Spoiler Alert

         Okay, okay, I confess. Sometimes, only sometimes, I read the end of a book first.  It happens when I need to know what will happen to the protagonist.  Who will survive the harrowing trip through the scorching desert?  Does the husband forgive his wife in the end or does he leave her?  Who killed the mother-in-law?  I don’t understand why I should put myself though the angst of not knowing the outcome of the story if it’s in the last chapter of the book I am holding in my hands.  Reading the ending is something I have done ever since I was young and, as far as I know, I have not been scarred psychologically by this action.  In the majority of cases, if the ending is credible and satisfying, I will go back and continue reading the book.

            There are two specific instances where I find it necessary to read the end of book before time.  One is that the plot develops at a slow pace and I am on the brink of not reading the book at all.  I am at a crossroad, either I stop reading and go on to another book, or I read the last chapter and then decide whether I should continue plodding along till the pace picks up.  The last novel I had to submit to this technique is titled Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford.  It is a beautiful story that takes place in two time periods, 1942-1945 and 1986.  The story is about a young Chinese American boy, Henry, who meets an American Japanese girl, Keiko, when in sixth grade.  They become friends at first and over time their friendship evolves into a first love experience.  The early segment of the story takes place in Seattle, Washington during WW II. The conflicting element is the historical reality of the Japanese internment camps in continental USA and how this harsh government action affected Keiko and her family.  The other conflict Henry has to deal with is that his own father rejects any contact with Japanese persons, even if they are third generation American citizens as was the case of Keiko’s family. 

         Perhaps what makes the development slow is that the chapters go back and forth between the past and the present of Henry’s life and its very descriptive narrative.  It got to the point where either I read the last chapter and found out how the story ended or I would put the book down and begin reading another.  I read the last chapter.  I was content with the ending and then went back and continued reading the story. 

The novel contains many endearing moments, not only between the young Henry and Keiko, but also between the adult Henry, his son and the memories they both have of Henry’s deceased wife.  It is a story that highlights many significant life events like the importance of friendship, love, family, and commitment based on values.  So you see, I didn't spoil the ending, as a matter of fact, I enjoyed it more knowing that in the end Henry would be rewarded for the sacrifices he made for  his family.

The other reason I may decide to read the last chapter of book ahead of time is when the suspense surrounding the protagonist is too great for me to bear.  Why should I torture myself about the ending if it is right there in black and white?  I have more than enough unknowns in my own life without adding fictional ones to the list.  Besides, there are many novels and short stories that begin with the end and then go on to narrate the why and how of that particular ending, so it is not a cardinal sin to turn to the final chapter and find out what happens.  The latest book I had to do that with is a suspenseful story about a young Spanish girl who becomes a prestigious couturier and spy during the Spanish Civil war period when General Francisco Franco, with the help of the Nazi Germans and Italians, established a dictatorship. I read this book in Spanish; the title is El Tiempo Entre Costuras by Maria Dueñas. The book was translated into English and the title is The Time in Between.  In my humble opinion, a better title would have been The Time in Between Dressmaking…but they didn't consult me.

            The story begins when the protagonist, Sira Quiroga, a young, naive girl who is the only child of a seamstress falls in love with the wrong man and ends up living in the Spanish Protectorate in Morocco. The handsome boyfriend abandons Sira. She has no money (the cad took it all) and the civil war had begun in Spain so she cannot return.  She was able not only to survive but to become a respected couturier because of her ability to design and sew beautiful dresses for the elite women of Tangiers. Her first and most important client is a British citizen, Rosalind Fox, who becomes Sira’s best customer and close friend.  However, Rosalind also involves Sira in spying for the British against the Franco regime and the Nazis by listening and informing what her haute couture customers mentioned about their husbands’ activities.

            There is a point in the novel where I just needed to know if Sira would survive both emotionally and physically.  I fast forwarded to the last pages of the novel, read them, and then returned where I had left off.  To know how the story ended allowed me to handle the stress and unknowns of the protagonist’s risks as a spy in Morocco and later in Spain.  Even though it is a novel, the historical details and some names are real. It is a fascinating story of survival, intrigue, love, and mystery.

            A few of my friends are skeptical about the benefits of reading the end of a book first, but that does not bother or stop me.  I came across a study by researchers Nicholas Christenfeld and Jonathan Leavitt from the Psychology Department of San Diego’s University of California, which reveals that reading the ending does not spoil the reader’s enjoyment and that in most cases it actually improves it. 

            There are many readers who read endings, I am not alone. I became even more convinced of this practice when I read a book by Bill Schwalbe, The End of Your Life Book Club.  It’s an outstanding memoir of the relationship between Schwalbe and his mother during her two last years of life, even though reference is made to earlier years.  His mother, Mary Ann Schwalbe, was a remarkable woman who lived life with gusto.  She was first and foremost an educator, later on Director of Admissions at Harvard, college counselor, and finally she became an activist for the rights and needs of women and children overseas, especially in Afghanistan. Her main goal concerning Afghanistan and other countries was to establish public libraries through a nonprofit organization. The same way she lived her life, she faced her death due to pancreatic cancer that had metastasized. She is a woman to be admired. Basic to all of her endeavors is the fact that she was an avid reader who taught her three children the value of reading, a legacy that they will treasure for as long as they live. During her chemotherapy treatments mother and son read and discussed many books that in the end become a to-read list for us, the readers. When I began the book, Bill Schwalbe says something about his mother that caused me to laugh out loud and to connect with her in a special way: “My mother was a fast reader.  Oh, and one other thing I should mention.  She always read the end of a book first because she couldn't wait to find out how things would turn out.”  Yes! That is a fact I can relate to.

          So, please know that whenever I need to read the ending first, I will, without guilt or excuses.

International Women's Day

Today is March 8th, International Women's Day. It is true that we have come a long way, however, we still have a long, long way to go  Our quest for gender equality is not over.  I posted the following poem some time ago and I believe it is appropriate for this day.

  

    IMMORTAL WOMAN

Ever since prehistoric times

Woman has been dragged, pushed, pulled,

belittled, enslaved, raped, disregarded, & discarded;

her wild seed trampled.

Neither time nor history has changed

Woman's destiny of subjugation.

Receiver of seeds, willingly or unwillingly,

procreator of sons,

keeper of unnatural rhythms.

Ever since prehistoric times

Woman has struggled, resisted, defied, deserted,

endured, & transcended;

blossomed wildly, unexpectedly.

Even so,

Strong Woman has barely modified

time & history,

destiny & unnatural laws.

Ever since prehistoric times

Woman is receiver of instinctual wisdom,

compassionate giver of self,

mirror of daughters,

nurturing & encouraging freedom,

yet also guardian of boundaries,

with discernment & tenacity.

Ever since prehistoric times,

Woman is sagacious & steadfast,

maiden, mother, grandmother,

matriarch, wise & empowered Crone,

No matter destiny,

No matter history,

No matter time & laws,

No matter the predators!

Mildred Santiago (rev. 2014)

 

The Empty Nest

The "empty nest syndrome" is a feeling of loss experienced mostly by women (some men experience it too), when their children go off to college or to get married.. According to Psychology Today  it's a feeling of sadness, loneliness, or even depression. Nowadays more mothers have careers and work outside the home and therefore are able to deal with the absence of their children in a more calm and accepting manner. The mothers and fathers whose lives revolved around the children are the ones who have a harder time accepting that the little ones have grown up and are off living their own lives. This poem is about those parents.


This Ole House and I

Once upon a time,

this big ole house was bursting with life.

My kids were always playing, hollering, crying,

silence was a rarity, neatness unheard of.

Sometimes I scolded or punished them,

other times I laughed and joined them.

The days, months & years went by

as if on roller skates.

The kids grew up & went away.

Too soon, I thought, this big ole house

was empty, quiet,

only the echoes of laughter and

shrilly voices remained.

Some days I walk from room to room,

perhaps hoping to find my babies,

but I’m greeted by deafening silence,

an emptiness that hurts.

Now, from time to time, I must say,

my kids return

with their own offspring in tow and

this big ole house shudders & awakens to

screaming & hollering that seems to

ricochet off its happy walls.

The empty echoes fade,

the bedrooms are messy,

the kitchen bustles with activity;

a half-eaten sandwich is on the counter,

the coffee pot is brewing and

the dishwasher is humming its happy song.

There is warmth, there is love,

there is life,

in this big ole house again.

But, time does not stand still,

it continues hurdling forward.

Too soon the silence returns,

too soon I find myself walking

a worn, familiar path

from room to room,

listening to the new echoes and

waiting, waiting.

Together we wait,

we wait for their return,

this big ole house and I.

                                                            © 2015 Mildred Santiago

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