SNP’s word of the day: Book musical

You should know it because: Rebecca, the beautiful, heartbreaking gothic Daphne DuMaurier novel, is being adapted into a musical. Sounds fun! By the way, fun is my new favourite word for FREAKING TERRIBLE. Has anyone read Rebecca? Okay, so you loved it. (I assume from experience: I read Rebecca in high school and never recovered.) And have you seen the Hitchcock movie, made in 1940? There is a reason no other director has done Rebecca. Hitchcock is Hitchcock. You don’t touch that.

Unless, of course, you are someone who makes musicals for a living, in which case nothing is sacred. No story is too tragic, too potent, too beloved by millions of emo people, to be dressed up and set to song and dance. Les Miserables? That’s a musical. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s only one of the great French novels; now, if you mention it to a 22-year-old, they’ll start humming you a theme song they learned on the clarinet in 10th grade. Anna Karenina? Duh! “Every unhappy musical is unhappy in its own way, but no musical is more unfortunate than Anna Karenina, wrote the New York Times when the musical debuted in 1992. Wuthering Heights? It appeared the same year; I’m so glad I was too young to know, or I might have stuck my head in an Easybake.

This isn’t just about me hating musicals (what gave you that impression?!). This is about me wanting sad things (like heartbreaking gothic novels) to stay sad, and happy things (like musicals, Glee, and women who have cooking shows) to stay far apart. Books are good. Musicals are like, fine, whatever. But these are two things that don’t need to be the same thing. Like, ever. Curtain plz!