This is my review of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Hereafter reffered to as "Incident." Or maybe "Curious." Or maybe "Dog."
Night-Time is a book about an autistic boy named Christopher who discovers his neigbor's dog, dead – killed with a garden fork. He likes the dog, and is quite distressed by his discovery. He is found by the neigbor, holding the bloody poodle in his arms, rocking back and forth, making moaning noises.
The book is 'written' by Christopher, who has an assignment from a teacher to write a story.
Then the police arrived. I like the police. They have uniforms and numbers and you know what they are meant to be doing. There was a policewoman and a policeman. The policewoman had a little hole in her tights on her left ankle and a red scratch in the middle of the hole. The policeman had a big orange leaf stuck to the bottom of his shoe which was poking out on one side…
…"How old are you?" he asked.
I replied, "I am 15 years and 3 months and 2 days."
"And what, precisely, were you doing in the garden?" he asked.
"I was holding the dog." I replied.
"And why were you holding the dog?" he asked.
This was a difficult question. It was something I wanted to do. I like dogs. It made me sad to see that the dog was dead.
I like policemen too, and I wanted to answer the question properly, but the policeman did not give me enough time to work out the correct answer…
…He was asking too many questions and he was asking them too quickly. They were stacking up in my head like loaves in the factory where Uncle Terry works. The factory is a bakery and he operates slicing machines. And sometimes a slicer is not working fast enough but the bread keeps coming and there is a blockage. I sometimes think of my mind as a machine, but not always a bread-slicing machine. It makes it easier to explain to other people what is going on inside it.
The policeman said, "I am going to ask you once again…"
I rolled back onto the lawn and pressed my forehead to the ground again and made the noise that father calls groaning. I make this noise when there is too much information coming into my head from the outside world. It is like when you are upset and you hold the radio against your ear and you tune it halfway between two stations so that all you get is white noise and you turn the volume right up so that this is all you can hear and then you know you are safe because you cannot hear anything else.
The policeman took hold of my arm and lifted me onto my feet.
I didn't like him touching me like that.
And this is when I hit him.
Christopher decides that, although everybody has 'forgiven' him (since he is a 'special boy') he's still going to prove his innocence. And write a paper for his teacher at the same time.
Christopher can not understand, nor feel complex emotion. He understands happy and sad. So he relies on logic for most of what he does in his life. And it is great to read this book and find that, as Christopher follows the methods of his hero – Sherlock Holmes, he gets it right. And not just about the dog, but about why his life is the way it is, why his father is doing what he does, and the story of his family.
In the meantime, you get to understand more and more about Christopher and autism. After just a few pages it's hard to believe that there really isn't a Christopher John Francis Boone out there who wrote this book. Soon you find yourself promising yourself that the next time you encounter a person with emotional dissasociation you will remember what you are reading at that moment.
It's a good book because it changes the reader. It's a good book because it's a great story from simple circumstances. A very rich, complex, heartwrenching and rewarding world from the view of a boy who can only see things literally.
I give it a 4 on a scale of -5 to 5
April 27, 2006
Morning – Breakfast with Kaye at, where else, McDonalds. Yum.
Afternoon – fix sixmilevillage.com …. um.. sorta. More like make it fixable. Then,
Read scriptures – hoping for direction on life choices. Then,
Lunch at Brunos with Liz. Yum times 3. Also conversation was good.
5 PM, Kayeleen and I were on our way to St. George. We went to the temple, which was great. We were both hoping for inspiration about a certain choice we've got to make – Her going to Grad School, or me going to SUU.
It looks like the answer is Grad school right now. And that means moving to Kansas if true. Which it looks like it is. Now how to do it… I don't know.
After the session, we reserved a room and a date and a time for the wedding. (July 7, 9:20 AM) This was fun and made us feel giddy and romantic and stuff.
Then a walk in the fading light to our favorite spot on the grounds – the rose garden. The roses had bloomed in the week since we'd last been there.
Of course I proposed officially there.
She was shocked and suprized. She didn't know I had the ring already. (things had moved pretty fast so it wouldn't have been suprising if I hadn't had time to get one.) She couldn't talk for a minute, but she managed a "Yes!" after a few seconds. Then I put the ring on her finger.
The next couple people we saw got treated with "I just got proposed to!" from Kaye. And she happily brandished her new ring at them. We were both feeling pretty great.
Dinner at Outback. Yum times 5.7. Then a nice drive back home with nice conversation and nice silences and nice things that are nice.
It just seems a lot better with a ring on her finger now.
And I am surprised life is as good as it is.
April 26, 2006
Well, I've got sixmilevillage.com back up and running again, but I did it by signing up for a blog on this site, then pointing sixmilevillage.com to it. So yeah.
In other news, I just spent over 100 dollars today, and I ain't done yet.
April 26, 2006
Today I got myself up at 7:30.
In fact, it's only just now getting on to 8:00. I thought I would be just fine doing it. I went to sleep at about 12:30. My thoughts toward myself were: "Self, you will be just fine. You won't be tired. You will be excited and full of energy to go and have a nice special breakfast with your woman friend."
She gets up at 6 am or earlier most days, and I keep her up till after 11 PM every day.
The Woman is Mighty. The man is weak.
I want to go back to bed. I tired long time.
I don't know how she does it. Especially considering it's not just a one time or a once a week thing. She's been doing it for YEARS. And, although I've been getting up at 6:30 for 2 years; I've also been going to bed by 10:30 for the same amount of time. That gives me those delicious 8 hours of nap time. She, on the other hand, rarely scores more than 6 hours ever.
Well. She's awesome. Were it me doing the whole 6-hours-of-sleep-thing I would probably have had some sort of psychotic breakdown by now where I start hallucinating and at random times breakdance while singing about trafalga.
This is my guess based on previous experience.
In other news I had the chance to speak chinese yesterday when I ate my dinner at the local Hunan's restaurant. The lady said there are too many chinese restaurants in town. Too many bones in the fish in america. Too hot and too cold. No just right.
She looks like she's going out of business soon. She had about 4 customers during the dinner hour. Three new chinese restaurants have opened in this small town in the past 2 years.
Avoid boring posts,
April 24, 2006
Today I modified a piece of hardware in my car.
And my dad wasn't even there to tell me what to do.
I even bought the piece of equipment on my own.
I then drove to my girlfriend's house so I could do the work in front of her house. In her sight. Now she knows I'm manly. Like a man. I figure this makes up for the time during the past few days where I've acted like a sick baby and pouted until she said something like "there there…" and played with my hair or something equally comforting.
So now my windshield sprayers work again, and leak only slightly onto what I can only assume are non-critical engine parts..
Now I just need to fix my cell phone, which won't ring any more, and my website, which I actually have no control over whatsoever.
Good luck to me.
April 24, 2006
I'm trying to think of something resolute and stirring to start out my site with…
Can't think of a darn thing.
So here's an old journal entry.
|My Terrible Secret!||Sunday, April 27, 2003|
Oh yes! It deserves the exclaimation mark! As do subsequent sentences. ! You see, I have a terrible secret! One I've revealed to no one before this very day. A wonderful secret – it causes wonder! A marvelous secret – it is a marvel! A terrible secret – it is terrifying! Yes, my friend, I have super-powers.
I suspect this might mean I'm mutant, ala X-Men. But I kinda doubt it as bald men in wheelchairs have yet to approach me about saving the world. There might be some sort of cover-up I'm not aware of, though, so I'm leaving my options open.
Yes, super powers.
I have the ability to annoy from great distances. Without any apparent effort on my part. Amazing!
I have the wit of ten witty men! Stunning!
I can pilot my car in a widdershins direction on my way to and from work! Mind Boggling!
I have tiny pupils! Egad! (this may be caused by some sort of tumor, and not actually a super-power. Hence Egad rather than Wowsa.)
I can spin a bar towel on my index finger! Zounds!
Through sheer force of will I can make the extremeties of my body move! Borf!
I can run like a very fast thing, but rarely do so! Yipes!
Please, my friend, my confidant, share this knowlege with no one. I shall rely on you for aid in desparate times. You shall know my agents by this call sign: "The geese are in the meadow." and you shall respond: "But the farmer is green with typhoid and a slight case of SARS which will probably clear up in a week or two, good chum."