For she who forgets must now remember her tale... |
WORD COUNT: 775 The Beatles sang that happiness is a warm gun, which is probably a metaphor for something, but I guess I'm not smart enough to get it, 'cause I definitely don't. And if it's not a metaphor, which I'm pretty sure it is, but if it isn't, I definitely don't agree. For me, happiness is a good book. There is nothing more comforting, nothing that makes me feel safer, than escaping into the far-flung thoughts of people far more creative than they have any right to be. A good writer, one with a real gift and a direct line to the Muses, has the ability to create worlds and develop people that are so well-defined, so unimaginably beautiful, that they become almost more real than the real world. I'd rather be there, honestly, wherever there happens to be, whatever world is revealed with each turn of the page, with each word placed just so in their movement in the never-ending symphony that is literature. But even when I turn the last page and the music ends, the memory of it remains, dancing in my mind's eye, and the comfort remains. Perhaps it's odd that, for me, comfort is such a solitary thing, but that's just how it is. Solitary is safe. It's hard work being around people, you know. They all seem to want something different from me, and I need to delve into a completely different skill set just to understand and get along with them. It's why I never seemed to have many friends. I never knew what to say to each person and ended up driving them all away. People have always been dangerous. Compared to them, books are an impenetrable force field that no one can pass unless you want them to. And it's great. Books don't have any problems. They're always there, always waiting, and I don't need to do anything more than sit down and open one up. A book doesn't care who you are or what you're wearing. It doesn't care if you fold it back or lay it against the table, dog ear the page or use a bookmark. Coffee stains? Mustard from that sandwich you ate that one time? Books don't care. As long as all the pages are there and the words are legible, a book will be there, ready and raring to go. And there's absolutely no chance you'll end up used and abused like you will when people get involved. People ask for so much more, and I'm not sure that the return is worth it. That's not to say that I'm some sort of hermit, never setting forth into the world to meet and greet my fellow denizens on this planet we call Earth, in this city we call home, but it really is quite draining. Everyone has those little things, those rituals we use to calm ourselves down, to bring ourselves back to ourselves. Mine just happens to be books. I don't think I could ever name my favorite book. It sucks sometimes, especially when the store decides to do employee recommendations, because I always end up with at least twenty books I want to recommend. Do I go with Jemisin or Gaiman, Martin or Butcher? Or how about Austen, whose works inspired women everywhere to write, and whose stories are still relevant today? I like them all and they all bring something to the table, something that I'm missing in my life, something that I can't get from the people around me. My favorite book growing up was a compilation of myths from Ancient Greece. Trickster Hermes and wise Athena were my favorite gods, though I loved the stories of wily Odysseus and his journey back to Ithaca the most. I knew the myths so well that when Disney made its version of Hercules, I wrote a formal letter of protest to the company for destroying the integrity of the story and ruining Hades' reputation forever. Needless to say, I didn't get a reply and since I still go to see Disney movies, I'm pretty sure they don't really care. If I'd have known growing up that I'd one day meet Hermes, I might have spent my time doing something else. Why read the book when the real thing was going to appear in your life? Oh, what am I saying, I'd still read the book. Because that's just how I roll, bitches. OK, that last bit was random. But I'd definitely still read the book because, who am I kidding, books are my solace and no one gives up what makes them feel safe. Especially if they don't have to. |