Author: Kai Raine

Elements of a Popular Story

Posted on by Kai Raine

In my first semester of university, I made friends with a girl who loved books as much as I did. Both of us loved the fantasy genre, and both of us aspired to write books of our own. At the time, I voiced the view that I could never write a popular story, because there could be nothing true in one. My friend said that she could never write a popular story, because she could never write a story so simple.

Now, of course luck is the biggest factor in the popularity of a book. But, while I have no doubt that every popular book was lucky, not every book can become popular by being lucky. In order to be that, a given book has to have the ability to resonate with many people from many different walks of life, and this is a remarkable thing. A book can be poorly-written or not at all liked by critics, and still be wildly popular because it resonates with people. It is an amazing phenomenon, and any author who manages to write something that is so resonant deserves a commendation.

At the same time, if anyone could pin down what made something popular, the world would be a very different place.

So my friend and I were each thinking of “popular” in terms of a handful of books that we thought about a lot, that proved our points. In reality, there were as many books that disproved our points as well. There are popular books that simplify the world; that highlight its complexity; that get adopted into classroom staples; that English teachers come to abhor; that cater to the commonly held views of the audience, reinforcing what they already know; that become popular in foreign cultures, where the views highlighted in the story are not commonly held at all.

I have never expected to write a best seller. But I also know that in all likelihood, I’ll manage to sell to only a handful of people without my story ever leaving any sort of mark anywhere. I love the stories that I am trying to tell, and I want to be able to tell them so that other people can love them too.

So I took it upon myself to read popular books, and whatever my personal opinion of the book, I analyzed and studied them to work out why they resonated with so many people.

Since the novel I always intended to be my debut is a YA fantasy novel, over the past decade and a half, I have given particular attention to the juggernauts there: the Harry Potter series, the Moribito series, several of Tamora Pierce’s series, many of Miyuki Miyabe’s fantasy- or supernatural-themed books, Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus trilogy, the Twilight series, the Hunger Games trilogy, and more recently, the Lunar Chronicles. (Note: the popularity that I refer to is not necessarily limited to any one geographical location.)

Based on these books, I put together a set of general trends in popular YA fantasy novels. Not all of the elements are in all the stories, and for some stories, the answer wasn’t as simple as yes or no to the presence of a given element. Below, I summarize the elements I identified in these popular series in the form of a chart:

  Harry Potter Tamora Pierce Bartimaeus Twilight Hunger Games Lunar Chronicles Moribito Miyuki Miyabe
Humor Yes! Sometimes Definitely Not really Nope Yes! Sometimes Sometimes
Familiar setting with a twist Yes: boarding school with magic Yes: medieval fantasy with girls Yes: Victorian London with daemon-based magic Yes: our world with vampires Yes: reality TV in a world that’s lost perspective Sort of: the Sailor Moon world where some lunites have magic Yes: historical Japanese setting with magic Yes: our world with secret magic
Good vs Evil plot Yes Sometimes Yes …Sort of? But the plot got dropped like a hot potato, so hard to say Yes, but with nuance underneath Yes Sometimes No
Mystery Yes On occasion there is an element of mystery, but not as a rule Yes What avoids sunlight and sucks blood? Only in book 2 (but the mystery is only apparent when solved) Yes Yes Yes
Characters with distinctive, easily-identifiable attributes Yes Yes Main characters No for the main characters but yes for many background characters Not as much Yes Yes Sometimes
Low stakes for the reader (without sacrificing high stakes for the characters) To an extent, though some beloved characters are killed Definitely No Yes, hilariously so To an extent, though there are psychological consequences Yes To an extent Yes, but a harder question to answer here
Simple story and easy concepts* Yes: a testament to Rowling’s prowess as a writer. There is plenty to think about for readers who wish to, but it isn’t necessary within the story. Yes Seemingly yes at first but ultimately no Yes Yes Yes To an extent To an extent, but with complexity of thought
Strong friendship and a love story for the ages Yes on friendship; love stories exist, but ymmv (Rowling’s did) Yes Yes Yes Yes, though friendships crumble Yes Yes, though the love story is subdued and mostly only implied Yes, though love stories are fewer and usually bittersweet
Fanfic fodder and further world exploration Like nothing else: the characters and the world are rife with possibilities  Yes. There is no end in sight to the books set in her worlds by the author herself, much less the fandom’s additions to that world. No Yes, even spawning the Fifty Shades of Gray trilogy Yes: not only for the HG characters, but bringing HG AUs to other fandoms Yes Yes to the extent that 1 book expanded into 12+, but difficult to say on the fandom front. No

*While this entire exercise is subjective, this criterion is particularly so. This is based on my opinion alone.

I was content with this explanation for a long time. The popularity of a given series, it seemed to me, was directly proportional to how well it executed each of these elements. Harry Potter, whose popularity outshone all of the others by far, executed every single element well. The only one that it didn’t—low stakes for the reader—it improved upon, because there are enough consequences to give the reader a sense that the stakes were truly high, though all of the main characters came out unscathed and lived happily ever after.

My friend had been right, I concluded. The core of a good popular story was something derivative enough to feel familiar, but with a twist that made it feel fresh, with a story simple enough to follow with the brain turned off, but enough detail to provoke thought if the reader so chose. It’s a balancing act, I thought: a balancing act so very precarious that many books tip too far to one side or another and miss the mark.

Then, years later, I discovered George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. His books are wildly popular, but are missing most of the elements I had identified. It confounded me. I loved those books then and still love them now, but they broke the system I had grown comfortable with, defining the makings of a popular fantasy novel.

But those are books for adults, one might argue. A different set of rules govern those. Yet I had been reading many fantasy novels, YA and adult, and had never seen one that so thoroughly disregarded these “rules” and was popular all the same. As an example, here is how it fares side-by-side with Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy:

A Song of Ice and Fire Lord of the Rings
Humor Nope No
Familiar setting with a twist Medieval world with surprise dragons and ice zombies Widely known creatures of legend all in a fictional world together, with hobbits
Good vs Evil plot Not so far. Nuance abounds Yep, like wow
Mystery In the first book A little, at the start when Frodo and Bilbo don’t know the power of the ring yet
Characters with distinctive, easily-identifiable attributes Many, but also a cast of hundreds; so instead the houses are the ones with distinctive sigils and words Yes, but the attribute in question is often species; beyond that, less so.
Low stakes for the reader The stakes have never been higher No: the characters are always in danger of death or temptation by the ring, and ultimately much is lost for the hobbits, dwarves and elves
Simple story and easy concepts Not by any stretch of the imagination The world was new and the concepts were new, but within it the rules are clearly and well defined
Strong friendship and a love story for the ages Not so far Yes to both
Fanfic fodder and further world exploration Possibilities abound and the author is forever expanding the world; but adult books tend to have a smaller fanfic community than YA, and the author abhors fanfic Tolkien expanded his world widely, creating both the standard for world building and the template that has guided the western fantasy genre for decades

Yet so many other books match these elements. One might conclude that it’s not that the elements I identified were irrelevant; it was that I was missing some other elements that Martin highlighted. For instance, I believed that it is important for the story to be simple and concepts easily explainable to appeal to a mainstream audience. I neglected to realize that some concepts which seem simple in the hands of a given author would come across as extremely convoluted and complex in the hands of another.

Harry Potter is the prime example of this. The world of Harry Potter is astonishingly easy to digest, almost like ours but different, full of fun quirks and exciting new discoveries around every corner. Even though the books spend a great deal of time explaining the world, it never feels like the author is explaining to us, because it’s so much fun to read about. The difference is that in Harry Potter, much of that detail is irrelevant to the main plot. (The details that are relevant are investigated, discovered and then exposited about at length.)

So too does Martin fill our heads with details of battles and political plays and strategies and history. He does so naturally in dialogue, as characters talk about what they have seen and believe, or in internal monologue, as characters reflect on what has been and what will be. But it all ties in with the here and now: what the character is doing or feeling or planning. It never takes the form of hollow exposition. No doubt there are those readers who find it too involved to be enjoyable, but the popularity of the books speaks for itself: a great many people enjoy this. But all of this is relevant to the plot, and to our understanding of the story as it continues to unfold.

What about the other elements? Well, A Song of Ice and Fire would not work if someone tried to make it fit with the other elements. No doubt there is also an element of time to this: after so many decades of Tolkienesque fantasy about good versus evil, the fantasy reading community needed a new sort of story; and our world today is increasingly less interested overall in narratives about the good hero defeating the evil villain.

But above all, Martin knew the story he wanted to tell, and he wrote it well, in a way that was well-suited for both him and the story. I have often reflected that in the hands of another author, Daenerys’s story might be the sole or main narrative, or Jon’s, or perhaps a fraction of the cast of characters. Not many people have Martin’s brain for strategy, and fewer still know how to explain strategy concisely without sounding like they are talking down to the audience.

Similarly, not many people have Rowling’s ability to play with words: into character names and spells and object names she infuses story and humor and delight. She also has an uncanny knack for taking the most familiar of things and making it exciting and fresh and hilarious with the smallest of twists.

And so these two amazingly popular fantasy series lean on what the author is naturally good at.

That, I believe, is the most important element. If an author loves his or her own strengths in writing and leans on those strengths, the result is remarkable. Perhaps those strengths are not what one would wish, or what makes critics sing. Perhaps those strengths are not given towards mainstream popularity at all, but rather appeal to a smaller audience.

The truth is, there’s no way to know until the book hits the market. And even then, if it doesn’t do well, it’s impossible to know if the story was not appealing, or if it simply wasn’t particularly lucky. As authors, we can only focus on doing what we do best.

The Hostel in Paris (Final)

Posted on by Kai Raine

On my last night in Paris, I woke up shivering uncontrollably, my head splitting from a headache, my stomach full of nails, my eyesight blurry and my muscles weak. I had a fever.

Immediately I panicked. I had to check out the next day. I had a flight to catch, and a 17-hour layover in Denmark followed by another flight. I couldn’t do that if I was so sick.

I knew the solution: calm, sleep and water.

I mustered the strength to go to the bathroom for water. Back in bed, I texted a friend for calm. I didn’t need to urge the sleep: its pull was inexorable.

I kept waking every hour or two, and I would go to the bathroom and get water and go back to sleep. I considered extending my stay, but even the thought of the cost was stressful. I thought of extending my room reservation for one night so that I could at least stay in bed until I had to leave for the airport. But the thought of finding clothes and going to reception and talking was too exhausting.

I stayed in bed until past 11. Sleep and water did the trick and my fever receded. I had 7 hours between check out and take off and nowhere in particular to go, so I kept my arrangement to meet a friend for lunch. We went for lunch (where I had only soup and many, many drinks) after which she took me to a manga cafe where I passed out on the couch until my Parisian sister arrived to say goodbye.

I made it to the airport and slept through the flight to Copenhagen.

In Copenhagen, I took a taxi to my hotel and arrived after midnight. I adopted the same strategy again, leaving my luggage and clothes near the door and showering, then going to bed with only a towel.

Curled up in the bed, I passed out once again.

In the morning, I slept late and missed breakfast. When I got up, I was still weak, still in pain, still sick, but at least able to walk without feeling too queasy. I decided to try walking around the area. The lady at the reception desk lamented that she could not refund breakfast for me, but let me back into the kitchen to offer me tea, for which I was immensely grateful. As I drank the tea, I was given all sorts of advice about exploring the fishing village or taking a bus into Copenhagen.

I was excited to follow their advice, but when I finished my tea and stepped outside, my feet carried me away from the village, away from Copenhagen, away from Sweden and Denmark’s tunnel-bridge of friendship, toward the ocean.

I had a long and pleasant walk along the water, though I didn’t dare go as far as I wanted, knowing that as weak as I was, I might not be able to get back. I walked through the village as well, my admiration for the area overriding my pain and discomfort for a time. It was a pleasant walk, despite everything, and well worth the discomfort and exhaustion it cost me.

Denmark gave me a good ending to this grueling tale.

7 Ways to Maximize Misery, by CGP Grey

Posted on by Kai Raine

Some of you may already know that I’m extremely fond of CGP Grey and his informational YouTube videos. Well, last week, he posted a video that essentially summarizes what I’ve been trying to do with this blog series.

I want to emphasize that I don’t view this as a don’t-do-this-ever list. For those of us that are part of the tech-in-our-pockets generation, it is inevitable that we do or have been part of at least a few of these habits. If you’re anything like me, then being told one-sidedly “Don’t ever do this” feels annoying, narrow-minded, and unhelpful in the extreme.

So I’m sharing this not as instructions, but as a self-awareness session. Whether or not we follow the advice, I think it’s useful to know how these things affect us. For instance, I understand the value of a regular sleep schedule, and not sleeping right after staring at a screen; however, there are times when I’ve been writing all day and I’m on a roll, so I write until I have to sleep, and then wake up, grab coffee, and go straight back to the screen. In these cases, I understand the effect this might have on my psyche, but I also prioritize my writing.

I sent this video to a friend and he sent me back a frowny face: he felt like the video was highlighting everything he was doing wrong in life. So I want to emphasize that this should not make you feel bad. It doesn’t have to affect the way you live, if you don’t want it to. But I believe we should all know the effect our habits may have on our psyches, and the rest of our lives.

The Hostel in Paris (Pt. 6)

Posted on by Kai Raine

The hotel where I spent my last night in Paris was simple, but nice. Though I had left the hostel suspecting bedbugs without confirmation, I was determined not to spread any possible infestation if I could avoid it.

I left my luggage close to the door and separated my clothes into two categories: probably safe and probably unsafe. Unfortunately, my coat, sweater and scarf had all hung on a hook attached to the bed, putting them in the “probably unsafe” category. It was also too cold to go without them, and I hadn’t brought alternative options.

I put all the “probably unsafe” clothes in a plastic bag that I stuffed in my suitcase, but I needed the sweater, scarf and coat. I set them on top of my suitcase and contemplated going without cold weather gear for my remaining day. I decided I’d make a decision in the morning.

I took a long, hot shower and headed to bed in a towel. On the way to bed, passing by one of the large mirrors on the wall of the room, I got my confirmation of bedbugs: a path of bites going down the inside of my arm from elbow to the back of my shoulder in an ugly cluster, and then another trail going down my side to my waist.

I took photos of the bites, so that I could identify any new bites if they showed up.

But for then I was tired. I crawled into bed with my sister’s book that I had almost finished and meant to finish before I left the following day, but had no energy to read. I fell straight to sleep.

That was when the fever hit.

The Hostel in Paris (Pt. 5)

Posted on by Kai Raine

After 2 nights in the hostel, I started to notice itchy patches of bug bites on my skin. I ascribed it to mosquitos: I was spending a fair amount of time walking around outside, and a fair amount of that walking had been through the vegetation of Pere Lachaise.

It wasn’t until my 4th night, making the 4th bed I’d had in as many nights, that it suddenly occurred to me that bedbugs were a more likely culprit than mosquitos. My suspicions seemed confirmed when I woke at 3AM to fresh itching. It seemed to me that no matter how I lay, I opened myself up to being bitten.

I only intended to stay 5 nights, and I was already there for the 4th. Only one and a half more nights, I told myself.

I rolled over and a fresh patch of bites revealed themselves on the upper arm that had been below me.

Suddenly, the thought was inescapable. This place had bedbugs. I was sleeping in a nest of bedbugs. I thought back to the beds and the bedclothes. Nothing had seemed obviously infested. The rooms were tidy, the mattress covers perfectly white, the bedclothes freshly laundered.

At last I could no longer bear the thought of another night in the hostel, and decided that it was worth the money if I could just not get any fresh bites for my final night.

It was with that thought that I reserved a hotel room across Paris for my 5th night. I chose a place that had the earliest check-in time I could find among affordable-ish options, and paid as much for that 1 night as I had for the 5 nights in the hostel.

In the morning, I checked out without breakfast.

“But you have one more night,” the staff at reception said to me.

“I decided to leave early,” I said simply.

I did not mention bedbugs. I had seen no confirmation—although, admittedly, I didn’t look very hard, too worried of the distress confirmation would cause.

I simply left, and took my things across town.

There is Always a Solution

Posted on by Kai Raine

One of the traps of depression is the way it can at times obfuscate what should be obvious. This is why I sometimes need to remind myself that no matter how drained I’ve been for however long, no matter how difficult it is to get through life from day to day, there is always a solution.

Always.

It could be exercise, better eating habits, socialization, alone time, time spent in nature, or simply a change in pace. It could also be a psychiatrist, medication or even an invasive procedure like deep brain stimulation.

I don’t keep this blog series to promote the idea that attempting to combat depression without therapy or medication is somehow better. I want to address a sense of helplessness that I often feel, and that neither therapy nor medication can necessarily help. The helplessness can also take over when psychiatry and medicine are out of reach, whether the reasons are geographical, financial, social or of any other kind. I cannot provide therapy nor medication, but I can suggest alternatives.

There is joy still, and an easier daily life. There is still a corridor to access it. These are never gone. It is harder: the corridor is blocked, whether by fog or a rockfall. It will take effort, but it will also take strategy.

This blog series is meant to be a compilations of strategies that I have found to work, in the hope that I will enrich others’ arsenals when needed.

But the first and foremost thing to keep in mind is this: there is always an answer, always a solution, always a strategy. If hopelessness takes over completely, there will be no saving yourself thereafter. So if giving in to despair for awhile is necessary to you, then go ahead–but never completely relinquish that lifeline that is hope and the knowledge that there is a way to rescue yourself somewhere. It is only a matter of figuring out how.

Queen of Our World

Posted on by Kai Raine

I led a charmed life with my parents. My mother was a bell-ringer working in IT and my father was in academia. They traveled often. When I was an infant, my parents took this as their chance to take me around the world before I started school and my world became more narrow.

They took me to various cities in the US, as well as to visit friends in Europe and family in India. I learned to talk in France and made friends with a dog in Germany, who napped with me and watched over me, defining my early awareness as a fearless animal lover. My mother’s aunt had a large dog, and in my love for it I had no sense of self-preservation, even sticking my hand in its mouth, to my family’s horror. (Yet neither that dog nor any other animal I encountered harmed me.)

My first visit to India was in the winter of 1992, coincidentally coinciding with the riots that occurred that winter. Curfews were instated, and I only knew that suddenly all the busy adults had an abundance of time for me. While horrors and violence raged across the country, I was in my own little heaven. I made friends with aunts, uncles, cousins and other local children. Language was no meaningful barrier yet: I befriended the three sons of my great aunt’s maid, and played with them running around the living room and climbing over couches until we tipped one of the couches backwards and were met with my great uncle’s ire.

My parents also took me on a trip to Australia. We stayed at the Barrington Guesthouse in the middle of nowhere in the bush outside of Sydney. The place was known for its origins–built out of timber from the trees that had been felled to make the clearing–as well as the unusually friendly wildlife that surrounded the place. There were birds that would settle on guests’ heads and shoulders in anticipation of being fed, and kangaroos that would eat out of humans’ hands. They had stables full of horses, and one pony named Cuddles. I got my first experience riding Cuddles while my parents led him by the reins.

During one trip to Seattle, while my mother was busy, my father took me to climb a small mountain (he told me years later it was called the Children’s Mountain). I took to the hike with delight, and he began taking me on nature walks and hikes more frequently, much of it close to home. I became fascinated with all manner of wildlife from birds to beavers. When we saw signs that redirected our walk because a beaver dam had flooded some bridge, it was never a disappointment or a deterrent. It was an exciting part of nature.

In blueberry season, my father and I would hike in areas with wild blueberries with tupperwares, which we would fill to bring home. It disappointed me that we had to use plastic tupperwares rather than the wicker baskets I saw in my picture books, such as Blueberries for Sal. We would munch on blueberries as we hiked, play some pretend, and then go home. When my mother came home from work, she would bake some of the blueberries into muffins.

I was happy.

The Hostel in Paris (Pt. 4)

Posted on by Kai Raine

When, on the 4th evening, I returned to the hostel to find that not only was bed 13 still occupied, but bed 7 now had a new occupant as well, I was not remotely surprised. Fortunately, it was in the evening during regular hours before anyone was asleep. There were only 3 other girls already in the room, and all of them were awake and chatting when I came in. I saw at a glance that my beds were not available and immediately returned downstairs. The man from the reception desk came upstairs with me and, after checking that everyone was decent, came into the room.

Here I explained, once again, that I was supposed to be in bed 13, but there was a person (not present but with her belongings left on the bed) who had taken over that bed the previous night. So I had spent the previous night in bed 7, but there was now a person in that bed as well.

The person in bed 7 added that she was actually supposed to be in bed 8, but that appeared to be occupied so she had taken the bed above it. The person in bed 9 chimed in that she was supposed to be in bed 5, but that appeared to be occupied as well.

The frazzled man from reception tried to remember all of this at first, but finally had to return downstairs to return with a piece of paper, notating where we had been assigned and where we all now were sleeping. He also stripped bed 5, figuring that that was the best way to figure out who was in that bed, and asked us to send to reception anyone we saw occupying bed 3, which was also supposed to be empty but too covered in personal belongings for him to strip.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, girls entered the room only to immediately leave again, returning momentarily with the man from reception, informing him of which bed they were supposed to be in. Apart from one girl peacefully looking at her phone the whole while in bed 14, no one seemed to be in the bed that they were assigned.

Finding an Easy Fallback Exercise

Posted on by Kai Raine

For days when I don’t necessarily have all the energy to throw myself into some exercise, I need a fallback.

Ever since I began exercising regularly, my formerly erratic living habits have become more predictable. In a depressive episode, I find it harder to exercise, and I grow hungrier as though my body is trying to gain what it is lacking in energy through food. It doesn’t work, and I only grow more tired. Yet denying myself food is not the answer either: though food is far from an ideal solution, the alternative is a complete lack of energy.

I’ve found that I can help myself by exercising, even if it’s just a little bit a few days a week, in a way that is as easy as possible. It took me awhile to find such a thing, but it did exist.

I am no one’s idea of an exercise or sports addict. I’m an indoors person through and through. Though I enjoy a good hike or swim, and enjoy being outside, most of the time I would prefer to be curled up somewhere peaceful with my music and a book, a show, or something with which to write. Since in depressive episodes, writing becomes more difficult, music, books and shows are more my speed.

So I incorporate this into my exercise.  I find it hard to focus on exercising while watching a show, so I don’t do that often. But I have found that if I have a book with me, I am able to keep up some forms of cardio for up to an hour even when depressed and lacking in energy. It depends on the form of cardio, certainly, but I’ve managed this on elliptical machines and various types of cycling machines. This doesn’t mean I keep the exercise physically easy: I crank the resistance up to a point where it is a challenge, but still manageable for an extended period. Then I focus on my book, absently working my body to the beat of the music. When I first started trying this, it surprised me to realize that somehow, this enhances my concentration on the book. Depending on the book, I can read up to 400 pages in an hour (no skimming or speed reading involved).

I try to choose my books and music carefully: nothing gloomy, but also nothing too deliberately designed to give myself an adrenaline rush. I highly detest manipulation, even when the manipulator is myself. So I have to focus on my enjoyment first and foremost. This tends to mean that my workout music can be rock, pop, electronic or Celtic; and my books can be comedy, adventure or fantasy. I avoid books that I expect will be especially thought-provoking: I once tried to read 1984 while working out; this was my only unsuccessful attempt yet. After a mere 10 minutes, I had to give up trying to focus on the book and 10 minutes after that, I let myself stop trying to exercise.

I set myself goals: sometimes it’s the number of pages in the book, or the supposed “miles” I’ve “traveled” on a cycling machine, or the amount of time. Most commonly I use time. I set my absolute minimum to 20 minutes; my preferred minimum is 30 minutes; my basic goal is 45 minutes; and my self-congratulatory-but-unnecessary-to-achieve goal is an hour. Other details, such as resistance, are determined by how I feel at the time and what I feel is the most that I can handle.

The choices–in goals, in exercise type, in distractions–are all based on what is right for me personally. My legs are strong, and I grew up in a bicycle culture, making this the easiest exercise for me. (My arms are truly pathetically weak, so anything involving them requires extra effort and fortitude on my part. This is a worthy goal under normal circumstances, but not while I’m contending with the energy sieve of a depressive episode.) Though I far prefer swimming under ordinary circumstances, the lack of any possible distraction save my imagination puts a damper on using swimming in this case. The same goes for yoga (which is how I learned that trying to watch shows while exercising is perhaps not the best approach for me).

Queen of Our Kingdom

Posted on by Kai Raine

As much as I felt, as a child, that my life began with my sisters’ birth, that was not at all the case. The first five years of my life were eventful (though not as dramatically as the year of my sister’s birth), and shaped my life in ways I did not comprehend as a child. As my parents’ first and only offspring, during those years I was very rarely left alone. I enjoyed a sort of blind adoration that few infants get to boast: my mother recounted repeatedly to me how when anyone would suggest that my parents might want time away from me, or that they might be exhausted by me, they would react with shock and chagrin because they so enjoyed every moment of being with me.

Other people with their eyes unclouded by unconditional devotion pointed out that I was spoiled rotten.

As first-time parents, my mother and father read many a parenting book. One of their early disagreements came up when I would cry for attention. My mother had read a parenting book that suggested that it would be healthy if, when I cried at night despite being well fed and my diaper unsoiled, my parents not respond to my cries. It would teach discipline, the book suggested. My father couldn’t bear it. After an occasion or two of attempting to ignore my sobs, he threw discipline to the wind and brought me to bed with him and my mother.

I slept most often with my parents, and I far preferred it. By the time I entered elementary school, I would come to wish I had spent more time in my crib, experiencing the world on my own. As it was, I hated the crib with a passion, isolated as it was in my own room, away from my parents unless my cries called them to me. Before I figured out how to walk, I figured out how to push my stuffed animals and blankets against the side of the crib and climb the pile to tumble over the top of the railing and crash painfully to the ground: an event that concluded my parents’ reliance on the crib.

Our apartment was our kingdom and I reigned uncontested as queen. I wasn’t even 2 years old when my mother counted my teddy bears and was shocked to realize that I had over a hundred. (Not all stuffed animals: just teddy bears.) I was the first grandchild on both sides of the aisle, and as such had aunts, uncles, grandparents and godparents galore who doted on me and bought me all manner of gifts that even my parents thought indulgent and ridiculous.

My parents let me indulge. All three of our lives revolved around me, and my opinions were requested and respected long before I had any concept of an opinion. By the time I was 3 or 4, I expected to get my way most of the time, because if I cried, my parents would act. So I cried when I wanted something. Sometimes I cried when another child was playing with something of mine in a playdate in my room. Sometimes I cried when we had a guest who had to sleep either on the couch or in my bed, and I didn’t want to concede either spot.

Occasionally, but not often, my father would scold me. My mother scolded even more rarely: she would reason with me instead. Frequently, while visiting relatives or while relatives were visiting us, I would find myself being scolded for something—a mannerism, a custom, a way of acting—that was assumed to be common sense but was unknown to me. I adored my relatives, but at the same time became extremely wary. As I grew older, I also became aware that my mother was stricter in the presence of her family, suddenly cautioning me for things that she would otherwise ignore.

Even with all of the leniency and freedom I was allowed, still I looked for more. I didn’t want to have to put my toys away if I’d paused in the middle of an elaborate make-believe session with my dolls and toy cars. I wanted to avoid displeasing my parents. Once I discovered sweets (an indulgence that my parents were careful to keep from me for as long as possible by any means necessary), I wanted to have them by any means that I could find.

On my fourth Halloween, at my maternal grandparents’ house, I made a blanket fort for the purpose of hiding with my candy so that I could eat it all, away from my mother’s careful rations. To my grandparents’ amusement, I gave myself away by failing to clean up the wrappers, inviting a rare scolding from my mother.