“That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you are not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Tonight, while I sit here cuddled in one too many blankets and take a break from Paula McLain’s The Paris Wife, I’ve started thinking.
I’ve started thinking about why I read. Yeah, that’s a pretty elaborate question to be asking myself at 1:30 in the morning but I think that the message that Fitzgerald speaks is the heart of it all.
There is something so warm and comforting about sharing something as personal as literature with others. The words that I’ve found on page 39 of this novel have been devoured by plenty of other humans. I am not isolated. On this journey, I am not alone.
We live in a world where it is completely plausible that someone could feel more alone in a bustling crowd of people than they do by themselves in their bedroom. Whilst in the mix of other people’s agendas and senseless priorities, we can lose ourselves. And I often do.
Literature is my saving grace. Well, literature and Netflix. But hey, this blog isn’t about Netflix, now is it? (But wouldn’t that be an idea…)
Next up on my to-do list: start blog about watching nine consecutive hours of Criminal Minds and how it destroyed my emotions (as well as my eyesight).
Now back to business…
Literature is how I cope. Some people choose exercise, photography, painting, but I choose books. Books bring even the most diverse of people, together. When we read, we are one. We are one with the book and one with our fellow readers. We belong.
And that, dear friends, is beautiful.
I’m currently reading: The Paris Wife by Paula McLain.