Books That Made Me (& Offer Laughter, Tears & Connection)
What you were holding in your hands was none other than a feral, hungry... story. Your professor repeated it after he noticed the confused expressions. The subject was Modernist Literature. You were studying "The War of the Worlds". It wasn't "just" a story, your professor pointed out. (And it wasn't a Steven Spielberg film, your coursemate told you later.) H.G. Wells's novel may be a compelling masterpiece after its initial release, but you couldn't relate it. Your attempts to immerse in it seemed laborious to your coursemate (after you asked him a few questions), prompting him to ask you what books have made you.
You finished reading "Paola Santiago and the River of Tears" last week, which was a pleasant surprise. Your cousin, who was interested in Latin American literature, was hesitant at first. The lead characters were on the cusp of their teenage period, lost in an eerie cacti field in Arizona. They were guarding the nearby community against malevolent spirits that would roam that parched land during the solstice. She didn't understand why such a story didn't catch the attention of Hollywood. (And you don't have a clue at all.) You wanted a diversion from your reading list, and it didn't take a few days (to finish reading it). You saw adventure, which wouldn't be called one without the danger, and it reminded you of Rob MacGregor's "Indiana Jones and the Seven Veils". (Professor Henry Jones, Jr. was obsessed with the Celtic druids, and he may have found their descendants in a remote jungle in Brazil. Can he get out in one piece?) The pandemic may be the reason why you got hooked to such stories, but you haven't answered your coursemate's question.
Stories Are Living Things. They're Quite Sensitive
The book that changed my life. You treasured your paperback copy of Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451", which wasn't only a dystopian novella. It was also a frightening tale of what would happen to the world if the majority of the populace were illiterate. You were privileged to study literature (and you don't mind losing sleep while writing an essay on H.G. Wells and his intriguing works), but you were aware that many won't look at it the way you (and your coursemates) would do. Books were burned, but those who loved literature would speak out their favorite lines aloud. It was heartbreaking (like addiction to social media).
I didn't believe in ghosts until I read Hindu mythology. You haven't set foot in India (and you might not ever be), but Aru Shah's adventures would be good enough. She would meet Shukra, a selfish man, who asked her to give him her happiest - and saddest - memories before crossing the Bridge of Forgetting. But she would get lost (if she agree). She had a mission. She may have outsmarted him, but a curse followed her (after crossing the bridge). You could relate to it, but it wasn't what you envisioned. (The secretary of the English Department refused to accept your essay after you missed the deadline.)
I wish I'd written "The Hobbit". Your coursemates may have teased you on your diminutive stature, but you bet that none of them would ride on a hot-air balloon. (You prefer to do it after sunrise.) They would be scared of snakes. (These reptiles avoid humans as much as possible.) And they would avoid jumping from the top of ten-foot waterfalls. (It took you ten minutes before you threw caution to the wind.) You haven't told them when and where, as you could be smug at times. You tried to conceal it, though.
If I need to forget everything, I read... Tintin's adventures (and misadventures). Your coursemate may have accused Herge of racism, but you held your tongue. (America became too politically correct. Or it might be you.) Tintin may have gone to many parts of the world, but you noticed a pattern from the very beginning. Danger followed Tintin like a shadow. The people he was supposed to count on turned out to be dimwits. And routine could be fatal. It reminded you to go out (and brave the light rainfall).
I managed 10% of Stephen King's "It" during lockdown. You saw the remake of "It" and its sequel, which made you curious about the book. And you were quite disappointed at both. "It" could be King's attempt to reimagine "Moby Dick", so you skipped many chapters. You weren't guilty about it. (You were taught to enjoy reading at an early age.) Some parts left you wanting more, though. (Count Dracula made a surprise visit to the library on a sleepy afternoon.) You were also unsettled at the fact that this group of outsiders managed to grow up and reach adulthood because they used fear as a motivation (to succeed). And they don't have offspring. Chance or coincidence?
Why I'm So Fortunate
Your cousin recommended "The Cursed Carnival and Other Calamities", a collection of short stories by authors from diverse backgrounds. It was about demigods, but not Percy Jackson (or Magnus Chase). Rick Riordan's tale was the last on the list (and it was the first you read). And you were delighted. Your father once said that Irish names - and words - were different long before the English set foot (in Ireland). It didn't take you long to yearn for a visit. But your curiosity was piqued. You asked your old man how he seemed to know much. Tears were welling in his eyes (or so you thought). A book might have sneaked into the corner of his heart and stayed there. You rather look at it as a tonic for Covid-19 times.
