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It saddens and disturbs me sometimes to read book reviews online, how quickly dismissive or abhorrent some people are of a novel that broaches a topic that might be unpleasant or a personal taboo without ever considering that novel's merit or message. The same people, perhaps, who complain that a book (its plot, its characters, its themes) take too much thought to understand or appreciate but then praise a vacuous, pedestrian story because it's only "entertainment" and therefore should not be held to any sort of literary standard let alone objective analysis. I wonder if they ever realize that not only have they just declared their ignorance and stupidity, but their pride in being ignorant and stupid. Because it's one thing to acknowledge that you don't comprehend or understand (or perhaps that you think there's nothing to comprehend or understand) but quite another to assert that comprehension and understanding are useless and inconsequential.
I can't wrap my head around it, this mentality that not only is it alright not to think, but that it is somehow preferable--not just with books, but with everything. How does one go about life like that, never questioning, never judging, never discriminating or separating the mediocre from the substandard from the sublime? When did it become such a faux pas to use the mind that God and Nature has bestowed upon us? How does one justify the sacrifice of this divine spark, of this millions-of-years-worth-of-evolution on the altar of blanket tolerance? When did it become more important to accommodate the lowest common denominator than to aspire to the greatest of heights?
How did we become so entitled and complacent?
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPad.