Horrors of Humanity

Recently I finished the book Jackdaws by Ken Follett.  Set in the last days of WWII in Europe, the subject matter cannot help but include the horrible things humans put other humans through during that time.  Sick is perhaps the only way to describe those things, people torturing other people and treating them like so much rubbish.  Follett does not often go explicitly into the gory details, but one cannot read or write about this particular war and skirt completely around the subject.  Follett, however, also addresses the issue, through the main characters, of the horrible things we do even to those we profess to love.  In doing so, he does not make light of the larger circumstances, but certainly makes his point that acts of human coldness are not limited to fighting the “enemy”.  There are many lessons to be learned from this novel, but, strangely, one that sticks with me the most is that even love between two people cannot stop us from hurting each other.  Humans seem by nature to torment each other, especially when hatred or love are involved, but it seems that the latter can many times be more painful than the former.  In Jackdaws, while Flick’s husband takes action in the end to redeem himself, and while Flick never learns (at least formally) that she’s been sold out by her husband, in some sense his action against her is as seriously heinous and unforgivable as his actions against those deemed the enemy.  In this single moment very near the end of the novel, Follett effectively and almost beautifully makes what is perhaps the most important point in his novel — that the crimes people are capable of committing against each other are not limited to crimes of war, that human beings are in this way so terribly flawed.  This moment has really stayed close to me in the few days since I’ve finished this novel.  In fact, I’ve thought about it often.  It is such an important lesson to learn that faithfulness to and protection of our relationships with those we love is imperative in order to keep us from becoming the basest of beings.   In short, while Jackdaws is a story of bravery, of human courage, it is also a story of pain and the results of giving in to the temptation of pride.  And we all know what pride goeth before.

My Fantasy Life

I’ve read a handfull of books over the past few years that would be categorized under the genre of fantasy.  I’ve read these books for a variety of reasons, but never because I really considered myself “into” fantasy.   It always seemed to me like a genre that draws darker personalities than mine (although mine certainly can be darkish), and really I was into mystery, specifically British mystery, and I just didn’t think that the two genres jived very well.  But recently I had an experience that has changed my mind, at least about being able to be into fantasy, and, perhpas, my liking.  A friend had been urging me to delve into the works of Ursula K. Le Guin, and, as usually happens when friends strongly suggest these kinds of things, I always had too much other stuff to read, was too busy, etc.  This past August, however, I finally succumbed to the temptation and began reading Le Guin, specifically “A Wizard of Earthsea.”  I am hesitant to deem something a life-changing experience, but in this case, if nothing else, it certainly changed my reading life.  I realized that fantasy does not have to be just dwarves and elves and gnomes and wizards and dragons and quests.  It is those things, but it can be ever so much more.  It can be smart and plucky (Terry Pratchett immediately comes to mind), profound and, at least in Le Guin’s case (and, I’m sure, in other cases as well), intensely intellecutally satisfying.  My next choice was “The Sword of Shannara” by Terry Brooks.  While not as intellectually stimulating as Le Guin, I found Brooks to be a fantastic, page-turning read (albeit reading more like action/adventure than true fantasy), something I like so much about the mystery genre.  I am also very much into series characters, something fantasy tends to provide with gusto. I have much more fantasy reading to do, and, while I’m sure it will be carefully interjected into a reading schedule (no real schedule…I simply read as much as possible) that includes my tried and true favorites as well as my trials and errors, it is a genre that I have a feeling I will be anticipating with more and more eagerness.

The Book as Opiate

I discovered that I loved to read before I even learned to read.  In my nearly 30 years as a reader, books have been a constant stay, a tried and true companion.  I never leave the house without a book tucked in my bag, even if I know full well that I won’t have time to read it.  Books help me through my love-hate realationship with life.  I love being around books, looking at books, reading books, the way they look, the way they smell, the way they feel…having books around me makes me feel at ease.  Needless to say, two of my favorite places to visit are bookstores and libraries.  Books are an expensive yet informative and enlightening, not to mention entertaining, addiction for me, but an addiction that I happily feed because the points of view of others, be they in true settings or imaginary, assist me greatly in many ways in getting through this interesting and disturbing thing we call the human experience.  With a good book (or even a not so good book) I can slip away from the stresses of my daily life, from my own self-absorbed ponderings about what life has in store, and delve into the thoughts and lives, troubles and triumphs, imagination and scholarship of others. Life is not simple, nor is it always fun.  Sometimes food for thought or just plain escape is necessary.  Fortunately, we have billions of pages to read.