Bookworm's paradigm

Why read?

An essay by Katha Pollitt, associate editor and columnist for The Nation, addresses this vague and strikingly ambiguous question. And furthermore, what books should be considered for the widely debated literary canon, in which reading minds can submerge themselves?

The term “literary canon” (as I have learned) refers to the process of determining what books are “classics” by our standards, making them worthy of literary critics and learning students.

While scanning lists of books I had read, as well as other books placed on the shelf of literary greatness, I quickly dove into favorites of mine as well as my colleagues’.

Going over titles, a slow pattern seemed to form as a good majority of those most favorable to student readers were those that might have been of a more morbid and dystopian nature, conveying characters or society as rather unpleasant entities with their faults and hardships.

Lord of the Flies, Crime and Punishment and Macbeth are all examples that fall into this category. This frequented theme of a twisted, depressing nature was in many of the works, leaving the readers with a scarring image.

The other day, a friend of mine was looking through pictures on Facebook from an album titled “Great Gatsby Party,” where guests were dressed in snappy Jazz Age costumes while dancing and drinking wine in quintessential ‘20s fashion. “I never really understand Great Gatsby parties,” she said. “I always feel like someone is going to die in a pool.”

Chuckling at this, I realized how easy it is to be sucked into the glamor and elegance within the era of The Great Gatsby without so much as a wink to the rather somber tone of the work as a whole.

The grandiose setting of the novel subdues the more catastrophic events that occur, so much so that its legendary, violent ending seems glamorous. Perhaps we are enamored with this dismal dénouement.  

Novels with ghastly endings tend to have a sort of resonance. It is the failure of our protagonists that we look up to. Their faults are characteristic, memorable and human, prodding readers to be all those things, too.

(Warning! Literary spoilers await!)

The dying heroes and suffering archetypes hold a sense of greatness, as their downfall is a landmark in written works and an echo in young minds. Would A Tale of Two Cities have been remembered if Carton had not gone to the gallows? Ethan Frome, if he had not taken the sled ride? Romeo, had he received the post from the Friar Lawrence?

There’s this watching-a-train-wreck tendency that ties together the literary canon as readers are made to anticipate that promised failure. I believe a certain aberrant catharsis arises when witnessing the troubled protagonists as victims to their series of unfortunate events.

Whether it is relationship troubles with the Brontë sisters, or an existential crisis with our dear friend Hamlet, one could answer Pollitt’s question like so: We read to relate. We strive to touch that character and think maybe we could undergo that, too.

Perhaps we can achieve the greatness or self-realization that they did through their despair. These heroes make suffering look valiant, poetic, stylish. Even the names of these books hold a sought-after radiance.

These days, classic literature is trendy, a social tick mark on how cultured you are. The Catcher in the Rye is carried like a distressed pair of jeans or a vintage scarf. Urban Outfitters is stocking up on Lolita and The Bell Jar. A copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road is in the knit knapsack of every other hipster.

A 2009 study from The National Endowment for the Arts found that for the first time in 25 years, reading rates are rising among young adults between the ages of 18 and 24 (a whopping 9 percent). This pandemic leaves the adolescent nation split into two almost equal groups: readers and non-readers.

Whether this comes from Harry Potter, Jodi Picoult novels or — dare I say it — Twilight, I embrace this new-found percentage of bookworms.

As author C.S. Lewis once said, “We read to know we are not alone.” Engage in making friends in between book covers. If one can find any shred of comfort or understanding in flipping the pages to see what hardships their companion encounters next, then by all means, read on.


E-mail: ftirado@indiana.edu