The Istoriaphile’s Corner

I hate what’s happened to the word “awesome”.  For the last 10 years, reality shows and commentators abused this adjective until they reduced it to an on-air cliche.  It’s not fair and it’s not right. “Did you see so-and-so’s new Jeep?” “Yeah, it’s awesome.” “Sidney’s so awesome doing her little tap dance.  You should see her kick up her legs!” It doesn’t matter whether we’re discussing the Olympics, sugarless pudding or Donald Trump, everything is described as awesome when most of the time…it isn’t.  And that cheapens the word for those who wield such power that we gaze at them with a respect bordering on reverence.  The power that can end or alter the course of your life, like early friendships and late summer storms.  Either of these is an agent of incredible force; combined, the effect is explosive. That is one of the ideas behind Anne Rivers Siddon’s novel, Outer Banks.  On the surface, it’s a reunion of four middle-aged women who went to college together as girls but, it’s also a hymn to the power of our very first friendships. The older women all carry a patina of  achievement, loss, and experience but in each other, they also…