I am bored with reading

The other day I told my sister that I was tired of reading. Well most of you would think, “Of course! Reading is boring.” However, my sister responded in shock at such news. Well, I must clarify my statement. I was tired of reading; tired of reading article after article for my classes. I can only spend so long reading about methods of writing curriculum and how to develop a multicultural history program. However, in the midst of all this reading I took time to actually read.

I will never be tired of really reading. During my lunch break the other day I went up stairs to read. If you don’t know, I work at a Barnes and Noble. So upstairs I go. First, I do the most important part of reading: I bought a brownie. One must always have snakes close by while reading. Next I went and found the book I wanted to read. The reading for the day was a play by Edward Albee called Zoo Story. The play was recommend by Ashley in response to my recent encounter in the park (see the post below), and anything recommended by Ashley automatically goes at the top of my reading list! After getting my brownie and my book, I had to find a place to sit. Now this was somewhat difficult, since the bookstore was so busy. In the end, I found a nice spot by the window on the fourth floor. For the next hour I was in a whole other word. This world was not made up of classrooms and students, articles and debates, or friends and dramas. No; for that hour I read about a man and his encounter with dogs and humans and in the end his encounter with humanity.

While escaping to another world is part of reading, it is not the reason I enjoyed this lunch time play. No, Albee provided me with insight into the life of someone else. Granted this person may not be real, but he is real enough. If he came forth from Albee’s mind he is a part of Albee and therefore is real to him, and now he is real to me. When I see someone in the park sitting on bench, I will think of him and wonder if it is he. Moreover, if a writer is able to write the perfect character, and some do, he is not only real he becomes a part of me. A couple of examples are Ender (from Ender's Game by Orsen Scott Card) or Quentin (from Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury and Absalom Absalom). Some days I find myself thinking like Ender. These are great days; days laden with moral debate and self love mixed with remorse. However, the days that are Quentin-esque are filled with darkness and doubt.

I find this an interesting way to label my moods. No, I don’t become Ender or Quentin or Charlie but I am able to say “Ok, today I am thinking like Charlie. Why? What happened to make me like this, and what am I to do. Should I respond like Charlie or should I respond in a more appropriate manner.” Books, literature, characters are the lenses through which I view myself and my situation. They provide me with a clearer understanding of who I am. I guess, in the end, the reason I love these characters is because in them I discover another part of myself.