I rewrote the first sentence of this particularly unwieldy piece of prose a dozen times before settling for one that felt right. It was important that I get it right, you see. I needed something snappy, but not pretentious. Something impressive, but not gratuitous. That, more than anything, has shown me the kind of torture a favorite wordsmith of mine has put himself through over the past twenty years.
In a lot of ways, this blog is about a book. More specifically, it’s about why you should read a certain book. I intend it to be the first in a series of book recommendations where I will ramble my way to exactly why some stories have managed to hit the right notes for me.
Actually, no, that doesn’t quite convey what I have in mind, not by half.
Let’s put it this way. There are stories you enjoy; they are a lull against life’s relentless onslaught, a temporary retreat to revivify a soul sapped wholly of its rigor. There are stories that bring you deliberation; they offer insight in their subtle ways, teaching you more valuable things about life than the experience of actually living through two scores of years. There are stories that inspire you to greatness, compel you to fall in love, and make you weep for love lost, for tragedies spun, and for heroics undone.
And then, there are stories that speak to a part of your being that you never even realized was there. They make you feel whole, wholeness like you never thought was possible in this life. They dance to the very rhythm of your existence, the unheard music that sways you ever so gently one way, then another. Perhaps now you can more appropriately wrap your head around the music analogy I made earlier in the text. Perhaps not.
What I’m trying to say is this: In a lot of ways, this blog is about a book. More specifically, it’s about why you should read a certain book.
After hours of just staring at my screen, not even knowing where to begin to describe this book, I realized that the whole thing is an exercise in vain futility. I realized that I must try not to talk so much about the book itself, but what makes it really special. I realized that’s what I should be doing at any rate. I realized that’s what I would’ve done anyway.
It all has to do with the nature of stories, and our collective fascination with them. People have been telling stories to each other since the dawn of civilization. No, people have been telling stories to each other even before the planting of the first seed. Before the stone, and the wheel, and the fire. When mankind was on the cusp of divination itself, followed by perception, followed by imagination.
What is so fascinating about a story? We cast this unfathomable imagination out like the net of a fisherman, hoping to catch a glimmer of something that reflects our own lives back at us. When you think about it, it’s not just the tale of a burgeoning hero, burdened with so-called “glorious purpose.” It’s not the swashbuckling adventures of a heroine on a quest for vengeance. It’s not about unreciprocated love, or the pang of betrayal, or the sweet savor of remembrance. No, it’s never about any one vestige of being, but all of them.
People assume that drama is an invention of humanity, a template to shape our stories around. That couldn’t be any further from the truth. There is no such thing as drama. It’s as abstract a concept as time. As there is no time — and it is only convenience that has led us to come up with a word to describe this existentially perplexing, counterintuitive, and evasive phenomenon — there is no drama. Drama is just a word to describe the spectrum of human emotion and understanding. It’s a perfect definition underpinning our need to make sense of the world, and to tell stories. That’s what definitions are for, ultimately. We come up with words to describe and define the absurd experience of living this mystifying life, little knowing that in time, these words take on lives of their own.
And so, we come to it. Words, names, and definitions. The most majestic triumph of the human psyche.
There is an undeniable power to words. There is an often overlooked strength to names and what they signify. You could trace the whole of human cognition down to those fundamental definitions, a wellspring that spawns our idea of self and grants us the ability to interact with the world around.
Think of the last time you read a sentence so emotionally potent, so pertinently profound, that you couldn’t help but recite it in your head over and over again. Think of the beliefs you hold close to your heart, catechisms that not only outline who you are, but can explain away your very inclinations. Think of how a great speech can move a person, or a group of people, to attempt extraordinary feats.
Nothing can move a man’s soul as surely as the words to a powerful song, or a great poem. Words inspire and spur us to greatness. They fire up our mind and set ablaze our soul. They untie knots from our wearied brains and bodies. They give our limited faculties the chance to grasp the whole of humanity and life, even if it is for a brief while. Even if it is in the fleeting moment of listening to a song that brings you to tears, or relieves you of your self and gives you a taste of the divine.
I find myself in a delirious, rambling state again. What makes this story special, you ask?
Well, some might ascribe it to the impeccable worldbuilding. Some might refer to the brilliant, subversive narrative. Or the amazing characterization. Or the perfect pinch of drama. Or the manifestation of the oldest, surest way of finding your way to a man’s heart of hearts; that of sitting around the hearthfire on a cold autumn night, telling stories that give you flashes of inspiration and make the shadows dance around the room in a treacherous but not frightening fashion.
I suppose all of those are true in their own right. But for me, for now, for here, what makes this story special are words. It is the often-perfect, rhythmical arrangement of words that leaves you in a shiver of goosebumps. It is the gently teasing, lightly dancing figures of speech that bespeak of double entendres and literary analogies, the poetic allusions that capture the very essence of what it means to be human.
It is a tale about the names of things, the words that help us understand, and the songs that hide the truth of history. It is a story about love, loss, bravery, and tragedy. It is about a silence that is felt, but not heard. A silence of three parts.
Yes, in a lot of ways, this blog is about a book.
