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Saturday, June 01, 2002

This is a busy time of year. I'm leaving today on a business trip to Los Angeles.

No rest for the wicked.

I've started reading some things by Anne Bronte. She's "the other one" of the Bronte sisters. Died of tuberculosis before she could write more than two novels and a few poems. She was 28, I believe. Unmarried. She gets overlooked a lot because her writing isn't much like her sisters'.

But then... I don't like her sisters' books much. I do like Jane Austen, and that's how I came to Anne Bronte. Sadly, I wasn't the first to notice the similarities. The introduction of the book encourages readers to think of Anne Bronte as Jane's little sister. So far, I definitely agree. The other Bronte sisters didn't much like Jane Austen's work, and just reading the description of each woman's work, I wouldn't expect that I would, either.

They say that Jane and Anne write about comedies of "manners" -- silly social confusion among the upper class. The other Bronte sisters, on the other hand, wrote "wild, dark examinations of the human soul like the moors they grew up on." Wow, that sounds like my kind of writing.

But it's not. I find it depressing. And that's pretty much it. Not very litterary of me, I know.

Jane and Anne, though... I find their books make fun of the society they see around them and say more true things about wider humanity. They can see the absurdity in all the little things that make the world go round, and still accept the people for it. They turn their honest eyes on the normal people around them and tell what they see there.

I wish I could do that.

Books: Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Sigh.