Tag Archives: anna and the french kiss

MCM 6: Eleanor and Park

Warning: This one is rambly and I didn’t feel like reading it over so I didn’t. Message me if you want clarification on this since I can’t really speak to its coherence.

I enjoyed reading this book on the airplane very much. I think my favourite thing was the way the characters describe each other. I read somewhere (I think in reference to Game of Thrones) that books are the last refuge of the unattractive love interest. However, I think something even more interesting is going on in this, and some of the other novels I enjoyed (Anna and the French Kiss, Divergent). Characters are loved, and in indeed fall in love with each other not in spite of their looks, but rather because of their individuality and the beauty that lies within that. I think describing individual beauty in all its complexity and simplicity is important and often over looked. I can’t even think of that many books that do this. Yet, I can’t think of any clearer demonstration of the huge diversity of beauty in the world. It’s true that love interests are almost always considered beautiful in the eyes of their loves, but the way that beauty is described varies greatly. For example, in Twilight, Bella is described as beautiful in a very conventional way, although she doesn’t believe herself to be. Which is the polar opposite of how Eleanor and Park describe each other. They don’t dismiss each other’s perceived flaws, but rather see the beauty in the unique parts of each other. I think that’s truly lovely and I wish I saw it happening everywhere in media and life.

XVII (I do not love you…)

jesuiswholocked:

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda

What Etienne gives to Anna