Reading

Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do, and play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.

- Mark Twain

For me this is one of those quotes that hits me every time I read it - it just seems to fit so well with how I see the world. Right now I'm applying it towards reading, serious reading, and all those English class accompaniments to serious reading. I mean I've been annotating, without being obliged to annotate.

I've always read a bit, for pleasure. In Elementary School I actually read quite a bit, but I was in Elementary School after all, and a bit confused about what I should read. The school's recommendations were beneath me - I needed big words and small print to be satisfied - and yet I couldn't branch into the world of adult reading thanks to foul language, mature content, and themes beyond my youthful understanding. My dad tried his best to help me, feeding me carefully selected novels from his collection of fantasy and science fiction. I devoured a lot of trash, and even a few classics, such as the Lord of the Rings and Ender's Game, but I never thought a bit about them.

But who wants to be told that there is something above their understanding? What child understands 'patience, you aren't ready, it won't mean what it should to you'? I have always felt fully capable, in possession of all my faculties, awake. And yet, looking back, I was in a mist. I read things and maybe understood the words but none of the meaning.

In Middle School I read what I wanted, and I read voraciously. Still, the depths of meaning inside of many of my books eluded me. By High School I was beginning to understand, but at the same time I found myself losing my taste for fiction. It seemed more useful to read nonfiction, to devour delicious facts and figures instead of adding more soul-searching, brain-twisting classic fiction to the top of my school pile.

Yes, I read for school. And I made fun of taking notes and such because I was obliged to do it. Emerging from high school I rejoiced! English class was over! It didn't bring the same sort of deep seated relief as being done with Math class brought, but the annotation and test routine had grown old. For a year, I read nothing of any real literary merit.

A stack of nonfiction. My textbooks. Colloquial Japanese, Teach Yourself Finnish, a Guide to Faroese. A handful of memoirs, which were nice enough. Mio Min Mio. Brødrene Løvehjerte. Animal Dreams.

And that was it.

And then I came home with just a few books, knowing my mind needed rest but not recognizing the growing hunger in my soul. I began to read, and read... and I found myself responding to the books in a thousand different ways. Then it happened. A dramatic shift, occurring almost unnoticed - I began to annotate.