I trade my sleep for books.
Sometimes my meals, too.
It was regular, when I was young, to stay up late reading for leisure, diving into my bed at the first creaking sound that might suggest my mother was waking up to come yell at me and my sister to go to sleep. I didn't discover Jhereg until 7th grade, so I guess the reading must have faded away in high school, not junior high, when we began to have required reading, and greater access to social lives, and the guilt of not doing my required reading was more overwhelming than the need to become completely absorbed in an excellent novel. The moments still came occasionally, of course; sleepless nights for Vlad Taltos or Harry Potter, and two of Robin Hobb's trilogies. The studying and homework produced a few sleepless nights as well, but my mind was less alert for those. Reading for leisure has never been boring.
Every good story has a revolution. Or something like it, I've noticed. Harry Potter. Vlad Taltos. I've been reading lately, after having discovered the availability of books online, though it's nothing like being able to flip the pages of a book, turning back to reread something that I thought I might have missed. It was the easy click, click of a button that made it so completely acceptable for me to read The Hunger Games in one sitting, in the wee hours of the night until the dawn broke. Of course, when I was reading it a mere two weeks ago, the technology that the site was using didn't allow for skipping pages, so refreshing that link meant starting from Page One, and also meant not knowing how far away I was from the ending. Which made it impossible for me to fathom stopping to sleep, because, well, I have no self-control.
When I read Graceling, two nights ago, I got sent to a different site that, while did allow me to jump to a page, was also less willing to load at times because of a high usage, and mildly suggested that I go buy a file of the book to download. Hmm. I'm contemplating a kindle, but I do think that I'd like to collect these recent literary gifts in a physical form.
Anyway. The revolutions. Harry had one, of a sort, except he wasn't really a rebel. Vlad had one, is probably still facing one, but it's not always the focus of his stories. They're more apparent, I think, in the stories with the female protagonist (though I can't speak for Robin Hobb). His Dark Materials. The Mortal Instruments. The Hunger Games. The Seven Kingdoms. There's always some sort of fight going on. I'm not sure if I read the Mortal Instruments because it was good, or if it was out of loyalty to Cassandra Clare and curiosity at what her published work would be like. I haven't gotten to the fourth book. I'm a little surprised that it should turn into a saga, but I can't recall what happened in the third.
I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic. Because, even though I remember saying out loud some weeks or months ago that I'm not sure I believe in love anymore, I've been reminded, in the past few days, that I do believe in love. It just happens that the love I believe in is fictional. I believe in the love of Katniss and Peeta. Katsa and Po. Fire and Brigan. Even Lyra and Will, in spite of their youth, had a love that was obvious, and desperate, and sad. It's the kind of love that my mind gets lost in. I want to be so fiercely in love, so powerfully swept in a love that is do-or-die, a love that I am not even aware of until it hits me with one blow, a love that is painful to look at, that struggles through impossible obstacles that will break your heart, leaving you a little more shattered, a little more vulnerable but much more wholesome when together, before it can finally come to a happy, or at least satisfying conclusion, because getting to the end of a brilliant story always does kind of suck. Except, I want to have that depth without having to go through all the wretched, bloody near-death experiences that the characters go through, the drama that escalates, the players all dying or almost dying for each other in whatever creative way the authors have come up with. Because that doesn't really exist in my world. Most people probably don't think it's necessary to almost die before you discover your love. It exists in fantasy novels and Taiwanese dramas, and I don't wish it for my reality, and I don't desire drama or a bloodbath, but I want that depth.
What else have I noticed? The best friend never wins. The girl always gets the new guy, who sparks her in a way that the best friend never does. Clary and Jace, Katniss and Peeta, Katsa and Po, Fire and Brigan. All the heroines have a best guy friend who she grew up with, who knows everything about her, who understands her endlessly, who is actually secretly in love with her. But the best friend never wins. Simon. Gale. Maybe Giddon wasn't Katsa's best friend, but he certainly fit the bill elsewhere. And poor Archer. They all lose their heart's strongest desire, the love that they would, quite seriously, die for. It's always the new guy, the mystery, the challenge, the one who treats her differently than what she's used to. No matter how much she loves her best friend, how desperately she wants to hold on to him, she's always in love with someone else.
Harry's case was different. I have nothing against Ginny, but he obviously should have married Luna.
It was regular, when I was young, to stay up late reading for leisure, diving into my bed at the first creaking sound that might suggest my mother was waking up to come yell at me and my sister to go to sleep. I didn't discover Jhereg until 7th grade, so I guess the reading must have faded away in high school, not junior high, when we began to have required reading, and greater access to social lives, and the guilt of not doing my required reading was more overwhelming than the need to become completely absorbed in an excellent novel. The moments still came occasionally, of course; sleepless nights for Vlad Taltos or Harry Potter, and two of Robin Hobb's trilogies. The studying and homework produced a few sleepless nights as well, but my mind was less alert for those. Reading for leisure has never been boring.
Every good story has a revolution. Or something like it, I've noticed. Harry Potter. Vlad Taltos. I've been reading lately, after having discovered the availability of books online, though it's nothing like being able to flip the pages of a book, turning back to reread something that I thought I might have missed. It was the easy click, click of a button that made it so completely acceptable for me to read The Hunger Games in one sitting, in the wee hours of the night until the dawn broke. Of course, when I was reading it a mere two weeks ago, the technology that the site was using didn't allow for skipping pages, so refreshing that link meant starting from Page One, and also meant not knowing how far away I was from the ending. Which made it impossible for me to fathom stopping to sleep, because, well, I have no self-control.
When I read Graceling, two nights ago, I got sent to a different site that, while did allow me to jump to a page, was also less willing to load at times because of a high usage, and mildly suggested that I go buy a file of the book to download. Hmm. I'm contemplating a kindle, but I do think that I'd like to collect these recent literary gifts in a physical form.
Anyway. The revolutions. Harry had one, of a sort, except he wasn't really a rebel. Vlad had one, is probably still facing one, but it's not always the focus of his stories. They're more apparent, I think, in the stories with the female protagonist (though I can't speak for Robin Hobb). His Dark Materials. The Mortal Instruments. The Hunger Games. The Seven Kingdoms. There's always some sort of fight going on. I'm not sure if I read the Mortal Instruments because it was good, or if it was out of loyalty to Cassandra Clare and curiosity at what her published work would be like. I haven't gotten to the fourth book. I'm a little surprised that it should turn into a saga, but I can't recall what happened in the third.
I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic. Because, even though I remember saying out loud some weeks or months ago that I'm not sure I believe in love anymore, I've been reminded, in the past few days, that I do believe in love. It just happens that the love I believe in is fictional. I believe in the love of Katniss and Peeta. Katsa and Po. Fire and Brigan. Even Lyra and Will, in spite of their youth, had a love that was obvious, and desperate, and sad. It's the kind of love that my mind gets lost in. I want to be so fiercely in love, so powerfully swept in a love that is do-or-die, a love that I am not even aware of until it hits me with one blow, a love that is painful to look at, that struggles through impossible obstacles that will break your heart, leaving you a little more shattered, a little more vulnerable but much more wholesome when together, before it can finally come to a happy, or at least satisfying conclusion, because getting to the end of a brilliant story always does kind of suck. Except, I want to have that depth without having to go through all the wretched, bloody near-death experiences that the characters go through, the drama that escalates, the players all dying or almost dying for each other in whatever creative way the authors have come up with. Because that doesn't really exist in my world. Most people probably don't think it's necessary to almost die before you discover your love. It exists in fantasy novels and Taiwanese dramas, and I don't wish it for my reality, and I don't desire drama or a bloodbath, but I want that depth.
What else have I noticed? The best friend never wins. The girl always gets the new guy, who sparks her in a way that the best friend never does. Clary and Jace, Katniss and Peeta, Katsa and Po, Fire and Brigan. All the heroines have a best guy friend who she grew up with, who knows everything about her, who understands her endlessly, who is actually secretly in love with her. But the best friend never wins. Simon. Gale. Maybe Giddon wasn't Katsa's best friend, but he certainly fit the bill elsewhere. And poor Archer. They all lose their heart's strongest desire, the love that they would, quite seriously, die for. It's always the new guy, the mystery, the challenge, the one who treats her differently than what she's used to. No matter how much she loves her best friend, how desperately she wants to hold on to him, she's always in love with someone else.
Harry's case was different. I have nothing against Ginny, but he obviously should have married Luna.
coming from a caroliine @ 22:53
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