As a child, teenager, and even now, as an ‘adult’, I realise that I do not relish the thought of reading a book that everyone else has an opinion on (this is also true for any film or TV show I watch). I find it difficult, if I have talked to someone about a novel, to separate my own thoughts on the work from the opinions they have discussed with me. A sort of inception of my opinion of the book develops; where my thoughts do not begin from my mind but someone elses’. What I mean is that even though one can try to conciously develop his/her own judgement of a novel, on some subconcious level you shall still be aware of prior griviences or satisfiations that have been already aired. I only became acutely aware of this particular trait I hold when it comes reaing the literature for class this year.
Of course you could simply say that all literature is a matter of taste, this is a legitimate fact. However, if I am activly discouraged from reading a book simply because so many other have done so, that just seems plain silly and neurotic. Hence, my grievence with myself and my struggle to erase this mistake from the copybook of my own neuroses blah de blah.
I was in second class before I actually had ever picked up a book of my own accord and read it. Conseuently, my mother claims that I was always squiggling out pretend sentences. If I were proud or self obsorbed it would be now, right here, in this paragraph that I would proclaim: I was born to write. Of course, that is a ridiculous sentiment because if someone was born to do a particular thing then, they would come from the womb doing said thing. So, by this train of thought I can concur that I was born to cry, red faced, angry and unfortunately naked. Yet, as always, I digress.
So, how did I develop this dislike for popular literature? A sweeping judgement upon all the great authors of history and present day. I shouldn’t be so cold towards their efforts to be openminded, post/pre/now-modern or simply relivent. I shouldn’t disregard a person’s life works just because everyone else likes them so much, but this is exactly what I used do.
I was not a rebellious teenager, my parents and I had our fair of disagrrements but they were over the usual ‘you don’t let me stay out late enough’ sort of fiascos. I was an alright student – if I can say so myself – I did my homework with the reluctant concentration similar to that of a teacher supervising a study hall. I was a late bloomer when it comes to my beginnings with literature. But when I got started, I got started. However, a thought that keeps propping up in my head lately is: I have not read many classic novels. I feel like I should have. My appetite for literature was ravenous so why haven’t I, at the tender age of 21, feasted upon the literary canon that society is so familiarised with? Perhaps, this aversion to reading is how I rebelled? A pointless and fruitless silent rebellion, which no one was a aware of until it had ended?
My point of this blog is that I am willing and trying to change the way I think about highly criticised and discussed books. Luckily, combined with the reading list of this Master, I am steadily combating my way through what is known as the battlefield of great american writers. I do not know who coined the phrase, perhaps I just made it up now, I doubt it, but all this is irrelavent. What matters the most is that I have overcome my aversion to not reading literature just because others have already done so. From now on I shall live a happy and fulfilled life, listening to the advisment of my peers when it comes down to my taste in books and perhaps fashion.
Americanization 