Are you an AGEIST?

age·ism also ag·ism (jzm)

n.

Discrimination based on age, especially prejudice against the elderly.

In a book I read recently the female protagonist was 41 years old. The book was a sort of coming of age book for her. This woman was finally growing up and getting her life together. She was engaging and interesting. The book was well written. So what was my problem?

The character's age.

I can't say I spend a lot of time thinking about what age the characters have to be when I pick up a book. Quite the contrary. While reading the book about the 41-year old I looked again at the back blurb and realized that her age wasn't mentioned. It was a sort of a light bulb moment to realize that if the age had been mentioned I probably would not have purchased the book. Sad? Yes. But true.

In the middle of the book I began to wonder why this well written story about a 41-year old woman was bugging me so much. Many of my favorite story elements were there. I'm a woman of *clears throat* mature years myself. So what was my beef?

Turns out I'm an ageist. Apparently I don't mind reading about a woman figuring things out whose in her 20s. I love reading about a woman in her 30s getting her priorities straight and finding the 'right' man and settling down.

On the other hand, as soon as I see that a main character is a woman is in her 40s I have a mental let down that sounds like a whine in my head saying, "Oh, really? In her 40s? Oh." I can feel my interest in the story deflating second by second.

Since I pride myself on having an open mind, I do read books about woman (and men) who are closer to my age, but not often. I also must admit that I rarely find myself as engaged in those books as I do when the characters are younger.

This realization really bugged me. I thought about it for a couple of days. There was no escaping the fact that if I could set up the characters in a book, I'd make them all 25 to 39 years old. This premise just begged the question. Why? As a woman who is 53 years old myself do I really think people of more mature years aren't as interesting? That life doesn't happen after 40?

The answer to those questions is obvious. Of course not. I like my life. I'm still active and interesting things still happen to me. I don't have to worry as much about money, I have a great husband and a relationship with him that is fulfilling. I also have two sons, who while they often drive me crazy, tend to contribute lots of drama in my life. I'd be insulted if anyone called my life...boring. Or uninteresting. Or insignificant. Or unimportant.

Understanding I do that every time I pick up a book that is about characters who are in their 40s or 50s, and dismiss it, was a disturbing one. I still haven't completely worked out what it is that bothers me so much.

It's not news. Age happens.

So what about you. Do you want your characters to fall within a certain age range? Is there an age for central characters to a story that you find less appealing? More appealing?

And so it goes...and goes...and goes...

Pride goeth before a fall. SPLAT! Yep that's me face down.

One thing I pride myself on is being and staying organized. Partly because my brain really can't process too much confusion. I have a tendency, even in a crowd, to sort, collate, and file people, places and things. I just can't filter information any other way. This is a good thing for remembering stuff like people's names, phone numbers, addresses, stuff for work. In fact many times I've been so grateful to have this gift.

Another good thing about being organized is knowing where stuff is. I just don't lose stuff. Well, except for the eye glasses debacle which occurs on a fairly regular basis. I go looking frantically for my glasses searching the same regular spots over and over again only to have one of the men in my life remind me that they are on my face. Yeah...that's slightly humiliating. But for the most part I'm the person people see when they want to find something. At work or at home, I usually know where to find what you're looking for.

So a couple of days ago I posted my November reading list. Later that same day I was sorting, putting books away and getting stuff ready for a trip to the UBS when I realized two books I'd read in November were in the sort pile but hadn't been entered on my spread sheet. Worse yet, they were two books I had enjoyed. Now if you read my post you know that not much on that list delighted me. So you'd think a couple of books that I'd liked would stand out. (If it interests you the books were A GENTLE RAIN by Deborah Smith and ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT by Suzanne Brockmann. Both good solid reads.) Not only were they not on my spreadsheet, but I'd forgotten I'd read them.

Okay so this isn't the end of the world as we know it. But I have to tell you, it sort of freaked me out. I have a system for crying out loud. I'm organized. I know where stuff is. So (cue violins) is this the first sign I'm losing "it"? You know what I mean? Am I losing the sparkly sharp mind that remembers stuff? Have I started the transition to *gasp* the middle-aged muddled mind that doesn't remember simple things like where eyeglasses are?

In the name of clarity let me just say right here and right now, I don't like it. I don't like it AT ALL. The actual aging process doesn't bother me so much. Well, okay that's a lie. I really don't like losing hair, gray hair, age spots on my hands, wrinkles and dimming vision. However, I can live with it. I don't like it, but I can live with it. My brain though? Not so much.

Of course things could be worse. I could be like Kellie Pickler here. Thanks Zeek for bringing this to my attention. Believe it or not while I lament her ignorance it did make me feel better. I can't tell you how many times during adolescence I wished to be pretty instead of smart.* Thank God I grew up and changed my mind.

*Please remember I said smart. Not brainy. Not genius. Not brilliant. Just smart. The regular every day sort of smart where you get more A's than B's and no D's or F's. Not that you asked, I'm just sayin'.