“And, even if wars didn’t keep coming like glaciers, there would still be plain old death.”
Exams are over, so is the current purpose of my life. The only thing that does not work out with vacations is you loose your purpose. All that time I spent giving my exams, I kept thinking, “when will vacations come??”. Because of course, I don’t want to give exams either. But when vacations do arrive, I spend all my time sleeping. So I picked up something today, which I had been planning to read for a very long time. DEMIAN by HERMANN HESSE! The reason I chose this novel is because the epigraph struck a chord with me. It goes like:
All I wanted to do was try to live the life that was inside me, trying to get out. Why was that so hard?
So lets see what tone does this novel set for my vacations. I just felt like writing something again. I shall revisit with my mood-swings and some spoilers.
On the whole I talk to no one. I concentrate on the way light would strike filled Mason jars on a kitchen windowsill. I lie here in the sunlight, watch the hummingbird. This morning I threw the coins in the swimming pool, and they gleamed and turned in the water in such a way that I was almost moved to read them. I refrained. One thing in my defense, not that it matters: I know something Carter never knew, or Helene, or maybe you. I know what “nothing” means, and keep on playing.
– Joan Didion
We’re all waiting, in absence, for presence.
If you’d let me
I shall borrow
tears of sorrow
that lay impressed
on your cheeks.
There was no specific reason. My friend recently started reading The Fountainhead and she was loving it as she progressed with the book. She would quote sentences and tell me stories about the story and that was enough a reason for me to start with this novel. What did I start with? The last page of course. It has become a recent fascination of mine to see how authors conclude their works. It started as a bit of a personal activity. I sucked at concluding stuff. Maybe still do. Hence the last pages of novels, last couple of lines of various poems become very appealing to me in those desperate moments. Some, I must tell you are quite interesting. This time I thought I’ll post the picture on my blog to familiarise those who haven’t read Atlas Shrugged and as a nostalgic piece for those who have. I found that line “We are going back to the world” so good and appealing. That is really something to say. Usually what I do come across would be “they happily lived ever after”, “life continued”, people walking with sunset in the backgrounds. But “We are going back to the world” It’s so mysterious!! Like where have you been all this time that only now you’re coming back? It makes me want to expect a journey. Desolate earth? How intriguing is that! Not that it isn’t a common expression. But just imagining a desolate land brings in negative connotations yet the fact that they are coming back to the world somehow is positive. So it’s all very confusing. My brain cells are all fried up due to insomnia and I am of that 3 AM mentality right now for I think I am typing as soon as the thought comes into my head. But do ponder upon the few lines. It’s an interesting activity to do.
Very recently I found myself wondering how most of us get attracted to those lonely fictional characters who would always resign to their classics and philosophical novels, just the right amount of rock n roll in their playlist with no care in the world for anything, since there is always this mutual understanding between them and the reader’s that they are just not made for this world.
Well this is a hoax people. Its very beautiful when you read indeed but I think it gives a very false message, not that I am not a sucker for those types myself. But we should know the difference between ‘fiction and reality’ as many say and here that is true in sense that the character isn’t exactly lonely. We are there with him, reading about his life, loving every single detail, copying all his songs into our playlists, inculcating his habits and ending up becoming him. But who is going to read our story that keenly? Who is going to sympathize and copy our playlists. Last time I was lonely people were leaving me because I was not entertaining anymore. Like it’s the condition due to which I am allowed to live, “be entertaining, or die!”. Now that would be something.
This dawned upon me when I was reading yet another YA novel with the very same character (this loneliness thing seems to be the highlight of every single novel, which is something else entirely) and then as I found myself obsessing over his profile I just couldn’t help but this what a huge impact novels have upon us, and how many teenagers out there just after reading might have found something in common with those characters they read about. How many of them might have fallen prey to this fictional loneliness, just waiting to be read by someone.
So in the end we all crave interaction, and I don’t think that is selfish.