Goldman

This week I re-read "The Princess Bride," the book, S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure abridged by William Goldman. This is one of those books that it is impossible to stay unhappy while reading, which is a very good thing because this week was worse than usual (come to think of it the first week of February has always been consistently the most awful week of the year for me, 2008 proves to be no exception, but that's another matter). I suppose there is some literary critic out there who can stay unhappy while reading "The Princess Bride", but I do not envy that person.

One thing that I find endlessly delightful apart from the story and all those lovable characters is Goldman's commentary. When I read this book before, his quirky little interjections made me laugh, and then I went on my merry way. This time they still made me laugh, but during this horrible, awful, no good, very bad first week of February, one thing that Goldman had to say stuck out to me.

Life is not fair.

While I was reading and being delighted by the book, all the while the details of this bad week still swimming around the back of my mind, a weird type of communication occurred between me and Goldman. Not William Goldman, the novelist and screenwriter, per se, but the Goldman that lives between the pages of "The Princess Bride." This Goldman could read my thoughts the way I was reading his book. I could imagine Goldman nodding his head knowingly as he listened to my thoughts while simultaneously entertaining me, and then say, "well, life ain't fair."

I don't know whether to find this knowledge liberating or oppressing. After giving it some thought, I suppose that if I dwell on it too much it becomes oppressing, but then if I get over it, it becomes liberating. That's the trick though. So, that's my job for the next few days. Life is not fair, get over it.