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And yes, the Hemingways, the Fitzgeralds, the Faulkners and the Capotes. Drank while writing. Drink next to the typewriter. But the longer I lived in Brooklyn, the more writers I met, and I guess I was just too drunk to put it together before but now I realized about half of them were sober. So you could be a writer and be sober. Very interesting ↗
Luke!...We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don't embarrass our child!" "I'm a very cool dancer," replies Luke. "Very cool indeed," "No you're not!" "I had dance lessons in my teens, you know," he retorts. "I can waltz like Fred Astire." "Waltz?" I echo derisively. "That's not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me." I do a couple funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me. "Sweetheart," he says. "What are you doing?" "It's hip-hop!" I say. "It's street!" "Becky! Love!" Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. "What's wrong? Has labour started?" Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban steet dance trends. ↗
My family stood right in front of me, talking and smiling. I felt like I was viewing one of those cheesy ad shots for camera companies. The ones I looked at and thought, fake, because no one's family ever looked that happy. Yet, the perfect family moment bloomed right before my eyes, and I wasn't a part of it. ↗
Her hands flew to her mouth. 'Are we even twins?' Josh rested his hand on her shoulder and brought his forehead to rest against hers, strands of their blond hair mingling. 'I will always be your brother, Sophie. I will always look after you. ↗
There has to be blame and there has to be reasons and there has to be answers and if nobody can adequately accept the blame and give a sufficient reason and provide an answer, the love, no matter how strong it is, the family, no matter how tight it is, the life, no matter how good it is, will always buckle, then snap, then drown completely under the pressure of itself, the reality of the mistrust, and the weight of its own history, because if there are no answers, the blame and the guilt become stronger than the love and those two things together become a force that no amount of love can ever break down and overcome. ↗
The modern writers who have suggested, in a more or less open manner, that the family is a bad institution, have generally confined themselves to suggesting, with much sharpness, bitterness, or pathos, that perhaps the family is not always very congenial. Of course the family is a good institution because it is uncongenial. It is wholesome precisely because it contains so many divergencies and varieties. It is, as the sentimentalists say, like a little kingdom, and, like most other little kingdoms, is generally in a state of something resembling anarchy. ↗
