Books

I have been reading the 7th Harry Potter book recently (gearing up for the new movie.) I brought it to the gym with me this morning so I could read it while on the elliptical. I reached the part where Fred dies and Percy throws himself over his body (sorry if that was a spoiler) and I started crying. Yes, crying. You can imagine my embarrassment. Who starts crying while they are working out? (Well, unless they're in a spinning class.) Fortunately, I was sweating so bad it was probably impossible to discern the tears on my face. And my face gets rather blotchy when I am out of breath so I'm sure people did not notice my red eyes either.

This outburst of literary emotion got me thinking about my love for books. When living at home, it would drive my brother insane when I would cry while reading. Even worse was when I would bust out laughing. My obsession for books is something he has never understood. (He also doesn't understand my addiction to tap dancing in the grocery store.) But I say, why not get into it? Why just sit there and remain emotionally removed from what you are reading? That's like surrounding yourself with a bunch of people you couldn't care less about. Who wants to go to a party with a bunch of boring people you hope you never run into again? No thanks.

Reading is like getting to meet new people. And this way, if they are boring you aren't forced to sit there and make small talk while waiting for you phone to ring so you can pretend your grandma just died and leave. If the characters are boring, or unbelievable - which is much worse- then you can just close the book and pretend they don't exist! If they are well written though, then you have just encountered not only the work of a great author, but the complexity of a great character. And there is something to be learned, my friend - it may take a few reads, but some characters are oh so worth it. (I just finished reading A Tale of Two Cities for the third time and I have never had such a crush on Sydney Carton before - talk about a romantic tragic hero.)

I think I love books so much because I love people. I find them very interesting (well, not all of them, some characters out there are really quite two-dimensional. If this is you, well, I am sorry. Hopefully you don't bore yourself to death.) I think that is one of the reasons I married Jordan. I knew I had found someone that would be able to keep my attention past the third date. He is so very complex. I never could have married anyone I would have figured out in less than 20 years. And I am happy to say I may never fully understand that intriguing brain hidden behind all that red hair. His mind is absolutely riveting.

Sorry for the somewhat romantic but also somewhat creepy digression. As I was saying, I love people. I have an awful habit of people-watching. (It is rather awkward when I am caught.) I considered psychology as a major, but it sort of ruined people for me. I like to believe there are not always explanations for why people do the things they do, that sometimes we just act out irrationally, and we are far too fascinating of creatures to be explained by science. P.S. - Freud was nutty as squirrel poo.

Not only do you get to meet new characters, you get to learn about different experiences. Every book you read is a pathway into someone else's life, into a different time period, a different culture, a different race or gender, and, if done well, a different world. I have no experience with being a slave. For one, I am white. Another, I was born in the 1980s - long after abolition. But, I read a Toni Morrison book, and holy ants on a log. She didn't just write about the back-breaking work, the selling off of family members, or the white male dominance over the defenseless slave woman. She went so much further than that. She wrote about what slavery does to the human mind and spirit, how it slowly eats away at a persons very essence. She depicted it as a cavity for the soul, something that decays their eternal identity. No wonder she won the Pulitzer!

Toni Morrison was a great writer because she understood something about the individual human - not because she had a great education (which she didn't) or because she had a fancy way of writing (which she doesn't.) P.S. if you haven't read her, you must before you die. Just understand that your stomach will be tied up in knots and you will probably have to get a massage after you finish. May I suggest Beloved?

Books are the only thing Jordan and I have had a real disagreement over. We were fighting about how much money I should be allowed to spend on new books each month. He said that I should just go to the library, where they are free. The stories are exactly the same anyway. Well, this was a very rational argument from a monetary perspective. But to my literary soul it was atrocious! I can't go to the library! That's like dating someone who is already married. They just don't belong to you. You don't have that claim on them that makes them yours. It may be a wonderful love affair, but eventually you have to give them back. There is no solidity to the passion. When I have to return a book I have completely fallen for to the library it is like going through a messy break-up. I just can't handle that kind of emotional stress every month!

To be honest, I am working on some literature of my own. Although, I do not think I have that innate knack for it. One very wise professor once told me that when writing, your book can't be about you, it can't be fulfilling your own personal agenda or following the plans you laid out for it. He said that books are all about the characters; they form themselves. Books should take the author somewhere even they did not even expect to go. That is how you write a masterpiece. Well, I don't know if this is true or not. But I know I have read books where I can tell the author is forcing the plot to fit their desires. And it is repulsive every time.

Another professor told me that you should never try to write what you don't know. This is a sure way to produce something dishonest. He said you must always write from the very core of yourself. I also believe this is true. If the subject matter is not a part of you, then how do you know if what you say is true?

I imagine there must be a fine balance between these two points. A no-man's-land that creates the classics. I believe it takes a very powerful mind to locate this corner of the intellect and write a masterpiece. Ah, if only I possessed such a gift.

Oh well, I remain grateful to all those humanity geniuses who have accomplished this wonderful and delicate skill. I raise my literary glass to Dostoevsky, Louisa May Alcott, Steinbeck, Bronte (all three), Betty Smith, and J.K. Rowling - who created a world believable enough to take over the real one. I applaud your excellence and value the lessons I have learned from your pages.

And most of all, I thank my mother, who taught me to love reading. And grounded me from it from time to time, in order to make that noble occupation all the more desirable.

P.S. Dear brother, if you have read this, I hope you can still bear to call me kin. : )