So I had really good intentions to write my next blog several days ago, then a few days ago, then yesterday. But you know what they say about the road paved with good intentions.
I have an excellent excuse, though. Had to finish a book first.
Do any of you have this malady? That you get so involved in a novel you start feeling like you live there and you can’t concentrate on anything else until you’ve read the last page. Not like my husband reads the last page, i.e., skipping to the back of the book first to see if it has a happy ending. He does that, really. I maintain that such a dastardly practice is a crime against the author, who has carefully structured the book to lead its reader through the story and reach the end in the proper way, and that the end is meaningless without the beginning and the entire middle. He ignores me.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I usually get to a certain point in a novel where I just can’t stop reading. Anything else that can possibly be put on hold is set aside so I can find out what’s going to happen to these characters who have become my buddies, my family, my world.
The danger is that I can get so revved up about knowing how the book ends that I start racing through the final pages, practically skimming the text. That’s when I have to take several deep breaths, call my Plot Addicts Anonymous sponsor, and force myself to read slowly and ENJOY the story. The language. The process of reading.
Back to my good blogger intentions. I had been reading a big book, “The Hour I First Believed” by Wally Lamb, and the end was in sight, so I was compelled to devote all of last evening to it, finally trying to force my eyes to stay open so I could read one more page, then one more, until I fell asleep on the couch with the book open on my mid-section and the cat stretched out half on me and half on the book. Then today I took a morning break AND an afternoon break in order to keep reading, even changed my noon ice skating schedule in order to read during lunch, then stayed at my desk after work to finish the last few pages.
Free at last!
So really, I want to know, does anyone else get that involved in fiction? Because I don’t have this tendency just with books. Movies, too. Only there it’s manifested by an absolute hatred of anyone who dares to talk to me while I’m watching. You never ever want to invite me to hang out in your living room with several friends to catch a video. And asking me questions during the movie? Such as “Why did he do that?” or “What did that mean?” Or the absolute worst, “Do you think he’ll really do that?” Nyet. Nada. Never. Not if you value your life.
When I was in high school and “West Side Story” was released, back in the days when actually going to a theatre was the only way for ordinary folk to see a movie, I went to that one with girl from my synagogue, someone I didn’t know very well. Big mistake. Because afterwards, as we were coming out of the theatre, this practically perfect stranger had the audacity to start talking. And to expect me to answer.
I was truly ready to kill.
Because that movie had, well, moved me so much, and so completely, that I was still in it for several minutes after we left. Which is not an uncommon experience – often everything even seems to sound different right after I leave a movie theatre – but it was more true for that film than any other I had experienced. Still is.
OK, there’s always an exception to any rule, and there must have been a few “no talk” exceptions in my movie watching career. Let me think. Oh, right, here’s an example: about 25 years ago, when my husband and I watched this was so-bad-it’s-good science fiction flick on our old black and white TV. The story was about some sort of overgrown plant that was gobbling up cities, and the fun part was that it was feasting on a bunch of towns in central Illinois, towns we knew or had lived in. This monster plant didn’t want to play in Peoria, it just wanted to digest it!
And then there was … or … Drat! Come to think of it, that might be the only exception.
Anyway, having to finish that book by Wally Lamb is my excuse for not writing another blog until tonight. And after I turn off the computer, I have a new Jonathan Kellerman book waiting for me.
See you next year!
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About not wanting to lay a good book down, you have just described our family. It was always, "Okay Mom, just as soon as I finish this chapter". It was not unusual for all five of us to sit around the living room reading, a habit that carried on to the next generation. At a recent birthday dinner at our house, at least three people spent the evening reading novels while the rest of us watched TV or played Scrabble. I have always loved to read in bed, and some years ago, when I was still working for a living, I started reading only boring books at night so I could go to sleep and be able to get up the next morning. When I had a really good gripper--Scott Turow or John Grishom--all bets were off. I was a zombie the next day.
ReplyDeleteAs for movies, I could really relate to your experience of "afterglow". I grew up going to movies almost every Saturday (in those antideluvian days, my 25 cent allowance would buy me a movie ticket and popcorn, with a nickle left over. Anyway, my favorite movies were the musicals and I saw them all. I danced as Ann Miller, sang as Jane Powell, and clowned as Betty Hutton. At the end of the movie, I would leave the theater and be stunned as the afternoon sun when it hit me. The transition from fantasy to reality was much to fast, almost heartbreaking. At the same time, I was fascinated with how such a thing could be happen. It was like coming down from a faraway planet, and the real world in Decatur, Illinois was pretty sorry by comparison. But the movies then were so moral, so instructive on how to be a good person. They made a deep impression on me as a little girl and helped shape my personal idealism for which I am not apologetic. That is what ultimately led me to be a Baha'i.
Wonderful comments, thank you. I used to irritate my family by reading during dinner. But part of that was not wanting to listen to my parents talk. It wasn't pleasant dinner conversation.
ReplyDeleteWhen I read my comments on books and movies, I realized that I forgot to hit the edit button. Please excuse all the typos! Yes I know--an English major notices these things.
ReplyDelete