I am currently reading A Parade’s End by Ford Maddox Ford. I am very much in love with it. But I’m not quite finished it, so I can’t quite give it the review it deserves. But Christopher Tietjens goes to the top of my list for the best male characters ever written. Even though he’s supposedly the last of them, he’s one of the best fictional gentleman to ever grace the leaves of a book. He gives a man like Mr. Darcy or Colonel Brandon a run for his money.
I absolutely detested Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield was such a whiner, a complainer. He was just completely determined to find fault with everyone and everything and his own situation and refused to do anything about it. And everyone’s a phony, in the book, and so is he, but really what does that even mean? He said it so much the word lost its meaning by the end of the book. I just… I couldn’t. I understood it well enough to write about it for school but I can’t get behind a book with a character I don’t like. And I don’t mean villains. I love to hate characters, to find something redeemable in a completely detestable personality. But there was nothing worthwhile about reading that book. Why? Why do lit teachers salivate over having us read that book. Is that the point?
I love how I found more to write about a book I hated than a book I actually like, but give me some allowance that I haven’t finished Parade’s End.
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If I were to think of someone who fascinates me… I would probably mention some of my favorite characters. I am always intrigued by people that are quiet and reserved. Those that seem to hide hidden depths that those around them do not know. Characters like Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Darcy, Christopher Tietjens, or John Thornton. But I also understand characters like Jane Eyre, Anne Elliot, or Elinor Dashwood in their silent vigils over the men they love, waiting, not begging at the knees of men but quietly standing by and suffering through their agonies of love in quiet constancy. But I also find fascination in Fanny Brawne, and how constantly she loved and wore her black clothes for years after John Keats died. Sorry, I tend to be a bit of a romantic. So as such I do find kindred spirits in such poets as John Keats, Allen Ginsberg, W.H. Auden and E.E Cummings. Science Fiction writers I understand like Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov and Margaret Atwood. Then there are obviously scientists like Robert Oppenheimer and Carl Sagan, Neil deGrasse Tyson and Michio Kaku. Artists, like Van Gogh, and Goya. I guess you could say that great minds are what pull my attention. Those that create, think and invent, and see the world through eyes like I do. That they all seem to see beyond the noise and the trouble, and view the world not as we want but as it is and how it will be, how it could be. So to answer this question I guess you could say is a bit complicated, because I don’t give too much credit to one person over the other and this list will get quite long. Since it’s not just real people I’d invite to my dinner parties but characters as well. Even characters of my own, those I haven’t met yet.
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To think that I am an open book
Is a joke
I am not sun warmed pages
Flitting back and forth on a breeze
I am not something that lies there
Patiently open and ready to gain attention
It is so much more dreadful than that
I am an open wound, burning, bleeding
I am a raw nerve, treading on thin ice
Picture eyes blinded by the sun
Chaotic and unable to focus
I am a Polaroid burning and bubbling
In a fire of emotion
This is my curse
I am not an open book
I am a wreck
I am a natural disaster you can’t ignore
I am exposed
And every one can see it.
Filed under books, writing
Be gentle and have care, when you crack a book its like you’re breaking their spine and all the guts fall out, literally!
this is me, incase you were wondering…