Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Undercover by Beth Kephart
But playing Roxane made me feel uncomfortable. For there is Cyrano, writing letters to Roxane on behalf of the local pretty boy, and there is Roxane, buying every bit of it, hook, line, and sinker. Why can't she see that it is Cyrano's heart and head inside those letters? Why can't she tell how much he loves her? And what does this say about people in general, that they can't see what is standing before them? Beauty rules, every single time. Beauty is the password.
But I didn't tell them about loving Theo. I didn't say I'd written to Dad. That's what undercover operative do. They pick and choose their truths.
Here's what I think, when I think about it more: Beauty is a cruel deception, true. But the greatest tragedy of all is letting invisibility win. It's choosing to give up the thing you want because you think you don't deserve it.
"You know what I hate?" I declared, feeling emboldened.
"The rules of love."
"Rotten." She smiled. "Through and through. But if they weren't so rotten, what would poets do?"
"Hope less forlornly, I guess."
"Yes. Maybe they would. But oh, how the poems themselves would suffer."
Posted by Staci at 12:21 PM