WICKED

While I was busy "breaking" I was doing something I have not treated myself to in a long while. I was reading in the evening. I read a couple of Kay Hooper's fun mystery/paranormal books and of course a Dean Koontz epic. The last three days of my break (or evenings) I picked up Wicked (by Gregory Maguire) to read. I have been saving this book for some time, I wanted to see the stage play first. Then I saw a photo on authorblog that David had taken of the Marquee where Wicked was playing in Australia. My heart began to throb with the anticipation of finally breaking my word to myself. I was going to read it.

When we were youngsters, my cousins and I read voraciously, we read anything we could get our hands on. My Uncle worked at a place where they made paper products and often brought home stacks of old comics and paperback books. He always took them to the little old house that stood empty eyed and forlorn a few hundred feet from his house. He always told us when new comics had been placed within. In the summer, dried tobacco was stored tied up in field sheets, waiting till time to go to market. Those aromatic bales of tobacco made for very comfortable reading. We would read comics and pass them back and forth, especially if they were good. I first found Mr Baum's "The Wizard of Oz" in a box of those old comics. When we had a book, we would take turns reading aloud, the audience kicked back on makeshift sofas, taking it all in. I learned to hate and despise The Wicked Witch of the West and idolize Glinda, the Good Witch of the South (or was it North? I barely remember). When we were reading about TWWOTW we shivered in delights of fear when the winged monkeys attacked the little band heading for Oz...we felt the cold when Glinda sent the snow to waken the sleeping victims of TWWOTW's poppy fields (opium???in a a child's tale???) . We read that little book till it was ragged and frayed and learned what "dogeared" meant, as we turned down the page where we would take up next day. Ah, the thrills of reading that followed me like a second skin into adulthood.

And now, I'm reading the adventures of Elphaba, the young green Miss before she became The Wicked Witch of the West, and all about her sister Nessarose, she of the barber pole stockings and ruby slippers. I'm learning to appreciate how they came about, how family history turns on a look or a word. I'm learned to feel pity for TWWOTW, and admiration for her as well. I've learned that Glinda wasn't always the sweet little Fairy Queen we once thought she was. I learned you shouldn't judge a book by its insides OR its cover! And if you haven't read Wicked...oh please! Do yourself the favor. I promise you won't regret it.