a preponderance of punctuation marks (reedrover) wrote,
a preponderance of punctuation marks
reedrover

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Another TJ book coming out next Tuesday

As far as I know, I'm not featured in this book except, perhaps, in passing. And yes, I do plan to buy it.

What Really Happened to the Class of '93 by Chris Colin



In the year leading up to his ten-year reunion, journalist Chris Colin tracked down his former classmates and asked them to pull back the curtains on their lives.

Sometimes what he discovers is a full swath of American history, other times simply frank and arresting accounts of how people fall in love, or steady their nerves on hills in Kosovo, or fall on their knees before God, or find out biology had handed them the wrong gender, and otherwise lurch into adulthood.

And when the Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology class of 1993 finally reconvenes for the reunion itself -- after the very core of their country seems to have been shaken -- Colin finds maybe he and his classmates never left high school behind in the first place.

From the book...

The Army-Navy Country Club has already been booked-class officers, God bless them, are class officers for life. The e-mails have been sent, the volunteers courted. An understanding has been reached regarding alcohol; there will be lots. Sixty dollars covers admission, drinks, apprehension, blubbering confession, subsequent regret, and a light buffet dinner. It's been a decade since my high school classmates and I have all stood under the same roof, since we've filled each other with the same confusion and smallness and lust. Our ten-year reunion is nearly upon us, and at this moment millions of other Americans are planning for similar evenings of nostalgia and embarrassment, with roughly equal amounts of clamminess to their palms. Whatever that clamminess is, however scientists might classify it-I suspect the heart of this book lies somewhere nearby.

The nation's palms can go moist for a great number of reasons, many of them less absurd than an awkward roomful of former fifteen-year-olds demanding refills. There are planes to worry about, disease, nuclear bombs, wild dogs. But high school has its own special catalog of eerieness, its own constellation of high stakes, and it does not respond to reason. Nor does it vary all that much from person to person. One may spend those four years in countless circumstances-there are boarding schools, magnet schools, military schools, Catholic schools, wealthy schools and poor schools, happy schools and unhappy schools-but ultimately, impressively, something fundamental happens to every American high school student.
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