this book could save the life left in any lingering remnants of your childhood (as well as clearing up eyes bruised purple by dammed-up tears). if only several of the books comprising francesca lia block’s dangerous angels collection would have secretly slithered into my bedroom when i was twelve or thirteen... (by fourteen the walls were already much too high.) i am reading this now (and have only so far read the first, second, and final stories), at twenty-six, after initially assessing it to be silly and stupid over five years ago when it was given to my partner by a friend, and then again assuming about as much even a few weeks ago when she picked up another used copy to finally finish and send along to her little sister. well, she started reading one of the stories out-loud to me while i was scrambling some spicy tofu on the stove, and after my eyes got all their rolling out of the way, and my whimsy-less non-fiction-only filter of late began to break down a bit, i started to enjoy these words floating over to me, laced with more flavors and scents than those rising up from the frying pan.
in continuing with the reading on my own, i found that it isn’t simply block’s olfactory adjective action that initiated an opening of my senses and stony little heart chambers, it’s the overall acceptance and encouragement, the confidence-mixed-with-insecurity, the realism and the magic that passes between the characters and the ugly, beautiful, sad, joyous world that they (we) inhabit - one that block refuses to veil from either direction. it seemed like all that was available to me when i was old enough to be desperate for the secrets to the (unattainable and imaginary) coolness that everyone else seemed to inherit naturally, while still being young enough and permeable to influences that would bolster my still-soft heart’s reserves of care and compassion – were books & films exclusive to either one or the other pole. dangerous angels is so incredibly COOL (block just mentions SO MANY scenes, and innumerable styles of identity that it is all still so amazingly relevant), that my younger self would have felt like he’d had some basis for a more confident, unique identity, while the book’s explorations of the inner-feelings of these diverse characters could have staved off the hardening that comes with the rearing of a male (really, all of us) in this culture. even my initial fears of indigenous fetishization were eased as block told more and more stories and displayed a genuine respect for varying cultures and lifestyles, which would be an invaluable head-start for kids who need their awareness of oppression raised as early as possible. yeah, i really wish i’d had francesca lia block’s stories when i was a mere clutch piglet turning off my ability to fully respect, to love, and to cry, but i’ll take it now, and i’ll take it all in joyously, mending some of the wounds inflicted and scarred over by this culture’s process of turning the living & feeling into the crushed, traumatized, dead.
i find it very hard to express myself and articulate in words what i’m thinking & feeling, but these pages compelled me to share...and i haven’t even finished the book!