“There is really nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.” The Bluest Eye
I was suffering from see-a-book-run-far-far-away-in-opposite-direction disease (some may refer to this disease as antibookaholicism). What I basically had was some kind of allergy to reading fiction—I just simply couldn’t!!!
At first I was quite skillful in hiding my disease from friends. Whenever they loaned me a book, I would beg my mom to read it and fill me in on the plot, characters, theme, blaa, blaa, and blaa. But alas, it didn’t take them long to figure it out. (Damn, now why couldn’t I have had stupid friends!!) Of course I must say this game did turn my mom into a great story teller 😀
Ten years passed by before I even dared to pick up a novel on my own free will. It was “The Da Vinci Code.” I got pass page 5 when I realized I hadn’t understood a single word. Reread; no understand; reread; no understand. Eventually I gave up and downloaded the audio book of it. Even that was painstaking; I kept falling asleep after only 5 minutes. Even lullabies don’t work that fast.
I bought 5 novels but could get passed page 50 on any of them.Apparently I was still suffering from antibookaholicism. I tried numerous therapies to get cured but to no avail. I sagaciously diagnosed myself as suffering from a short attention span so:
1. I signed up at DailyLit …but deleted the emails without even opening them
My second self-diagnostic report revealed I had to read books in the format I’m used to, i.e. a softcopy, so:
2. I downloaded several ebooks, but can’t remember where I have even saved them. I also downloaded several audiobooks that worked beautifully…as sleeping pills.
I had completely given up hope…..until Toni Morrison came to my rescue.
The title was “The Bluest Eye”, but I somehow saw the phrase ‘pick me up’ on the cover. So I did….and I didn’t put it down until drops of silent tears fell on the last page.
Why this book?
Because her words penetrated deep into my soul; sent cold chills down my spine; sparked goose bumps all over my cold feet; reminded me of the magic that a language can create.
The story wasn’t unique but her narration was; the characters weren’t unique but her insight into their souls was; the style wasn’t unique but the way she made the words dance was.
And now the problem:
Ok now that I have been dis-antibookaholicsized I gotta find a book that can top “The Bluest Eye”. Currently I am reading “Eleven Minutes” and my first impression so far (till p.32) is: “Hey, this Paulo dude is seriously over rated!!!”
PS. On a different note: Rieanne, I’m still shoe shopping sweatie 😀