Too many questions that aren't answered in novels
A. (in an homage to cs's recent barrage)
I choose novels based on the style of their prose more than anything else. And when I encounter a narrator who writes the way I think, or the way I'd like to think, I overidentify. I work my way into an ethically disoriented (All the President's Men), intellectually adrift (Mating), or [other] mindset of whomever I happen to be inside the mind of, rapt, for hours on end. And there I remain, in a simulated state of being, for weeks to months until I move on to a new voice.
Maybe I should choose my reading material based on tentative life direction to galvanize my resolve rather than deciding that I am as frustrated as Elizabeth Costello or as calculating as Holly Golightly. I thought I was done with Charlie's overwhelming emotions by the time I read The Stranger, which led me to believe or be absurdly (pun haha) detached for the next two years. But then the world took on a tragic glow for at least six months after the events of Dolores Price's life took their toll. Binx Bolling and I took a wandering year plus around the country before I landed right back where I started, dealing with the demands of Jeanette Winterson's family. (P.S. I am violently, violently aware that almost all of the female characters mentioned were written by men. Frustration for another post.)
Or maybe I could reread all of these and all of the others, in quick succession, before any one voice can take over my mind, to convince myself once and for all that no one character can define my past and present. Would it be worth it to ruin the magic? Is it even possible?
So every time I say that I just finished the best book I've ever read, I guess I really mean that I feel like you should read it too if you want to understand who I'm going to be until I read the next Great Novel.
I choose novels based on the style of their prose more than anything else. And when I encounter a narrator who writes the way I think, or the way I'd like to think, I overidentify. I work my way into an ethically disoriented (All the President's Men), intellectually adrift (Mating), or [other] mindset of whomever I happen to be inside the mind of, rapt, for hours on end. And there I remain, in a simulated state of being, for weeks to months until I move on to a new voice.
Maybe I should choose my reading material based on tentative life direction to galvanize my resolve rather than deciding that I am as frustrated as Elizabeth Costello or as calculating as Holly Golightly. I thought I was done with Charlie's overwhelming emotions by the time I read The Stranger, which led me to believe or be absurdly (pun haha) detached for the next two years. But then the world took on a tragic glow for at least six months after the events of Dolores Price's life took their toll. Binx Bolling and I took a wandering year plus around the country before I landed right back where I started, dealing with the demands of Jeanette Winterson's family. (P.S. I am violently, violently aware that almost all of the female characters mentioned were written by men. Frustration for another post.)
Or maybe I could reread all of these and all of the others, in quick succession, before any one voice can take over my mind, to convince myself once and for all that no one character can define my past and present. Would it be worth it to ruin the magic? Is it even possible?
So every time I say that I just finished the best book I've ever read, I guess I really mean that I feel like you should read it too if you want to understand who I'm going to be until I read the next Great Novel.