of great, free network television and entering the era of pay-for-your-privilege cable.

By Elizabeth Milo

Stay-at-home moms and collegiate educators alike are crying out in concern that the English language is decaying right before our very ears. For years there has been a growing panic across the nation that our language is deteriorating into something unrecognizable, and quite frankly, bad. Those who bewail the loudest that the sky is falling are concerned that as slang, “abrevs,” and dangling participles enter the language, English will become something decrepit and twisted. The sensation that is sweeping the nation, though, is founded on some misguided points:

1) There are better and worse languages
a) English is a better language
b) Fancy English is the best language
2) Kids these days don’t know how to talk properly
a) Slang is something that kids use
b) Text messaging is ruining English
3) Languages should not change

Perhaps you nodded adamantly while reading this list, or perhaps you laughed because you caught the tongue-in-cheek tone. But even if you laughed, you may still secretly agree with one or more of these points. Not THESE exact points, of course. Something more like this: The result of excessive text-messaging among young adults and teens is that their language skills are compromised. These young people incorporate slang terms, expressions, and abbreviations into everyday speech which compromises the quality of the English language. It is possible that in 100 years, English could be unrecognizable. Sounds scary, right? Kids will turn in term papers that look like text messages. The face of English will be changed forever—our language destroyed. The simple fact of the matter is that this will not happen, no way, no how.

What may happen is that English will change— maybe a lot, maybe a little. Either way, it’s too soon to tell. But English has been changing since there was such a thing that we could even call “English.” Old English was a conglomeration of Germanic and Celtic dialects. Middle English was a cross between Old French and Anglo-Saxon. Though we recognize Shakespeare’s words, the way his English sounded would sound nothing like our own. And eventually, English will move into a new stage beyond our own. It’s the fate of languages that things will change, blend, and mesh together to form different breeds and hybrids that become the language of future generations.

Back to the issue at hand (a.k.a. the inevitable destruction of the English which we all know and love in t-minus one generation), the changes which we are seeing now are not as alarming as people make them out to be. These are not the precursors to a huge linguistic shift like the ones I just outlined. Little changes, like the addition of slang and abbreviations into a generation’s lexicon, is neither new nor alarming. World renowned linguist and speaker David Crystal recently published a book entitled Txtng: The Gr8 Db8 about the text messaging phenomenon of the 21st century. In his book, Crystal outlines the truth about text messaging and technology. The kinds of slang and abbreviations that enter the language because of technology have been happening for as long as the written word has been around. Ancient scribes used shorthand tricks to save them time and space. Young lovers who wrote letters in the early 20th century used abbreviations like TTFN or SWAK that were just as much a part of their culture as BRB and TTYL are a part of the cultures of younger generations now. Many studies even suggest that because of the amount of writing young people do between instant messaging, texting, and blogging, their writing skills are actually increasing.

Everybody has a rule about which they are a stickler. If I had said, “Everybody has a rule they are a stickler about” (an example of the much dreaded dangling participle), to some people that would have been the reading equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. But it would have been perfectly understood! Language, in its simplest definition, is just a system of sounds to which people have agreed to assign meanings. For any good system to work, there must be rules, and there are rules within English which are simply too fundamental to ever be broken or changed—not because it’s bad to change them, but because nothing would make sense anymore. Avoiding dangling participles is not one of those rules. Even the meaning of words isn’t sacred; we can see how in just the past two centuries the meaning of a word like “awful” means something different to us than it did to readers of Jane Austen. Of course, we add words as well, like the verb “google.” What happens if someday the search engine Google no longer exists? Either the term “to google” would die out, or it would remain in the language as a term which meant “to investigate, or to look up,” and it would become another odd idiosyncrasy of the English language.

Yes, English is changing, but it is not decaying before our very eyes. Small, sometimes even imperceptible changes are taking place in the way we say our vowels, or use certain words, that over very long periods of time result in significant changes to the language. These changes, though, don’t make the language weaker or worse than it was before. Humans have a difficult time encountering change, but if we look at the history of our language, we see that the changes which frighten us now are so insignificant they’re practically microscopic. English has not started spiraling downward, but instead is chugging along at the same pace it’s been going for the past two thousand years.