Why do books, movies, music affect us so much? Why do we let them seep into the crevices of our brains- festering until they make us numb with wonder and emotion? Are we all romantic fools, or is there more to it?
I like to believe that it's more than superficial. I think stories penetrate- they penetrate our minds, our eyes, our lives. But they affect everyone differently. We take back from an experience, entirely based on our past experiences. We're constantly drawing parallels between what we're perceiving in the moment and what we've perceived and stored away. So, when I tell someone, "This movie made me cry." and when that person says, "I know what you mean." in response, is it true? Maybe many people cried watching that movie, but I'm not sure everyone cried for the same reason.
I recently read "To Kill A Mockingbird". It's a book that I started reading on several occasions over the past few years and never made it past the first couple of chapters. Sometime in June, I decided that it was about time I got my act together and read the one book that everyone but me has read. I would read in the train, to and from college- finishing not more than ten to fifteen pages a day. Eventually, I finished reading it. And when I did, I felt numb. Numb, but content.
The book started slowly, unhurriedly describing its characters, talking about their lives in detail. Scout spoke intelligently of her observations, articulating events with thoughts quite unlike those that an eight year old would possess. But then again, she was no naive, little girl in pigtails. This book was magnetic. The story didn't seem to be going anywhere, it seemed to be shifting imperceptibly, it seemed like the book would never end. And yet, I didn't want it to. I was glad in its apparent stagnation. However, I was beginning to wonder why this book made such a big deal of itself.
Scout was such a beautiful narrator, that I wanted to listen to her talk in person. Her words came to life in my mind and I could picture Jem, Atticus Finch and her, going about their daily routines, vividly in my mind's eye. Slowly, almost out of nowhere, the story got interesting. It reached into me and held my attention. Even when I couldn't read, I found myself thinking about the book.
Seriously, what was it about this book that I had begun to love?
I had two pages left to read and I hadn't got the chance to all day. Finally, back on the train, I sat down and opened to where my bookmark had been reluctantly placed. I read slowly and purposefully. As I read the last line, I felt goosebumps creep up my legs and down my arms. And I felt a strange knot in my stomach. I closed the book at stared ahead of me. The book had just blown my mind away.
I won't talk about the story, or of its contents, or of how much I loved it. I want to talk about this book's subconscious puppeteering. The first question I asked myself was, "Why is this book a classic?" My grandfather says you know you're dealing with a classic when you find something new and beautiful every time you read it. Since I've read this book only the one time, this wouldn't be the best way for me to judge it.
This book is special because it makes you think. It makes you think about everything that Scout mentions. It makes you think about people and question human nature. It makes you question everyday, mundane happenings. But it doesn't leave you frantic and curious with no answers. Somehow, this book guides you and helps you answer your own questions- indirectly. I also realized that this book has affected me uniquely because it's a book that lingers. The genius of Harper Lee's writing didn't hit me until after I had finished reading it and I had a chance to ruminate over everything I had read in the past month. Regurgitating, I found that the brilliance of the book lies within the simple fact that the story is nothing but honesty. It isn't an exaggerated account of injustice or a dramatic narration of wrong doing. It's calm, realistic, unfettered truth. I realize that the reason these things dawned on me only after reading the book was because while I was, I had become part of the story, living in Maycomb- being a silent spectator to the Finchs' antics. It wasn't until I moved away that I could look back at it with an outsider's perspective.
This book is, perhaps, the best way to put into perspective what human nature is all about. Not metaphorically like in Animal Farm or dramatically like in Skin. For it to truly hit someone on the head, it must be told plainly- plainly as the naked eye sees. Because our minds resist any and all information that's shoved in our faces; it only accepts and remembers things that we discover ourselves.
This being said, Harper Lee's book is now one of the best books I have ever read, and I await the time when my brain has finished processing all that it has learned from it so that I can read it once more- and look deeper for more.
Atticus Finch is the wisest man I have ever laid eyes upon.
"He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning."
I like to believe that it's more than superficial. I think stories penetrate- they penetrate our minds, our eyes, our lives. But they affect everyone differently. We take back from an experience, entirely based on our past experiences. We're constantly drawing parallels between what we're perceiving in the moment and what we've perceived and stored away. So, when I tell someone, "This movie made me cry." and when that person says, "I know what you mean." in response, is it true? Maybe many people cried watching that movie, but I'm not sure everyone cried for the same reason.
I recently read "To Kill A Mockingbird". It's a book that I started reading on several occasions over the past few years and never made it past the first couple of chapters. Sometime in June, I decided that it was about time I got my act together and read the one book that everyone but me has read. I would read in the train, to and from college- finishing not more than ten to fifteen pages a day. Eventually, I finished reading it. And when I did, I felt numb. Numb, but content.
The book started slowly, unhurriedly describing its characters, talking about their lives in detail. Scout spoke intelligently of her observations, articulating events with thoughts quite unlike those that an eight year old would possess. But then again, she was no naive, little girl in pigtails. This book was magnetic. The story didn't seem to be going anywhere, it seemed to be shifting imperceptibly, it seemed like the book would never end. And yet, I didn't want it to. I was glad in its apparent stagnation. However, I was beginning to wonder why this book made such a big deal of itself.
Scout was such a beautiful narrator, that I wanted to listen to her talk in person. Her words came to life in my mind and I could picture Jem, Atticus Finch and her, going about their daily routines, vividly in my mind's eye. Slowly, almost out of nowhere, the story got interesting. It reached into me and held my attention. Even when I couldn't read, I found myself thinking about the book.
Seriously, what was it about this book that I had begun to love?
I had two pages left to read and I hadn't got the chance to all day. Finally, back on the train, I sat down and opened to where my bookmark had been reluctantly placed. I read slowly and purposefully. As I read the last line, I felt goosebumps creep up my legs and down my arms. And I felt a strange knot in my stomach. I closed the book at stared ahead of me. The book had just blown my mind away.
I won't talk about the story, or of its contents, or of how much I loved it. I want to talk about this book's subconscious puppeteering. The first question I asked myself was, "Why is this book a classic?" My grandfather says you know you're dealing with a classic when you find something new and beautiful every time you read it. Since I've read this book only the one time, this wouldn't be the best way for me to judge it.
This book is special because it makes you think. It makes you think about everything that Scout mentions. It makes you think about people and question human nature. It makes you question everyday, mundane happenings. But it doesn't leave you frantic and curious with no answers. Somehow, this book guides you and helps you answer your own questions- indirectly. I also realized that this book has affected me uniquely because it's a book that lingers. The genius of Harper Lee's writing didn't hit me until after I had finished reading it and I had a chance to ruminate over everything I had read in the past month. Regurgitating, I found that the brilliance of the book lies within the simple fact that the story is nothing but honesty. It isn't an exaggerated account of injustice or a dramatic narration of wrong doing. It's calm, realistic, unfettered truth. I realize that the reason these things dawned on me only after reading the book was because while I was, I had become part of the story, living in Maycomb- being a silent spectator to the Finchs' antics. It wasn't until I moved away that I could look back at it with an outsider's perspective.
This book is, perhaps, the best way to put into perspective what human nature is all about. Not metaphorically like in Animal Farm or dramatically like in Skin. For it to truly hit someone on the head, it must be told plainly- plainly as the naked eye sees. Because our minds resist any and all information that's shoved in our faces; it only accepts and remembers things that we discover ourselves.
This being said, Harper Lee's book is now one of the best books I have ever read, and I await the time when my brain has finished processing all that it has learned from it so that I can read it once more- and look deeper for more.
Atticus Finch is the wisest man I have ever laid eyes upon.
"He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning."
