I’m reading Justine Larbalestier’s Magic or Madness to break out of my longstanding no-fantasy reading trend, and enjoying it very much. I got to thinking about how descriptions of food are so present in fantasy novels in a way they are not in realistic fiction. Every fantasy book I read as a kid featured snacking, feasting, having tea, sweetmeats, Turkish delight, roasts, cakes, elevensies, and possibly magic food or food of the gods. Eighteenth and nineteenth century novels have a lot of joyful descriptions of food, too. It seems that maybe modern and realistic fiction reflects too much our contemporary sense of food guilt and diet obsession and most of the joy is sucked out of food and eating. Or characters just don’t eat—unless it’s a story featuring an “ethnic” family where food plays a more prominent part. After not reading fantasy for so long I’d forgotten how food is right there with all the other surroundings in a way that’s so life-giving and sensual. Reading Justine’s characters having sossi rolls, Violet Crumbles, and sitting down to teas featuring cinnamon rolls as big as your head reminded me.
Speaking of fantasy food, I purchased Superbowl junk treats and limited them this year to a bag of sour cream & onion chips and a six-pack of Rolling Rock. I think last year having those things plus chili, pigs in a blanket, and M&Ms was a wee bit over the top.
I am hoping to finally watch Crash this weekend, and perhaps go out to see Notes On A Scandal, Dreamgirls, or Because I Said So.
2 comments for this post
Perhaps the lack of food in fiction has more to do with the fact that for most middle-class Americans, food isn’t something that’s made or prepared as much as it is gotten, taken out, zapped, waved, or hurried to and through. Not much poetical to be said about waiting in the take-out at Bob Evans or waiting for the Velveeta to melt over the Hamburger Helper.
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