This is the most true review ever. In fact, this review is so true, all other reviews will now have a slight whiff of inauthenticity. You'll read them and say, well, okay, but did they really read it? I can't really tell. Because I read Reynolds' review which was so very true.
I read New Moon for the first time in the days following the assassination of John Kennedy. I was grieving--shoot, the whole world was grieving. Ooops--shouldn't have said "shoot." That's inappropriate. But it's a sign of the times: nothing seemed appropriate. We didn't know who we were anymore. But New Moon made me fall in love with America, and myself, again. Sure, Vietnam was coming. But for a brief, shining moment, I had New Moon.
But the '60s were a dazzling time, man, and I lost myself. We lost ourselves, I think. It was a time when people went looking for themselves, but I think, in the looking, they lost themselves, too. It was a paradoxical time. It was a time for wrongness, a wrong time.
And then, Watergate. That should have woken us up, but it didn't. We were sleeping so soundly! Not until we read New Moon again. 1975, I was on a plane and Warren Beatty happened to be in first class. I had loved his hair in the pictures I'd seen, so I couldn't help but stare at him through the whole flight. But when he got off, I noticed that he'd left something behind. It was a copy of New Moon.
And I found myself again. Thank you, New Moon!
But then, the '80s. It was a time of greed is good. I lost myself again. It is fair to say--as my Mom often does, with a wry chuckle!--that Mike is always losing himself! Luckily, there is New Moon. I found myself again after the crash of '88, when drinking sterno in a backalley in Boise I came upon a copy of New Moon. That's right.
Suddenly, it was 9/11. Things came crashing down, and by "things" I do mean to make the image of the towers resonate with a more metaphorical understanding of "things" generally in my life, 'cause--you guessed it--my self had gone missing again. But then.
Who knows what the future may hold? As Stephanie Meyer says, the past is not undead--it's not even past. It's still hanging around in rural Washington, waiting to meet you. Thank you, Stephanie, for always bringing me a New Moon!