My Challenges

For as long as I can remember, I've had difficulty enjoying literature the way most people do. I feel that I've put in the effort and am desperately trying to be open to the material, but it's high time I be honest with myself. It's the only way I can ever hope to make progress. I have a lot of criticisms for why I don't enjoy a lot of fiction books. When I was younger, I felt like when the author was painting an image of the environment, mostly, and the characters to make the readers feel like we can see what's happening, as though we're there, my concentration would wear thin. I found it distracting and couldn't connect with it. I was so confused by that outcome because I have a vivid imagination. My auditory skills were weak then. That may have played a role. I lacked the discipline to focus my attention required to perceive the accumulative image. I was unable to appreciate the message because I wasn't putting in the effort to listen. Or that's my theory, anyways. I do find that when I read, I have a visual depiction in the back of my mind somewhere that was lacking in the past. It makes the book more real, but it doesn't necessarily make it enjoyable.

Additionally, my receptivity is largely influenced by the grammatical structure and speech of the written material. I'm an American, and when I read, I generally read with ease and fluency. But when the speech is grammatically choppy to portray a foreign character or depict speech with historical accuracy in other parts of the world, I find myself having great difficulty absorbing the contents. Allow me to elaborate. Reading Shakespeare's Twelve Night, didn't turn out to be the treacherous task I feared it would be. Although the speech is ordered and presented differently from modern English, I was able to adapt to it. It was distinct enough that it didn't conflict with how I speak. Ellen Foster, on the other hand, proved to be an immense challenge. As I read silently or aloud, I would unintentionally add words that weren't present to make it grammatically correct. This clashed with reality, and I often found myself stuck in a perpetual stutter, unable to move forward until the distinctions were acknowledged. These intrusive disruptions kept me at an isolated distance. Truthfully, I found the contents to be rather boring and unmoving. So I imagine I wouldn't have liked this book either way, but the grammatical inaccuracies undeniably contributed to my disliking. Books that have Southern characters conflict with me. I almost feel guilty admitting this, as though I'm being prejudice. In a way I am. It's nothing personal, and I mean no offense by it. But it is what it is. When speech is similar enough to how I speak, I find the flow very disruptive.

Cultural and historical settings may have more of a significant impact than I've originally perceived. I don't enjoy historical fiction very much, mostly because I can't relate to it. I used to consider historical literature to be of no interest to me. But now I suspect that it's a precise historical context I'm seeking. When I read the Japanese translated literature, Out, I was disappointed by how much I loathed reading it. It was the Winner of Japan's Top Mystery Award. I have no idea if that award is prestigious or generic and unimportant, but readers have praised this book, conveying that they've read no book like this. I believed it was the Japanese influence American readers appreciated and found refreshing. Being Japanese, I thought I'd be able to appreciate the perversion and sadistically oppressive tone. I am, after all, more engaged in Japanese drama than I am American ones. Instead, I found the character's logical extreme and chronic hypocrisy to be infuriating, suffocating, irrational, and incessant. I found a lot of the pages replaying the same depiction over and over again. If the women in that story weren't so disingenuous and falsely loyal, they wouldn't be so unhappy and whiny was what I kept thinking. Culturally I can understand the misplaced obligation, but it's still frustrating to me. I found the characters to be described in a crude and judgmental tone, which I found mildly offensive. The male scums weren't nearly as scrutinized. I couldn't blind myself to the blatantly contrasting treatment of depiction. Over analysis and biases had clearly interfered, so if you're neutral, you might be able to enjoy it. But I'm not. I wish I was, but I can't change who I am, nor would I want to. The characters were bluntly colored, although briefly expressed were far more memorable than the never ending bland and mundane portrayal of the Japanese homes and jobs the characters held.

I can't seem to appreciate bleak story lines. I find them so stagnant. In the beginning of the book, everything is crummy. In the end, it's still crummy. I need more fluctuations, transitions, and depth. Perhaps the depths lie within the predictable normality, and I'm not keen enough to notice it. If that's the case, it's unfortunate. But that means I can't enjoy books like those. This is how I felt when I read The Plague. The mildly depressing and weakly persistent tone made me regret my hardened dedication and discipline. I would have much rather done something more entertaining, but the idea of unfinished books fills me with vast inadequacies I was unwilling to face. If the complaints had more drama and flair or slight variations within its similarities, I may have felt differently. I didn't perceive the continual bleakness to be an evolving plot. I found the writing to be bland. It didn't do anything for me.

While content is important to me, I believe the writer's ability to tell a story has a huge impact on me. No matter how great a plot is, if it's poorly expressed, I don't have the tenacity to be actively engaged. I don't believe that I have to relate to the story. I suspect, though, that the writing should be vibrant and lively but not over-dramatic.

The First Step

My knowledge is strong but dynamic it is not. That's something I plan to change. As each day passes, I make an effort to learn new things outside of my primary interests. Unfortunately, exposure is all it ever seems to be. With my weak memory, I never seem to retain the lessons I've learned. My verbal skills are the strongest, so I'm incorporating that strength to gain knowledge.

There are many ways to gain knowledge. Reading even the most ordinary of books can offer that. But the choices are infinitely vast. You have educational subjects, historical fictions that provide insights into past cultures, popular fiction exposes us to societal perceptions and standards, other types of fiction literature can stimulate our imagination (the right hemisphere of our brain), books can teach us about foreign lifestyles that we're unwilling or unable to discover on our own, the strength of individuals in memoirs can inspire us and show us the strength people can possess, philosophical and confrontational books test our ability to be open-minded enough to exercise objectivity, etc. The required focus in reading keeps us alert and strengthens our memories. I enjoy gaining knowledge, but I haven't found that one fiction book that's inspired me.

Everyone seems to have that one fiction book that's truly touched them. I want to find that book. I have to find that book. It's important to me. Existing for as long as I have without experiencing that makes me feel deficient and unintelligent. Is it something within me that fails to make that connection? Sometimes I fear that I'm not deep enough to appreciate such profound literature. But I doubt that's the case. I've known some not-so-bright individuals who have found books that have made an impact in their lives. If they can make that discovery, so can I. My ex-boyfriend believes that I'm just all the more particular because I'm insightful. I can't afford to be proven wrong.

I've been disappointed with so many fictions that I've become accustomed to reading non-fiction books. I enjoy them, but it's become painfully obvious that I'll never discover that book that'll touch my life until I start delving into endless piles of books (with my luck). I need to actively start reading fiction literature and hope to make some progress. It's important that I take the necessary steps to achieving my goals. And part of that is to be open and honest about my past experiences. I'm ashamed to admit titles that I've read with little to no interest. But I have to be honest about it, in order to be productive.

One of my New Year's Resolution is to find that one book that touches my life. I've been asking everyone and anyone that I feel might provide me with some insights. I've found that certain friends gravitate towards specific styles of writing or storylines. Immediately if it's compared to another book that I've read with disinterest, it allows me to make informed decision about which books to prioritize reading.

Creating this blog is another way I'm hoping to expedite the process and gain further insight. I ask that anyone that comments on this blog try not to be judgmental and scrutinize my inability to appreciate a lot of titles many people seem to enjoy.

Below is the list of books I've read and not liked:

1. Lord of the Flies
2. The Hobbit
3. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
4. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
5. Out
6. 1984
7. The Red Badge of Courage
8. Hundred Years of Solitude
9. Ramayana
10. The Joy Luck Club
11. Kitchen God's Wife
12. China Boy
13. Black Boy
14. The Plague
15. Raisin in the Sun
16. Nectar in a Sieve

Books I Have Enjoyed:

1) What Your Doctor Won't (Or Can't) Tell You
2) The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
3) The Kiss
4) Personal Finance for Dummies
5) Magic, Witchcraft, and Religion
6) The Lingerie Handbook
7) A Child Called "It"
8) Maupassant's Selected Short Stories (In the Spring)
9) The Craft
10) The Modern Girl's Guide to Life
11) The Witches