24 January, 2009
Most people I know reread a favourite book every year. For my old English teacher, Paul Upperton, it was the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Incidentally, this turned out to be the case for a large portion of my class--not surprising, really, since we were all in awe of his literary prowess, fascinated by his well-travelled, well-read, well-written life and saw in him a bastion of Who's Who (or: What's What) in Literature.
At the time I did not think that I had such a habit (short interest span to be under consideration) and could barely think up a title that I held in particular reverence (commitment problems.) I felt my position in the literary world (as it were) drop a few notches to rest amongst those who read maybe one decent novel a year and bought all their quick fixes from the nearest Kmart. Oh, it was indecent! Suddenly I felt so unread amidst my well-educated peers and our pretentious, pre-examination discources over the latest in classic Russian literature lacked its usual Chekhovian ...oomph.
I have now long graduated into the wonderful world of tertiary education where most of my course comrades belong to the one-to-none-novel-a-year category. The Lord of the Rings people are reading humanities--history, linguistics, law. I have, though, managed to climb a few rungs of that secret social ladder. In a way, I am back to where I was before this darned dilemma but I am certainly not up with the real socialites and important personages of the well-read.
Every year now, I lay my hands on a precious book. I hold closed its broken spine, open the cover and mentally feel as if I am sinking into the most comfortable armchair ever to be upholstered. It was the book that saved me when I was fifteen, carried me through University entry examinations when I was eighteen and is now seeing me through this current literary desert on my path in life. It is certainly not something as prestigious as reading Tolkien or even good old Fyodor (Dostoevsky) and perhaps the very sight of its shoddy grammar and dodgy publishing typos would send the linguistics Nazis into a frenzy but it is what can be considered my annual habit. Which book?
Mario Puzo's The Godfather.
Yeah, I am as shallow as a pond.
At the time I did not think that I had such a habit (short interest span to be under consideration) and could barely think up a title that I held in particular reverence (commitment problems.) I felt my position in the literary world (as it were) drop a few notches to rest amongst those who read maybe one decent novel a year and bought all their quick fixes from the nearest Kmart. Oh, it was indecent! Suddenly I felt so unread amidst my well-educated peers and our pretentious, pre-examination discources over the latest in classic Russian literature lacked its usual Chekhovian ...oomph.
I have now long graduated into the wonderful world of tertiary education where most of my course comrades belong to the one-to-none-novel-a-year category. The Lord of the Rings people are reading humanities--history, linguistics, law. I have, though, managed to climb a few rungs of that secret social ladder. In a way, I am back to where I was before this darned dilemma but I am certainly not up with the real socialites and important personages of the well-read.
Every year now, I lay my hands on a precious book. I hold closed its broken spine, open the cover and mentally feel as if I am sinking into the most comfortable armchair ever to be upholstered. It was the book that saved me when I was fifteen, carried me through University entry examinations when I was eighteen and is now seeing me through this current literary desert on my path in life. It is certainly not something as prestigious as reading Tolkien or even good old Fyodor (Dostoevsky) and perhaps the very sight of its shoddy grammar and dodgy publishing typos would send the linguistics Nazis into a frenzy but it is what can be considered my annual habit. Which book?
Mario Puzo's The Godfather.
Yeah, I am as shallow as a pond.
2 comments:
will you hit me if I tell you I've never read it ._.
n-no ._.
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