Great books, when they enchant our souls, do this and much more. They show us new ways of thinking, they teach our tongues to dance dozens of new steps with language, they blow the roofs off our minds and rain upon us visions of different people and worlds. I remember how, in my childhood, book after book set my mind ablaze with magical adventures, far beyond my own experience: Greek myths, Narnia, Middle Earth, Outer Space, millennia yet to come . . . they showed my imagination new colors to hunger and hope for.
His post is partly inspired by Tim Parks' writing in the New York Review of Books. Here Tim Parks writes about how he reads books.
As I dive into the opening pages, the first question I’m asking is, what are the qualities or values that matter most to this author, or at least in this novel? I start Murakami’s Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage and at once it is about a man who has been excluded from a group of friends without knowing why; the mishap has plunged him into a depression that seems disproportionate to the damage suffered. So I begin to look for everything relating to community and belonging, to the individual’s relationship to the community, to loneliness and companionship. I underline any words that fall into this lexical field. Is the community positive or negative or both? Are there advantages to being excluded, even when it is painful? Do loneliness and depression produce strength, creativity? Is the book aligning itself with the position of the person excluded?
