Tuscan Holiday by Holly Chamberlin

A friend (Sarah) recommended this book as it was quite relevant to my life recently...and it was quite enjoyable. The first book I read on my Kindle, in fact (which is a completely separate topic, the Kindle that is, and as this isn't really a "technology" blog I won't get into it, but I do like the Kindle and am happy to have received it as a surprise for Christmas).

This book is about the journey a mother and daughter take to Italy between the daughter's college graduation and her wedding. The daughther leaves the States completely sure of herself and her relationship with her fiance, and comes back a lot more sure of herself and a lot less sure of her fiance. I'll take an international love affair any day.

As a 24 year old who feels like she is at the beginnings of a journey of self, it was an interesting read...I usually try to be eloquent but I'm just going to lay this out there: the daughter in the book was really annoying. Like, I'm an immature somewhat-know-it-all 24 year old, and she was an immature know-it-all-22 year old, and even I found her to be annoying. So take that for what it will. Granted, she's not as annoying as the book develops and much of the story centers on her transition from brat to...less of a brat, but is it really that much of an accomplishment to humanize a character who you created as being ridiculously annoying in the first place? Just a thought.

But, the book did make me think about this - I have no idea how I'm ever going to have children. Or rather, how I'm ever going to like my children. The idea is obviously quite far off in the distance at the moment (it would be nice to have a gentleman caller before I had children), but as of now I consider children to be smaller, stickier, noisier versions of adults. And I don't even like adults that much. The list of why I dislike children could go on and on but it's got very little to do with this blog so I'll leave it alone - anyway - how am I going to like my children? They're going to be annoying for a very, very long time. They're going to be little brats who demand that I care for them. This seems problematic to me. But I digress.

I suppose I should hold on to this book for a few (ahem - 30) years and then read it again from the perspective of the mother of an adult child (I mean, I can only hope I have gotten over my aversion to children by that point). I wonder if the naivete of the adult child would be quite as annoying from the perspective of a mother - or if it would be endearing. That very "wonder" is really just a hope from my end that I have not been that annoying to my mother as I've grown up.

But I'm guessing still annoying.

The book is written from the perspective of the mother watching her daughter experience a crisis of self of sorts - and it made me wonder if all mothers experience the same feelings as they watch their daughters shed the skin of adolescence and take the shape of the people they will become. It made me wonder, actually, when that will happen - when I will shed the skin of my adolescence and take the shape of the person I will become. Maybe it's already happened but it's hard for me to see from an inside perspective. Who knows.

Long story short the book is interesting and is much more about a journey of self than a literal journey - hell, maybe the literal journey the mother and daughter was supposed to be an (obvious) metaphor for the more subtle one running through the plot. I just thought of that and now that I see that it's been staring me in the face, I'm kind of annoyed. At myself, at the author, I don't know. At children, probably. Everything is usually their fault.