Things that are great this week : Voyeurtastic!

Tiffany stayed silent.

"She told me all about it," said Miss Level. "Miss Tick never mentioned the hat . . . You know, sometimes it helps to talk about these things."

More silence from Tiffany.

"Actually, that's not true," Miss Level added. "But as a witch I am incredibly inquisitive and would love to know more."

From A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett


Terry Pratchett, my favorite author of all time, has come out with Wintersmith, the third book in The Continuing Adventures of Tiffany Aching and the Wee Free Men. I admit I’ve sneaked a few chapters already and it is, of course, wonderful. They are all classified as “Teen” reading, but never have I read novels as resonating, self-deprecating, as beautifully cheery and sorrowful, and laugh-out-loud funny as this series. Every time I read (and re-read) them, different passages leap out at me, keeping time with my life.

For instance (from A Hat Full of Sky):

”Respect is meat and drink to a witch. Without respect, you ain’t got a thing. She doesn’t get much respect, our Miss Level.”

That was true. People didn’t respect Miss Level. They liked her, in an unthinking sort of way, and that was it. Mistress Weatherwax was right, and Tiffany wished she wasn’t.

“Why did you and Miss Tick send me to her, then?”

“Because she likes people,” said the witch, striding ahead. “She cares about ‘em. Even the stupid, mean, drooling ones, the mothers with the runny babies and no sense, the feckless and the silly and the fools who treat her like some kind of a servant. Now that’s what I call magic – seein’ all that, dealin’ with all that, and still goin’ on. It’s sittin’ up at night with some poor old man who’s leavin’ the world, taking away such pain as you can, comfortin’ their terror, seein’ ‘em safely on their way . . . and then cleanin’ ‘em up, layin’ ‘em out, making ‘em neat for the funeral, and helpin’ the widow strip the bed and wash the sheets – which is, let me tell you, no errand for the fainthearted – and stayin’ up the next night to watch over the coffin before the funeral, and then going home and sitting down for five minutes before some shouting angry man comes bangin’ on your door ‘cuz his wife’s havin’ difficulty givin’ birth to their first child and the midwife’s at her wits’ end and then getting up and fetching your bag and going out again . . . We all do that, in our own way, and she does it better’n me, if I was to put my hand to my heart. That is the root and heart and soul and center of witchcraft, that is. The soul and center!”

Echoes came back from the trees in the sudden silence. Even the grasshoppers by the side of the track had stopped sizzling.

“And Mrs. Earwig,” said Mistress Weatherwax, her voice sinking to a growl, “Mrs. Earwig tells her girls it’s about cosmic balances and stars and circles and colors and wands and . . . and toys, nothing but toys!” She sniffed. “Oh, I daresay they’re all very well as decoration, somethin’ nice to look at while you’re workin’, somethin’ for show, but the start and finish, the start and finish, is helpin’ people when life is on the edge. Even people you don’t like. Stars is easy, people is hard.”














Next on the list is Jean-Leon Gerome. This weekend I cleared out a lot of computer files and came across files of his paintings, each of which is like a story. The composition, subject matter, and posture are so out of place with the typical paintings of the day – it’s a wonder he isn’t more well known. The ARC’s Gerome collection is like a photojournalist’s account of mid-19th century Egypt and Persia, and I get goosebumps every time I realize they are largely from real life. For example:






















All the rest can be found here at The ARC, “the internet’s largest online museum.”


And lastly – but certainly not leastly - I start interviewing inmates on Thursday. I cannot wait! My parents own a pre-employment screening business, and what I have always loved about it – what I have only loved about it, besides the free printer paper – was the absolute deluge of criminal records pouring forth from the fax. I would do summer work for them, and I always seated myself right next to the fax. I never judged the people to whom the records applied, because I knew that a Lewd and Lascivious charge could just as easily be due to a girl flashing her chest while drunk at a bar (or at least used to be), as it could be something more. But I just find it so incredibly interesting, so undeniably enthralling, and to think that I will also be helping the inmates' struggle through this system, helping the PDs, and at the very least providing an un-judgmental ear – well, it just doesn’t get any better.

Ah, well. Life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.