my inane rambling about books
When someone tells me they dislike a book that I liked I am personally offended. It doesn’t matter if the book is Harry Potter or To Kill a Mockingbird, it offends me. I know I shouldn’t be offended. I know that some people just have different tastes. I still am, though. To me, it feels as though they are telling me that they don’t like apart of me. I know that I’m not collectively made up of all the books I’ve ever read, but they’re still a big part of my life. They’re there on the days when I say “fuck the world” and decide not to talk to anyone. Without them I may not be the person I am today. So when I hear someone say “Harry Potter is so stupid” all I hear is “wow, Bryn kind of sucks.”
It only gets worse when they dislike the classics. In English we read the classics: To Kill a Mockingbird, Lord of the Flies, Catcher in the Rye, along with Shakespearean plays that consisted of Romeo and Juliet, Julia Caesar (Much to Do about Nothing or the Taming of the Shrew, depending on your class) and Macbeth. All I ever hear is how “stupid” or “boring” or “pointless” a book it. Sure, you don’t have to like it, but they’re classics for a reason. You could at least respect them. This year, in particular, has been bad. This year we read Catcher in the Rye. I’ve read Catcher in the Rye before, so even though I’m not in English this semester I know what happens in it. I liked Catcher in the Rye but all I’ve heard are complaints about it. “Holden is so annoying.” “It’s pointless. All he does is walk around New York.” But, that’s kind of the point. Not everyone is supposed to like Holden as not everyone likes you and not everyone likes me. He’s not Jay Gatsby (or Edward Cullen, or Harry Potter, or Atticus, etc.). He’s not the person you want to be, nor is he the person you want to date (or maybe he is, but probably not.) He’s a teenage boy who is confused, just like us. We’re supposed to be able to relate to him. Though, maybe you don’t relate to him (which I find hard to believe). Even if you don’t relate to him, don’t you feel empathy? I know he’s fictional, but come on. He’s a teenage boy who no one wants to listen to because no one really cares about what he has to say. (And I still find it hard to believe you’ve never felt that way). But, can’t you understand how incredibly lonely that would feel? Doesn’t your heart pang with sadness? Don’t you want to reach out and say “Oh, Holden, I understand. I will listen to your story. I will tell you where the ducks go, and I won’t make fun of your hunting cap because I, too, use to carry around a blanket and/or stuffed animal that made me feel safe.”?
Maybe I just get too involved. Maybe I try to take a piece of the story and put it into myself or take a piece of myself and put it into the story. Maybe I try too hard to relate. Maybe I spend too much time waiting for that one thought or feeling that I didn’t think anyone else felt so that I can read it and sigh with relief because finally I’m not alone. Maybe.