Not to be 1-dimensional here, but I don’t think I ever did delve into some other bits of literature I had come to love over the years (since high school, actually). Mostly you’ve heard me talk about horror, sci-fi, fantasy, erotic, thriller, stuff like that. Escape fiction. Basic escape fiction. It’s all good. When I want to walk away from the world and into a land of super-cool, interesting characters and fantastical ideas, the kinds of worlds we could only dream of living in (because it would be super-cool)–I long for a bit of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, some of Terry Goodkind’s stuff. I’ve read Terry Brooks, too. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want to go to Hogwarts? How cool is that school? Of course, I wouldn’t want to face a giant troll in the girl’s bathroom with only a wooden stick that just happens to have magical powers. When I was that age, I got scared one time from getting pulled into the girl’s bathroom and then seeing that really freaky tampon machine. It looked like you got candy bars out of it.
But, again, I digress. The real topic here is literary fiction: the stuff that resonates with you on a human level, touches your soul, helps you remember what it means to be a human, how important life is, how every moment and every breath and every thought can remind you of the last few moments of something pivotal in your life, something remarkable. Something like God. Like the feeling of seeing your little boy’s heartbeat inside your wife’s womb. The rush of feelings. The miracle. All the miracles in life remembered, never forgotten, all because of one little book, they relate to you. And like how your eyelashes embrace your vision for just a nanosecond, suddenly those words in that book become a part of you. The pages of the book envelope you in truth.
I’ll only name a few that have fascinated me on a literary level as well as an emotional level; but I won’t go into too much detail on them. Some you may have heard of. Others you might not have. Leave comments if you like on those you’ve never heard of or have heard of. Some books, I don’t even have anymore–and I wish I did. Others, I still have–and will never let go. So here’s a few titles to tantalize your teeming brains–
HEART OF DARKNESS by Josef Conrad. The style itself inspired me in ways I can’t even explain. But there was always something mystifying and alluring about the basic case study of a man named Kurtz who falls into a state of madness, utter madness, a kind of greed and hopeless savagery. As Conrad would say, “utter savagery”. I could go into more detail, but I won’t. Kind of hideous. Serious topics, too, such as racialism (and I don’t mean racism either, but that topic always heats up in this book, too, which is why it’s such a powerful piece of literature). The book is simply infectious in its depth of darkness. It’ll change the way you look at humanity.
THE THINGS THEY CARRIED by Tim O’Brien. What I can say about this incredible book is the amount of true glory, struggle and intensity bouncing from page to page. Moreover, the simple fact that it’s a work of fiction stuns me in the sense that the author himself experienced the fiction. Let me explain: it’s a book about the Vietnam War. O’Brien’s the narrator. The funny part is that every bit of the book is pure fiction. None of it happened. The reason why it’s so funny is that O’Brien himself served in Vietnam! So, in essence, every word he wrote in this book was true. In my mind, in my soul, without a doubt, Tim O’Brien achieved something I had honestly never seen before in literature (only later did I read more works from other authors that achieved this same thing): he essentially redefined truth.
This is a short story–but a beautiful one at that–
“The Tell-tale Heart” by the great master Edgar Allan Poe. I got to tell you, you end up wondering yourself if you’re going mad. Paranoia, fear, guilt–they become your companions. And they never leave. It’s scary because Poe invited them into your house by actually talking to you in this short story! He constantly writes in a 2nd person as if you’re not only reading the story, you’re living it. And the way he writes–dear God, the way he writes!–so erratic, broken, wild, maddening! You feel the horror of madness inside the narrator. You hear his own crazy heartbeat!–that demon zephyr inside his soul ripping apart every gossamer wing, holding him down and turning him into a broken prisoner….
These are some books I’ve read in the distant past (at least it feels distant. I’m not THAT old, people!). There are more. I’m actually lucky to have a complete collection of Poe’s works, but I currently need to acquire some of the best, most legendary works I had ever read by other authors. Long ago (again, it feels like it’s long ago!).
I’ll ask the same question I just posed myself and then answered:
Any classics you like? Classic literature, the deepest bits of literary fiction? Just plain literal works? Comment, e-mail, we’ll tawk (that’s right, I said tawk. We’ll tawk over cawfee and discuss. Come on, people, Mike Meyers, Saturday Night Live! Got to love it!)
