The summer brain drain, intellectual inertia, and Gossip Girl

I have lost interest / motivation to read most, if not all, of the books on the list I posted in May.

And this is one of many reasons I've decided I'm not quite ready for seminary yet. Please, no more compulsory reading and writing for a year. It will be nice to read and write because I want to, not because I have to. So I'll be in Tulsa for this year.

I've read books at Borders, for entertainment, that are probably not worth talking or writing about, in the sense that they are unlikely ever to be considered part of the canon of great books worth studying. (Well, perhaps they will be of academic interest 50 years from now, as a snapshot of the turn-of-the-century cultural moment. And they are definitely "flarfable.")

I had first read Gossip Girl when I was 16, around when it first came out (and when I was still legitimately part of the target audience). I picked it up again this summer because I wanted something mindless to replace television, and I certainly succeeded. It glorifies the lifestyle of girls attending private school in New York City, whose wealthy parents give them limitless credit cards and almost no restrictions or supervision. (Apparently the author either was one of these girls, or went to school with them.) This glamorous life revolves around endless parties, and the bitchily condescending prose is peppered with enough references to designer clothes to sound quite ridiculous. The anonymous Gossip Girl is a character in the series who provides a blog update every couple of chapters, referencing the other characters.

I can't give a satisfactory explanation for why I kept reading, but it was entertaining. Whatever it is, it must be the same reason that reality TV shows are so popular.

It was interesting because there are really people who are like that, and because having a lot of money doesn't make them happy. It is a hollow thing they take for granted, even while they elevate it to one of the most essential elements of their identity. In the midst of all this material wealth, there is still great relational poverty-- the parental neglect that I mentioned before makes friends and peers (and their approval) even more important. The self-absorbed, wealthy parents are always going off to operas, and they have a tacit agreement with their children: you can do and have whatever you want, as long as you don't embarrass us. The luxury suite penthouses are stocked with lots of liquor to fuel the endless parties, and condoms, just in case.

After a while, I began to feel sorry for them, and I wanted them to grow up.

At the center of the series is two girls and a guy -- a formula that permeates pop culture, dating back at least to Archie comics, and probably further. In case you don't recognize it, it is a best friend / love triangle, in which both girls are in love with the noncommital guy, who is generally "loves" them both. Since none of you are ever going to read these, I'll spoil the ending: the guy finally decides to go sailing around the world for a year, instead of choosing a serious relationship with one of his beautiful friends. This is the first decision he makes as a man, after drifting through life in a haze of constant pot smoke since eighth grade, playing lacrosse, hooking up with any of the constantly available girls he wanted (in addition to the main two), and getting mediocre grades.

The ending gives a false sense that they are going to grow up and be okay, until you remember their self-absorbed, shallow parents, and realize that this is most likely their future. How depressing.

---

After I finished reading this series, I dug back into my treasure trove of books from my 20th century American lit class. I found two books there that bear some surface similarities to Gossip Girl, but are considered intellectual: Edith Wharton's House of Mirth and Mary McCartney's The Group.

Like Gossip Girl, these are about young women in New York high society. The Group follows the lives of eight popular girls graduating from Vassar between the world wars, and it seems like most of the chapters are set in New York. According to the accolades printed on the back, it is a great social history. Indeed, it seems thoroughly researched, saturated with authentic-sounding references to politics, food, businesses, slang, cultural trends, and everything else of the time. After my re-reading of it, I came away with a fierce hatred of one of the characters' husbands, which, for me, distinguishes it as a great book. Not many books provoke strong emotions in me; my reaction is usually, "Hm, that's interesting."

House of Mirth is a tragedy about a young woman, bred for high society, whose downfall results from conflicting and irreconcilable circumstances and personal inclinations. She is shallow and wants money to maintain her lifestyle, but not shallow enough to marry for money. She is too flighty to focus on a viable course of action (marry for money at the sacrifice of dignity, or uphold dignity and deal with the dinginess of a cheap apartment and membership in the working class). Her mood, outlook on life, and even her entire worldview vary in direct correlation with her physical surroundings. Luxury eases her into ignoring her problems and feeling good, while dinginess, a quality her mother taught her to fear and despise, reminds her of her bleak life situation and checkbook balance. Reading about her downfall made me feel panicky, even though I had read it before, because I realize that I, too, could be this foolish and irrational (although in somewhat different ways). What if I mess up my life with indecision?

The heroine's friends were never truly caring. Society valued a person solely according to his or her money and amusing / impressive qualities. I'd like to think that they might have helped her more than they did, if she had asked, and that her downfall really accelerated when she cut herself off from them, but I dare not contradict the very knowledgeable author. Before marriage, she was Edith Jones, an influential family in New York we still remember in our colloquial phrase, "keeping up with the Joneses."

--

I wish I could finish this small study by taking a trip to New York. Maybe I can do it by next spring. Who wants to come with me?