At 6 years old, reading was not much more than a routine. Go to the library, skim through the titles, look for the prettiest-looking book covers, read them, repeat. Sure, one of the more common platitudes of elementary school is to not judge a book by its cover, but then again — I was 6 years old, reading simple picture books. It was okay to be a little superficial.
Or maybe it wasn’t superficial at all. I enjoyed reading, the act of immersing myself in another world constructed by little more than words, drawings, and my imagination. And were the color, contrast, balance of these pictures not just as important as the words on the page? They defined the borders of this make-believe world, establishing the order in which life existed and persisted. When I had walked past the books with messy covers — blotchy shading, bland and haphazard palettes, overcrowded figures — I was rejecting more than a picture. I was rejecting a noisy, disorderly world.
So, reading was much more than a routine. I just did not know that yet.
As I grew older, much changed: I could read books without pictures, soon preferring the words just by themselves. As I grew older, not much changed: I still read in search of the ideal. What made a narrative satisfying was no longer its illustrated beauty, but instead reaching the richest possible fulfillment.
Although I could not pinpoint it yet, I wanted my stories to have substance. I wanted plot, characters, setting, and their joint progression. I wanted deliberate diction, symbolism, and themes. But more than all that, I wanted all these elements to come together and form a cohesive whole, like a thousand fragments eventually rolling into a pearl. Then, I could hold this pearl in my hand, touch the smooth silky surface, see all of humanity’s complexity encompassed, caressed, soothed by its gleaming reflection.
My favorite books all become pearls in my mind, but they are not the only ones. There are memories too. They were the moments in my life when I thought that if I was a character in a book, then this would be the conclusion. It would be when I grasped a new depth of emotional intimacy with another. When I had an epiphany about myself or the environment around me. When I achieved something grand in pursuit of my passions. Before, I had felt as if those moments had both eclipsed and illuminated all the moments that came before. It was The End.
Except not.
I stride, but then I stumble. I pull close, but then I drift away. As much capability as I have for change, I can just as easily regress. As such, when I read and come across a narrative with loose, fraying ends, I sometimes wonder bitterly: what’s the point?
What’s the point of a mishandled motif when serendipitous encounters cannot exist? What’s the point of lamenting over a character’s unresolved backstory if we live in the same evasion of closure? What’s the point of pondering the what-ifs or could-have-beens, the unfulfilled potential?
What’s the point of literature beyond a beautifully fabricated fantasy?
But then I remember that as much as literature is fantasy, it is also reality. Symbols hold meaning not for the sake of holding meaning, but because the world evokes emotion out of us, and in turn, we imprint our feelings onto it. Character arcs are not just a means to rewrite our personality, but to struggle in our stations just as that station struggles to contain us. Just as every word in a text must contribute to its overall meaning, every detail in our lives holds subtle influence over us, forming our identities into a pearl, pearls — determined by the definite yet indefinite in description.
I am no longer a child who rejects literature that looks too noisy and disorderly, but then again, I am still a child seeking solace in stories. Parsing through a blur of words and color, little by little, I see how purpose and intention can persist in the fickle flow of time. Little by little, I learn to make sense out of the nonsensical.
Hi Jennifer!
The main thought that comes into my mind after reading this is “wow”. Your piece was so beautifully crafted, so artistic, and so well thought out, from start to finish. I really liked how easily you connected your childhood reading of picture books to your current preferences of reading in one clean and simple thread; it made your narrative very cohesive!
I think your narrative also reveals a lot about your personality and character. Making sense out of what doesn’t shows to me as a reader that you crave order, and seek perfection. Even in your reading and enjoyment of literature as a pastime, you hold yourself and the authors you read to a high standard, and I think that’s a very interesting concept. I might consider taking a more critical approach when I read as well, since I think it could help me analyze and make sense of a piece of literature more effectively.
I hope that as you continue on your literature journey, you can continue to develop your analytical tendencies, and also enjoy these works as a piece of art. Thanks for your writing!
Ella
Jennifer,
I absolutely loved the way you crafted this piece. You created a rhythm to your narrative that flowed beautifully, all the way from your recounting of your experiences at age 6 to your current thought process. Throughout the piece, I felt like I was being pulled along and I almost felt like I was listening to somebody having a conversation with themself (in the best way). Even before you ask the reader rhetorical questions, there is such passion in your narration as you explore reading and what the process means to you.
I love how you made the argument that it’s okay to be superficial sometimes. Especially as kids, we’re told not to judge a book by its cover, but a cover can definitely reveal some characteristics of a book or, like you said, cause us to imprint our feelings in some manner.
The use of the metaphorical pearl also really helped me to visualize all the elements of a novel coming together into a smooth silky sphere, whilst also revealing your attention to detail and precision. Along with that, I thought the contrasts you created were also so powerful and cleverly thought out. I really resonated with the part where you said that there had been a lot of change as you grew, but also little change. I think a lot of us like to think that we’ve developed a ton as readers and people, and the thought that we haven’t scares us.
Another part I could relate to was the part where you describe a narrative as having loose, fraying ends. This is such a wonderful way to describe how I often feel. I want to put a book down and feel like a new person when I turn the last page and I have definitely found myself feeling annoyed with an author before when that doesn’t happen. You described that feeling so well and with such passion, creating these pictures of disorder that have brought books to life.
My question for you is: What makes a novel disorderly to you? Is it a lack of sense of closure? Can the feeling of unfulfilled potential of a novel be intentional?
Christina
Jennifer!
First of all, it took me way longer to read this than it should have because your writing style is too elegant and sophisticated for my middle school level reading ability to keep up with but wow, I’ve always known you had an elegant writing style, yet every time I read something I’m still blown away by how beautifully you tie everything together and the pace at which you take the reader throughout your narrative.
Although I would say I’m definitely a fan of the chaotic lifestyle, I can definitely relate to choosing books based off of their covers as a young kid. (Ironically, however, I chose the exact opposite as you–I loved the messy covers with bright colors and blotchy handwriting. In fact, the more messy the cover was, the more invested I was in the story. I think it’s so insightful how you picked up on the personality traits behind that selection).
I love how you refer to books as “pearls”, using this motif throughout your narrative to highlight certain aspects of your character and creating this really beautiful image of what reading should feel like and look like. I’ve always thought of literature as “a beautifully fabricated fantasy” as well, like you said (that was a really elegant line, by the way), but hearing you describe the deep morals hidden within these made up stories, I think my approach to reading fictional books changed altogether. Before, I would fear that reading fiction would be a waste of time, so I would try to stick to nonfiction to be perceived as “smarter” or “more sophisticated”, but after reading your narrative I see that neither is better than the other, but both offer important equally important insights into our everyday lives.
Keep up the good work!! 😉