“Well, I don’t really read…to be honest, I can’t really remember the last time I picked up a book for fun…what’s that you’re reading…Ayn Rand? Who’s that?” Clenching my eyes shut, the wounded English major inside of me betrays an exasperated sigh. Growing up, an appreciation for history and the arts was instilled in me at a young age by my father, who was educated as a child by his mother- a New York City Public School System English teacher of over thirty years. I finished my first book, Green Eggs and Ham, at age four.
I was then introduced to the mythical world of Middle Earth at bedtime at age seven. My mother used to catch me reading books under my covers past bedtime at least twice a week. I went to my first Broadway play with my grandmother- her preferred orchestra seating permitted my eight year old self to reach out and touch Simba’s furry costume as he sprinted through the audience.
I took guitar lessons for three years, art lessons for four years, and began my theater career at age nine. I have come realize and appreciate the amazing opportunities I was able to seize, aided by such positive mentors, who encouraged uninhibited exploration into literature and the arts- I was lucky.
Others were not nearly as fortunate as I was in this respect, and throughout my middle and high school years, I attempted to impart some of these values to my classmates and friends, often to no avail- yet at least I tried. I am fearful for the future of literature and the arts- fears that are by no means irrational.
Unfortunately, the sacred values and ideals of literature are lost on a large portion of American youth today (including my generation). Many of my friends wouldn’t pick up a classic novel if you paid them to- preferring to indulge in mindless supermarket romance novels and thoughtless detective tales.
The wide array of benefits offered by classical literature- the crucial morals and ideals that can be used as vital tools by all, are often overlooked. Why read The Red Badge of Courage when I can just read something entertaining, like Twilight? I can’t relate to dead people- how can their life possibly resemble my own life?
“What’s that book you’re reading?” Beowulf, it’s for a class. “Ew, I’m sorry, that sucks- is it hard?” As a history enthusiast, I find enjoyment undertaking challenging reads such as Beowulf or The Canterbury Tales. It amazes me that so many classic literary works have been preserved and passed down through generations, all because someone in history thought, “this is important- this work must be passed on until the end of time.”
It’s a truly beautiful concept, the preservation of classic literature. That today, English students around the world can immerse themselves in the lover’s quarrel of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and can delve into the tumultuous teenage mind of Holden Caulfield. Did Jane Austen ever envision a full fledged motion picture of “Pride and Prejudice,” female fans around the world drooling over Mr. Darcy, aspiring to imitate the legendary confidence of Elizabeth Bennet?
Writers are immortalized through their masterpieces- great literature, and the authors that penned them, are never forgotten. So why do I read? Why should anyone read? Why does the world revere literature as one of the most integral components woven into the fabric of society? The answers is complex, yet simple- human beings, are human beings, and will always share similar characteristics and fears with one another.
Since the dawn of civilization and written language, human beings have recorded events deemed “important”. Yet as time progressed and written language became accessible, human beings began to record much more than a historical record. They recorded their feelings, their fears, and deepest desires.
Pride, love, religion, jealousy, greed, base survival, and the ability to feel empathy for one another, has defined the myriad of skirmishes, wars, family feuds, lover’s triangles, and disputes that have plagued humanity since the fateful day Eve stole a taste of that forbidden fruit. And society’s taste buds are as wet with that juicy taste of knowledge as they have ever been.
Literature proves that society has changed over time just as much as it has not changed. The seven sins haunted English serfs and court jesters as often as they haunt United Nations mediators and college freshman today. Anne Frank’s anxiety over her crush parallels a thirteen-year-old Montana native’s crush dilemma. Literature transcends time, linking past worries and triumphs with present day fiascoes and championships.
Literature thrives today because literature has the ability to reach. Movies, television shows, video games- they are all disposable for the most part. There will come a day in which movies and television are replaced with virtual reality sets- the people will make their own dramas, direct their own fantasies. Yet once a pen touches paper, history is made.
All the classwork I still have from middle and high school is in essence, history- all written by my past self, years ago. Yet I still preserve it- and what for? So that someday, I can show it to my little brother, or perhaps my children.
Writers write because we have something to say. We have a point to make to society as a whole. And we want our voices to be heard. That is the beauty of literature- a writer’s voice, aided by his pen and writing pad, has the ability to reach an audience so vast, it transcends generations. We write because we care, but we also write because we want others to care.
To pass on wisdom to the next batch of gum smacking, ripped denim wearing high school students. Learn from our mistakes- don’t repeat them. Literature is an incredible tool available to more people today than ever use it.