Recently the question of “favorite living author” was batted around my little nine-person program. By this, I mean that recently I posed the question, “Who is your favorite living author” to my little nine-person program.
Batted around sounds so much more romantic and less forced, though, doesn’t it?
Several authors were thrown out—Donna Tart, Laurie Hals Anderson, John Green. Lively discussion was had. Opinions were justified. Lives were changed.
I decided on Nick Hornby.
Well Helen Fielding first, then Nick Hornby.
But I’m sticking with Nick.
With Helen Fielding/Bridget Jones as the queen of everything including life.
For my adaptation class this semester, I had to compare a movie to the original book, and in a non-shock move, I chose Bridget Jones. In fact, had you lined up the nine students in my program and the nine adaptations we chose, all of us could have made a direct line from person to adaptation.
While watching a Tarantino film.
And eating sushi.
The point is, when you spend two years with nine people, you almost become a parody of yourself, and and when you spend two years with nine people your adaptation choice most definitely becomes a parody of yourself.
The Bridget adaptation paper was one of those assignments that should be the poster child for “do what you would do even if you weren’t being paid” idea because writing a comparison of the Bridget Jones movie and book sounds like a thrilling Saturday night activity I would do of my own accord.
I joke in no way.
Then again, maybe this assignment should be the poster child for “do what you would do even if you are paying a million dollars to go to grad school” idea because no one’s paying me for that paper, I am instead selling my soul to student loans for the opportunity to complete that paper.
Sob. Sob. Sob.
On a happier note, I was able to sneak in the sentence, “The audience swoons and recommits to the concept of love” after describing Bridget and Mark’s first kiss, so maybe all those loans were worth it in the end!
Sobbing. Sobbing. Sobbing.
One fun Bridget movie fact: Richard Curtis was the mastermind behind the infamous Mark/Daniel fight scene and said it came about simply as a wish fulfillment, “Wouldn’t it be fun to see Hugh Grant and Colin Firth having a punch-up?”
I’m sticking to my theory that marrying Freud’s descendant really affected Richard’s psyche for the good of all mankind.
These are the type of wish fulfillments that need to come to pass, people!
Firth and Grant wish fulfillments are the only type of wish fulfillments!
(This post started as a way for me to list my favorite Nick Hornby novels to the world. Let’s see if I can get it back there.)
All right, so I’m off track. This post started as a way for me to list my favorite Nick Hornby novels to the world, and I’ll be doggoned with a dachshund if I don’t do that!
(Also managed to use my dachshund line from a script earlier this year.)
(Grad school is really working out for me.)
Jillian Denning’s favorite Nick Hornby novels, ranked
*as Nick Hornby is her favorite living author*
- High Fidelity
- About a Boy (may be biased by Hugh Grant?)
- Fever Pitch
- A Long Way Down
- Juliet, Naked
- How to be Good
Also, I don’t know a graceful way to slip this in anywhere, but I just finished my roundup of John Green and I do believe the opening paragraph for Paper Towns is the best YA opening paragraph of all time.
I’m not willing to debate this.
The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightning, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust. But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman.
Firth and Grant!
You’ll have to excuse me.
I’m off to swoon and recommit to the concept of love.