There are different reasons for different people and even the same
people read for various reasons at specific periods of their lives. I have
realized that lately I read heavier type of books, and started to ask myself the
question why do I read at all and what is my need for reading based on those
days. Some suggestions which convinced me are to be found in one of the Alain
de Botton’s books in the chapter about reading. Maybe the answer is “Because books are so good at helping us to
become aware of certain things we feel”? Do the books provide us with
answers? De Botton does not think so. He says “our own wisdom begins where that of the author leaves it off…” or “Reading is on the threshold of the
spiritual life; it introduces us to it: it does not constitute it.”
So, let’s say that I read in this period of my life to uncover some of
my feelings that may have been dormant or I have been blind to. I am not sure
if I am progressing as my emotional life is still full of confusion. Things are
messy while I like them nice and neat, well structured. Looks that I will not
be able to have it my way, no matter how hard I try. Control over my life is
also doubtful. Perhaps it always has been that way but I was not forced to see
it so clearly as I am now, that I need to submit to medical treatments playing
havoc with my well-being. So, I am looking for new answers to my perennial
question: “How to live, prime minister?” Will books help? They should to some
extent, at least I can use them to amuse myself while waiting till some difficult
times pass. The only problem that reading purely for amusement does not work
for me. At least not now. I thought, I try though. Since I am in still in a catch-up
mode to cover the years of break in reading fiction, I thought that it is time
to read some of Ian McEwan. People rave about him. I got two of his books from
the local library, not exactly my pick, simply what was there.
Apparently and coincidentally the book is a remake
of Hamlet even if not a part of the Hogarth project. McEwan was not invited to
it and some think that it was a mistake in Hogarth Press judgement. So, he
wrote his version without any invitation and published it before Gillian Flynn’s
rendition of Hamlet will be finished. Did he win the race? This we will find
out. The book did not resonate with me on a deeper level, but I admire the masterful
story telling. At the same time, it was a good example of a mostly good book
that did not do a job for me. Looks that I do not read books for their story
line only. I think that the readers pleaser were the descriptions of the embryo
imbibing the alcohol drunk by his mother and making in depth wine connoisseurs’
comments. Cute, I would say, and the writer perhaps could not take my complement
as pleasing. Looks that I needed to have
my jibe as I only reluctantly give the author credit for the book. There is a
bad taste in my mouth it left. I have ticked off Ian McEwan and do not have to
return to his writing, unless persuaded.
The children Act and Nutshell. After few pages of The Children Act, I realized
that this is not going to be a book to read for fun. Well written, yes.
Interesting, yes. Only I knew the film with Emma Thompson and Stanley Tucci and
I remembered it well, so I put it aside and started the next one. I must say
that it was a novel idea to make an embryo a hero and the narrator of the book.
One has to smile and shake one’s head at the concept. I responded to some of
the humour, but a bit reluctantly. The style of writing is impressive, but
style only never impressed me. I need some essence, meaning.
