I love reading. Usually I read James Patterson, but lately he hasn't been doing it for me. Everything has become predictable and repetitive. Most of the time, I reread some of my favorites like Jurassic Park, Lost World, Timeline, the Harry Potter Series, and the Twilight Saga. Lately, I've been haunting the Groton Public Library in order to find something new (or old) that I haven't read before. I read "The Shining" by Stephen King. Absolutely awesome book, maybe a new favorite. Then I dabbled in some non-fiction. I love Chelsea Handler's books, I've read them all except for the newest, "Chelsea, Chelsea Bang Bang." I can't seem to get my hands on that one. If you want a laugh, and don't mind a little raunchiness, her books would be your pick. Then I read all of Judge Judy Sheindlin's books. Those are good books if you are a woman and need a little empowering.
Wednesday, while loitering in the fiction section, I decided I would try reading Dennis Lehane's "Mystic River." The movie was really moving, so I thought the book might be even better. The "L" shelf also held Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird." I remember this book from my teen years, being forced to read and scrutinize its pages during high school English class with Mrs. Lawton. I shiver at the thought of her class. Everything about it was a nightmare, including the books forced upon us by the school's curriculum. It totally ruined the reading experience for me. The reading was totally for business purposes, no pleasure involved. Therefore, just like everything I learned in Pre-Calculus, it turned into dust in the wind once the torture of junior year was over.
I decided to check out "To Kill a Mockingbird." This book is a Pulitzer Prize winner, for goodness sake. It should be pretty good, I thought. That was Wednesday, and this is Friday, and I'm already done with it. I love this book, definitely named correctly as a classic. Moving, comical, dramatic...just a few words to describle this masterpiece. But what was really sad was that I had read this book before, and I got absolutely nothing out of it. Now I think of all the books that I was forced to read and dissect in English class; "The Red Badge of Courage" by Stephen Crane, "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain, "Moll Flanders" by Daniel DeFoe, "Of Mice and Men" and "The Old Man and the Sea" by Ernest Hemingway, the list goes on and on. What did I miss when I read these books? How much of the emotion was lost when reading these books and writing boring symbolism essays?
Now I have my fall and winter reading list set up. I know now that I must reread these classics in order to truly appreciate and understand them. Now looking back, I get the feeling that I came away from high school without an education. I try to remember the actual learning part of the school day, but am distracted by the bullcrap that I participated in daily. The gossip and the boyfriend, worrying about if my outfit looks okay, wondering if my mom knew that I stayed up all night doing homework with a flashlight in my room because I was too lazy to get it done when I was supposed to, or how I was going to tell her that I was getting a C in pre-calculus. The only education I received in high school was the woes of a typcial teenager. I received my real education in college. Thank goodness for college.
So please, when you get some extra time, or feel like curling up with a good book, please consider one of the classics from your teenage torture...you will be pleasantly surprised at how much you missed and the classics will be classics once more.
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