Laugh Out Loud

On the airplane yesterday, I started reading The Frog Prince by Elle Lothlorien. The book caught my fancy because of its name (I love fairy tales!) and the subtitle, “A Romantic Comedy.” My favorite two genres combined! I didn’t really know anything about the content, but it seemed like a light, fast read that would amuse me on the flight.

From its first line, the novel did not disappoint, as Leigh, the narrator, begins the story by announcing: “Everyone agrees that my Great Aunt Tina looks fabulous dead.” Leigh tells the story in a humorous, often unexpected, bubbly voice. She is socially inept, either gushing about her sex research and spewing bizarre facts about human mating habits, or judging each word before she utters it to make sure its “creep factor” is not too high. Her friend Kat tells her, “If I had to think so hard about everything I did, I’d throw myself off the roof.”

For about four hours, I sat on the plane and laughed out loud. I didn’t care if the girl sitting next to me on the first flight and the man sitting next to me on the second thought I was crazy. I just enjoyed the book so much. I laughed and laughed.

The best part about how fun the book is: I left my disbelief (remember my suspending your disbelief post?) on the first page and never looked back. I didn’t mind when Roman, Leigh’s boyfriend, turned out to be the heir apparent to the Austrian throne (only if the monarchy was restored, of course). My faith did not waver when Leigh discovered that Roman had access to private planes and was friends with Prince Faisal of  Saudi Arabia and Princess Isabella of Denmark. A quick google check (for this blog’s purpose) revealed that history does in fact include these two personages. However, Princess Isabella is five and Prince Faisal died in 1975.

I also didn’t bat an eyelash when Leigh and Roman discover that the Austrian parliament had voted to restore the monarchy. Swept away with the humor and wackiness of the novel, any crazy semi-realistic idea that Elle Lothlorien wished to throw my way would have only added to the fun, even a historical event of such monumentality as reinstating a king to his throne. I love to laugh, and I guess I’m willing to do pretty much anything to laugh more.

I always tell my family that for my shiva (the Jewish traditional seven days of mourning), I’d like them to sit telling jokes about me. What a better way to make the move to the next world than on waves of laughter? But even my morbid sense of humor stands in awe before the way Leigh’s family says goodbye to the dead: “my family likes to take pictures of dead people.” Leigh explains as she poses with the dead Great Aunt Tina, “Not just take pictures of them, but have people pose with them like a bride and groom on their wedding day.”

Wow. That sounds like, um, fun....

The Joy of Banishing My Disbelief

Miracles happen. Especially in books. A burning bush talks to Moses? Sure, I accept that. A bunch of bones become an army of ghosts? Umm, creepy, but ok, I can swallow that. Elves, hobbits, flying kids, witches, people who incarnate over and over again over thousands of years. I believe it. I do. My imagination can accept quite a lot of marvelous happenings.

This is called, in literary terms, suspension of disbelief. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, one of my favorite poets, is the one who came up with the term. It is poetic faith, the reader’s willingness to accept incredible, romantic and supernatural people or events as possible within the framework of a novel, poem or play.

Poetic faith allows me to enjoy fictional writing. Take, for example, this story about a normal girl who is chosen to act as an adventurer in fairy tale worlds. That’s an imaginative idea, right? I don’t know any girl who actually does that. But, as long as the girl’s story sticks to the rules which the novel sets starting out, I am willing to accept and enjoy flying frogs, sheep with no mouths, a wizard who is a clown (how terrifying!) and a main character who is an expert in cliches.

The story I’m describing is Anna Staniszewski’s middle grade novel My Very Unfairytale Life. Jenny, the main character, does not fear the danger inherent in adventuring. She easily pops in and out of worlds saving creatures and countries, but she misses her everyday life. Yes, she’s rich with jewels and treasures, but she has no friends.

I like novels where the main character needs to balance their innermost desires with the conditions of their life and the limitations of the world around them. Staniszewski’s  novel, though short, cute, and easy-to-read, still manages to enfold within its pages a discussion of friendship, the power of laughing without a care in the world, and following our heart.

I think the novel’s innate charm is what made me so willing to suspend my disbelief. A lot of Staniszewski’s seemingly impossible details add charm as well as a shadow of menacing darkness and complexity to a story teeming with humor: the wizard’s castle is a huge circus tent and his grounds a mini-golf garden. He tortures Prince Lamb by forcing him to swing on a trapeze. The committee members who send Jenny on her adventures are exact copies of each other, looking alike, speaking in the same voice and at the same time.

I allowed myself to be swept along in Jenny’s adventure, rarely bringing my head up for air, following the twists of the plot through possible, impossible, credible, incredible, just letting myself have fun. And by the end of it, a reaffirmation of family and friends, I was very glad that I allowed myself to rest in belief for at least this one time.