Orange you glad...

I remember an author recommending Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson a few months back on NPR while I was driving home from work.  Oddly, I only remembered this after picking up the book and looking at the cover as I was about to start reading it, even after personally picking it out at the used bookstore myself.  Funny how my memory can change from one sensory form to another, as the physical word "oranges" made me recall what I had heard (however delayed it may have been).

I think the author who was talking about it on the radio said it changed her life.  She had found it at a garage sale as a young person and was drawn to its openness about religion and sexuality through the voice of another juvenile.  Unfortunately, my poor memory fails to really recollect any insightful commentary or who the speaker even was, but I can attest to the fact that she was very fond of this work, as am I.  Even as (somewhat of) an adult -- but maybe moreso as one -- I appreciate the simple, uncomplicated views that children have in the face of corrupted adults.  In this case, corruption comes from religion.

In regards to its subject matter, this book surely seems ahead of its time.  It could have been written today with Winterson's openness about homosexuality.  She tends to get a little bit too artful (and off topic at times), I think, with her metaphors and fantasies, but she is successful in her use of humor and sincerity.

I'm surprised at the number of spelling/grammatical errors in this book.  I always hate when this happens, because I want to break out a red pen and play the role of editor.  I don't even really understand how a published novel can get away with so many blunders.  I would blame it on the fact that this book was originally published in '85 when they no doubt did not have spell check, but then there is The Memory Palace by Mira Bartok that was just published a few years ago, that has even more mistakes than this one.  Shame on you, editors.

My slim volume is weathered now with crumpled pages after being shoved into my bag along my travels earlier this week (damn you Spirit Airlines, with your horribly sneaky tactics).  Somehow, that feels right.  Jeanette's made-up heroine Winnet was traveling with me.  She was looking for a city with "only a conviction that what she wanted could exist, if she dared to find it".  I am trying to dare as much as I can.