I am ,again, a reader: avid, avowed and unapologetic.I have been back in the literary fold for these 17 days past.I have waited to write on my return to words, to a joy that is so much more than passive indulgence in others' creativity,in an effort to horde the experience before sending it out into the world.
I returned, Day 1, to Charlotte Bronte's VILLETTE. I was famished for words, and the worlds they enable in our imagination,slightly beyond,perhaps, what is reasonable.I picked up where I left off with Miss Lucy. I had scant time to push further than a few pages but felt,instantly,a symbiotic welcome back to my favourite pastime.
I have tried to keep my reading on an even keel. I know too well how easy it would be to spend hours lost in the wilds and civilizations of alternate paradises and societies,playgrounds and prisons. So, in lieu of causing an intellectual avalanche, I have eased back between the pages, of this and another book or two.
I have a veritable army of books lined up at the ready. I am not a slow reader and do not possess the self-control or patience to become one.These books will doubtless be ingested ,rather faster than intention dictates, with immediate replacements in the wings.Yet, my book fast instilled in me an understanding,however slight,that to read a few pages at a sitting is its own kind of pleasure,with its own rewards.
I will ever be following my soul's quest to devour as many books as possible in this brief life.After a month away from reading, I have a renewed appreciation for the small,slowed-down intimacies that the written word creates. Pace and volume are,perhaps,also-rans in the act of the intellectual and artistic grace of good literature.Perhaps the only thing that truly matters is the engulfing feeling of having,finally,returned home to myself.
PHOTO: A LETTER WRITTEN BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
No comments:
Post a Comment