There are no conversations with the dead

I haven’t been reading this year. I know my life is falling apart because I’m not reading. The last book I read? American Psycho and I didn’t even finish it. When I don’t read, I feel like I’m not really thinking. I feel like my head is constantly fuzzy. In fact, it feels somewhat like what I imagine Sylvia Plath meant when she described a “bell jar” descending over one’s head. There’s not much air.

And really it’s the perspective that I lose when I don’t read. The perspective of other human beings. Often everyday communication just feels so banal in comparison to the camaraderie I find within the pages of a book. Characters open themselves up to us in the most intimate ways, and we know that the words they say are true to them; if they lie to anyone, it’s not to us.

These feelings of intimacy and dependence on literature is, in fact, critiqued in the movie Good Will Hunting. There is a scene in which Robin Williams’ character asks Will if he believes in soul mates, and Will responds affirmatively, explaining that Shakespeare is one of his. Williams’ character gently scoffs at this, asserting that the relationship between Will and Shakespeare can’t involve much dialogue.

While I agree that we must cultivate “real” relationships and that relationships with literature are not enough, I contend that they are damn well close to it. And I contend that we do carry on dialogues with literature; to proclaim otherwise is to see literature as static and largely dead. And I like to side with Emily Dickinson on this one and say, "A word is dead/ When it is said,/ Some say./ I say it just/ Begins to live/ That day."

And words begin to live when put to paper too. And words continue to live and be a part of life as they are read again and again. What could be more real for a bibliophile than the words on a page? The ones that cannot be destroyed through proverbial games of telephone? Authors speak forever through their written work and there, on their pages, they are able to elaborate in manners they may never have been able to in their “real” lives.

I’ve always felt that the only way I can truly express myself is through writing, not talking. Because of this conviction, I have come to believe that the written word is much more sacred than the spoken one. When I read, I bring that sensibility to the task; I believe that what I read on the page must be paid attention to because the person who put it there did so with intent. (Side note: this conviction is also why I cannot stand when a person does not put effort into his writing; it wastes the reader’s time.) The writer had something to tell me, the reader, and I have something to gain from paying attention- some insight, some perspective, the specifics of which could be gleaned from no other source. How is that not a dialogue?

And, just like a dialogue, this exchange of ideas can only carry on if we lend our ears (well, our eyes). You take their words into your being, as you allow them to become a part of you and to shape your thinking.

So I started a GoodReads account today, and I’m determined to bring insight and passion back into my life in the form of literature. Not another day should pass without the company of a book. And while we’re on the subject, what have ya’ll been reading lately?

-Leena