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Quote by Catherynne M. Valente

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The Girl Who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home

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Author

Catherynne M. Valente
Catherynne M. Valente

Catherynne M. Valente is an American novelist known for her works in fantasy and science fiction. Born on May 5, 1979, she has made a name for herself with her imaginative storytelling and poetic prose. Valente's writing frequently delves into themes of love, loss, and the human experience within fantastical settings. more

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“It's not politically correct to say that you love one child more than you love your others. I love all of my kids, period, and they're all your favorites in different ways. But ask any parent who's been through some kind of crisis surrounding a child--a health scare, an academic snarl, an emotional problem--and we will tell you the truth. When something upends the equilibrium--when one child needs you more than the others--that imbalance becomes a black hole. You may never admit it out loud, but the one you love the most is the one who needs you more desperately than his siblings. What we really hope is that each child gets a turn. That we have deep enough reserves to be there for each of them, at different times. All this goes to hell when two of your children are pitted against each other, and both of them want you on their side.”

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“Censorship and the suppression of reading materials are rarely about family values and almost always about control; About who is snapping the whip, who is saying no, and who is saying go. Censorship's bottom line is this: if the novel Christine offends me, I don't want just to make sure it's kept from my kid; I want to make sure it's kept from your kid, as well, and all the kids. This bit of intellectual arrogance, undemocratic and as old as time, is best expressed this way: "If it's bad for me and my family, it's bad for everyone's family." Yet when books are run out of school classrooms and even out of school libraries as a result of this idea, I'm never much disturbed not as a citizen, not as a writer, not even as a schoolteacher . . . which I used to be. What I tell kids is, Don't get mad, get even. Don't spend time waving signs or carrying petitions around the neighborhood. Instead, run, don't walk, to the nearest nonschool library or to the local bookstore and get whatever it was that they banned. Read whatever they're trying to keep out of your eyes and your brain, because that's exactly what you need to know.”

ChildrenCensorshipBanned Books
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“Youth was the time for happiness, its only season; young people, leading a lazy, carefree life, partially occupied by scarcely absorbing studies, were able to devote themselves unlimitedly to the liberated exultation of their bodies. They could play, dance, love, and multiply their pleasures. They could leave a party, in the early hours of the morning, in the company of sexual partners they had chosen, and contemplate the dreary line of employees going to work. They were the salt of the earth, and everything was given to them, everything was permitted for them, everything was possible. Later on, having started a family, having entered the adult world, they would be introduced to worry, work, responsibility, and the difficulties of existence; they would have to pay taxes, submit themselves to administrative formalities while ceaselessly bearing witness--powerless and shame-filled--to the irreversible degradation of their own bodies, which would be slow at first, then increasingly rapid; above all, they would have to look after children, mortal enemies, in their own homes, they would have to pamper them, feed them, worry about their illnesses, provide the means for their education and their pleasure, and unlike in the world of animals, this would last not just for a season, they would remain slaves of their offspring always, the time of joy was well and truly over for them, they would have to continue to suffer until the end, in pain and with increasing health problems, until they were no longer good for anything and were definitively thrown into the rubbish heap, cumbersome and useless. In return, their children would not be at all grateful, on the contrary their efforts, however strenuous, would never be considered enough, they would, until the bitter end, be considered guilty because of the simple fact of being parents. From this sad life, marked by shame, all joy would be pitilessly banished. When they wanted to draw near to young people's bodies, they would be chased away, rejected, ridiculed, insulted, and, more and more often nowadays, imprisoned. The physical bodies of young people, the only desirable possession the world has ever produced, were reserved for the exclusive use of the young, and the fate of the old was to work and to suffer. This was the true meaning of solidarity between generations; it was a pure and simple holocaust of each generation in favor of the one that replaced it, a cruel, prolonged holocaust that brought with it no consolation, no comfort, nor any material or emotional compensation.”

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“আমি কখনো অতিরিক্ত কিছুদিন বাঁচার জন্য সিগারেটের আনন্দ ছাড়ার জন্য প্রস্তুত ছিলাম না। আমি ভেবে রেখেছিলাম ডাক্তারকে বলব, আমি একজন লেখক। নিকোটিনের বিষে আমার শরীরের প্রতিটি কোষ অভ্যস্ত। তোমরা আমার চিকিৎসা করো, কিন্তু আমি সিগারেট ছাড়ব না। তাহলে কেন ছাড়লাম? পুত্র নিনিত হামাগুড়ি থেকে হাঁটা শিখেছে। বিষয়টা পুরোপুরি রপ্ত করতে পারেনি। দু-এক পা হেঁটেই ধুম করে পড়ে যায়। ব্যথা পেয়ে কাঁদে। একদিন বসে আছি। টিভিতে খবর দেখছি। হঠাৎ চোখ গেল নিনিতের দিকে। সে হামাগুড়ি পজিশন থেকে উঠে দাঁড়িয়েছে। হেঁটে হেঁটে এগিয়ে আসছে আমার দিকে। তার ছোট্ট শরীর টলমল করছে। যেকোনো সময় পড়ে যাবে এমন অবস্থা। আমি ডান হাত তার দিকে বাড়িয়ে দিতেই সে হাঁটা বাদ দিয়ে দৌড়ে হাতের ওপর ঝাঁপিয়ে পড়ে বিশ্বজয়ের ভঙ্গিতে হাসল। তখনই মনে হলো, এই ছেলেটির সঙ্গে আরও কিছুদিন আমার থাকা উচিত। সিগারেট ছাড়ার সিদ্ধান্ত সেই মুহূর্তেই নিয়ে নিলাম।”

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“He stepped to her again, laid his lips on her brow. "But I want children with you, my lovely Eve. One day." "One day being far, far in the future. Like, I don't know, say a decade when...Hold on. Children is plural." He eased back, grinned. "Why, so it is--nothing slips by my canny cop." "You really think if I ever actually let you plant something in me--they're like aliens in there, growing little hands and feet." She shuddered. "Creepy. If I ever did that, popped a kid out--which I think is probably as pleasant a process as having your eyeballs pierced by burning, poisonous sticks, I'd say, 'Whoopee, let's do this again?' Have you recently suffered head trauma?" "Not to my knowledge." "Could be coming. Any second.”

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