My dear readers,
I write this letter to you in reference to the thoughts of today’s youth regarding their reading background. Being an avid reader myself, I have immense attachment for those who indulge in the simple act of living through reading. With the beautiful varied assortments of genres out there, each of us live a life quite different from others. That’s the thing about words and thoughts impressed upon sheets, they hold such enormity of depth; they allow you to live most graciously.
There is a certain bond to fiction, readers. A love for the perpetually existing characters we owe our imaginations too. Harry Potter, my beloved story, my beloved section of life. I couldn’t thank J K anymore than I already do, it is rather indescribable
“That’s what fiction is for. It’s for getting at the truth when the truth isn’t sufficient for the truth.”
― Tim O’Brien
The thrill it ignites….
Spare me for this particular piece of writing, readers. This post would be adorned with quotations of such readers who have felt the truth in the most eloquent way. Words would deserve such honour.
When the subtleties begin to glimmer too much, and your heart is clawed with longing for definite joys of words, picking up P G Wodehouse does the simple magic. Humour, comedy the necessities for persistence.
“There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.”
― Erma Bombeck
But perhaps, what moves even the sternest hearts, are the articulate tragedies, felt with such atrocity. Remember the uncontrollable grief taking its toll when Fred Weasley died. And the way Hedwig slipped away, such treason to your readers J K Rowling. Claiming away Sirius, and Lupin, was devastation itself.
Brushing away these incidences momentarily,
Romance, such is its influence; it spurs revolutions of emotions in dainty hearts. Giving reason to fight for feeling love, it succeeds to emphasise the inevitability of soul meeting. The Twilight Saga has gained itself some unpopularity, perhaps for instilling in its readers unrealistic gestures of obnoxious notions of love, but I beg to differ. I am not a great fanatic of this particular series, but its undeniable, Stephenie Meyer has used a rather elegant choice of words to designate the story amongst us.
Now comes the most awaited reference to my favourite genre, Classics
The fascination they hold for me, and I for them is rather indescribable. Calling it Ethereal would suffice for now. And it’s such a tragedy, such a forlorn reality that most of us don’t seem to find the courage to read it with excuses of incomprehension and boredom. Why, when they pin up the forlorn beauty, a certain divinity, and immeasurable depths in the readers.
Wuthering Heights, a romance of such kind, it allowed women to revolt through words in the olden times. It’s written with such power. It holds such power, with rawness in the choice of words, and the rather gruesome nature of Heathcliff and Catherine; discovering an emotion that regulated their very essence. You cannot help but let your heart bleed for them, the characters, the words. Jane Eyre, the sophistication with which Charlotte Bronte framed it, is beyond commendation by humanity.
One can actually feel those words, the way they were meant to be conveyed. You are unified with the magnanimity of their thoughts. Romance as that portrayed in Gone With the Wind, cannot be read anywhere else. The gradual unfurling of Scarlett’s beautiful character, and her penultimate realization of solace in Rhett in expressed in the most perfect manner, it couldn’t be better than it already is. Characters like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice culture the way of thinking intellectually in the most subsistent, profound manner.
“If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights