What's Elizabeth Reading? ...Kathryn Stockett

Books I consider to be masterpieces: Les Miserables, The Book Thief, The Little Prince, many others I have not read, and Kathryn Stockett's The Help.

I have been meaning to read this book since I watched the film. Here are some of my reactions while reading it, written down as I progressed through the book:

Pg. 2 - Fought urge to throw book across the room in frustration because I could already tell it was incredibly well written. It's okay for classics and famous authors to be this good, because there is a wall between them and me. But Kathryn Stockett? She is a regular person, as far as I'm aware. I briefly had to fight the depressing idea that I will never be as good of a writer.
Pg. 32 - It was like this in the 60s?! I felt like I was reading something set much further back, but then they would talk about using a vacuum.
Pg. 61 - This was when I realized I was reading someone's masterpiece. More on this in a minute.
Pg. 293 - I became disappointed that I had watched the movie first. Movies cannot build up tension and suspense nearly as well because they do not get to take their time slowly unfolding the plot. I wish I could have been along for the ride my first time reading this instead of already knowing the story. (Note: It was still brilliant and I loved every minute of it, even though I did know the story beforehand.)

I withheld full judgment of the book until I had totally finished, mostly because I've seen some wonderful books flail and die toward the end and it ruins the whole experience. I am happy to report this book ends well. My only complaint would be that it hints at resolution without actually showing us the resolution. Perhaps that is because there isn't a full solution yet in real life.

As for masterpieces. I struggled this week while writing a letter to my grandma to describe just what I mean by "masterpiece." It is not simply a five-star book. Many books can be brilliant without being a masterpiece (Mistborn, Pride and Prejudice, and Tinkers are all examples, in my opinion. Actually, please note that this is all opinion). What sets a masterpiece apart is that a person can only write one in a lifetime. Perhaps two, but I'm wary about that. A masterpiece is the culmination of a life set into a book. The author writes from somewhere deep within themselves, about things they care so much about they are nearly defined by them, or about a cause they are so close to it is no longer a cause. I ended up telling my grandma that it's like a person is writing their own scripture.

I believe Kathryn Stockett's The Help is a masterpiece because I could feel it doing those things. Sure enough, when I got to the end, there is a section about Stockett's childhood maid, who was black. This story is a piece of her life (yes, it is fiction, but fiction represents truth). It was a story she had to tell.

Beyond that, the book is entertaining. I was reading it even while I had a headache, when I am usually good at not reading unless it is absolutely necessary. In this case, I needed to read this book for the sake of my sanity this week. It has been a tough week for almost no reason at all. I just wanted to be left alone so I could read this book, and now I'm wondering if she has anything else out (she doesn't, I checked just after writing that). I want to know if she has more stories to tell.

I just realized I never did say what it was about. So I will do that and then ... either run to the library for a new book or be responsible. The Help tells the story of a set of black maids in 60s' Jackson, Mississippi. They come together along with a white woman to write a book about their experiences, with hilarity and touching moments along the way.