Retrospective Babbling and Book Flirts

As far as my previous comments on The Lovely Bones go, I guess it brings up one of the unanswerable questions of life: do you read a book that is really well written and beautiful, even though it makes you miserable? Or do you ignore it in favor of other books that may not have as much depth, but are happier? Why do we read, or tell stories at all, for that matter? Is it to feel happy? Escape from our current environs? Or, in the case of The Lovely Bones, to feel a variety of emotions possibly ranging from enraged to hopeless to revived? Do we need stories because something is lacking in our own lives, or because they inherently enrich our lives and what we do with them?
Tonight was a babysitting night for me, which usually means at least a couple hours of reading, but the parents went on a short date and it is FRIDAY, so early bedtimes are not compulsory. Needless to say, it was energy city. Since I have been doing so much babysitting on weekend evenings, I have been able to subtly introduce some of my favorite aspects of fine cinema to these young minds (re: hijack the DVD player first due to greater height and weight so I can show them movies featuring Errol Flynn in green tights. Rawr. Well, rawr for me, anyway.) I've showed them the aforementioned Robin Hood, which was a hit, and then First Knight, a King Arthur flick I love because I think Julia Ormond is just incandescent as Guinevere. So to continue my train of thought, why am I trying to show these medieval films, especially the King Arthur one which features "rooooomaaaaanncee ewwwwww", betrayal, and murder, not to mention crafting Lancelot into a weird anti-hero and killing off King A, to an 11 and 8 year old? On the surface I think it's because I love them so much. I love the characters, I love their pain and how I can see a clear route around it, at the same time knowing that if I were in their positions I would be equally stumped. I love the villains, possibly because I know they'll get theirs in the end.
Usually, the boys love them too. But tonight there was trouble, because tonight we got to DISLOYALTY. Guinevere and Lancelot are disloyal. They betray King Arthur. And the eldest boy had problems with that. When I asked him why, it was clear that he didn't give a whit about the nature of the betrayal. Kissing and "romance ew" had nothing to do with it. How can Julia Ormond love Richard Gere AND Sean Connery? Why does King Arthur have to punish them if he loves them both? Talking about these things with an eleven year old are part of why I like showing them these movies, and telling these stories. It made him upset to the point of tears, so much that he had to leave (these are reallllly sensitive kids), but he kept coming back. Because he had to see, because he had become emotionally part of what was happening. But he loved it, in the end. It seems hard to explain, but humans love tragedy almost as much as it's counterpart, if not more. There is something in us that recognizes a kindred striving in fellow human beings, fictional or non, going through circles of hell, and responds not with rejection, but with enfolding.

Anyway. Long-Winded Thought Night. I'm still flirting with books on my shelf, trying to decide which to read next. I'm in the re-reading mood, so I might re-visit American Gods, or one of my favorite out-of-prints, Tam Lin, which I like to read in the Autumn. Does anyone else re-read books seasonally? Or am I just a freak? No, don't answer that...