"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

I enjoy the first sentences of books and stories. I imagine that sentence is slaved over by the author. I could be wrong. But you have to admit that a well-crafted first sentence can compel you to keep reading, anxious to have it explained or elaborated upon. These are from books I've read recently.

"We slept in what had once been the gymnasium." The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood.

"The year of the marriage proposal, Sivakiami is ten." The Toss of a Lemon by Padma Viswanathan

"There was only one person in the food-stall who knew exactly what that sound was that was rolling in across the plain, along the silver curve of the Irrawaddy, to the western wall of Mandalay's fort." The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh

"My mother began me one evening in 1968 on a table in the cafe of the town's only cinema." The Accidental by Ali Smith.

"Mr. Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of his brother-in-law." The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad

"She woke at midnight." Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

"My earliest memories involve fire." A Drink Before the War by Dennis LeHane.

"Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill." The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

"He cannot remember the name of the day nor is he able to place it in the month and year wherein God placed it." The Days by Taha Hussein

"There was once a thief who made his living by stealing from pilgrims along the road between Mecca and Madina." The Saddlebag by Bahiyyih Nakhjavani

Have any of these sparked your interest?

I have personally been struck this week at the power of gossip:

A Chasidic tale vividly illustrates the danger of improper speech: A man went about the community telling malicious lies about the rabbi. Later, he realized the wrong he had done, and began to feel remorse. He went to the rabbi and begged his forgiveness, saying he would do anything he could to make amends. The rabbi told the man, "Take a feather pillow, cut it open, and scatter the feathers to the winds." The man thought this was a strange request, but it was a simple enough task, and he did it gladly. When he returned to tell the rabbi that he had done it, the rabbi said, "Now, go and gather the feathers. Because you can no more make amends for the damage your words have done than you can recollect the feathers."

At the same time, I have been reading the Letters of Heloise and Abelard - 11th and 12th century monk/nun and philosophers - and an entire section of a Letter of Direction from Abelard speaks to this:

Proverbs 10:19 - in the words of Solomon: Where men talk too much sin is not far away; the man who holds his tongue is wise.

In the book of James: The tongue is a small member of the body, but how great a fire! How vast a forest it can set alight! It is a world of wickedness, an intractable evil, charged with deadly venom.

Proverbs 25:28: Like a city that is breached and left unwalled is a man who cannot control his temper in speech.

St. Gregory, in the 7th book of his Morals: When we are careless about guarding against idle words, we come on to harmful ones. By these provocation is sown, quarrels arise, the torches of hatred are set alight and the whole peace of the heart is destroyed.

* * *

All very dramatic, I know. But it did bring home to me that this is an age old problem and that much damage has always been possible through gossip, slander. One thing I have definitely taken away from this is that I'm determined, in the future, to go to the source. If someone brings gossip to me, I will endeavor to address the person directly, if it is even my business to do so, and not simply be another link in the gossip chain.

Resentment is a Dish Best Served Bubbling and Hot.

All last week resentment, and a feeling of being slighted, was slowly building in me, fed by a daily dose of gossip and innuendo. This building resentment is certainly clearer in hindsight than it was at its inception. Saturday night capped it off, or so I thought. Then Sunday evening, out of nowhere, an even bigger assault on my person and ego struck. The way another's actions were able to derail me was, although not surprising, certainly disappointing.

Parts of my character that do not highlight me at my finest, came bubbling to the surface, not the least of which are pride and petulance. As I absorbed the slight, all other slights and resentments cried out for attention - my husband, whose only crime was being a witness; my daughter, who I felt did not feel appropriate anger on my behalf; my sons, who had forgotten this or neglected that; friends long forgotten who had wounded my pride at some point. It's amazing how much my equilibrium was thrown off by what was, if I were to tell you, a somewhat minor event. The remainder of my evening was spoiled and I went to bed at 7pm, sad and bitter.

I came across a quote once that I really identified with:

But, oh, how sweet is anger. When I'm angry, I'm not in the wrong. Somebody else is in the wrong, and for once I have peace. A delicious peace that gnaws over the wrong like a lion with a ragged bone. It is delicious and compelling enough that it urges me to accumulate other wrongs and hold them greedily close. I love to be wronged; only then, for that brief moment, can I be sure I'm right. It is intoxicating in its sweetness, this brief joy in being right. It is good to be a victim, because victims are sinless.

The quote is from Frederica Mathewes-Green's book Facing East.

Pride goes before a fall. I've often thought that pride is my biggest sin. But perhaps that is pride speaking, believing that I am the one capable of declaring which, of all my many sins, is the biggest?