Insatiable

“Reading one book is like eating one potato chip.” – Diane Duane

I’m not sure when it started but I’m certain it was back in middle school. I remember somehow finding my hands on hardcovers depicting fantastical realms, decorative lettering, and magnificent dragons. Lots and lots of dragons actually.

I remember the feelings that seemed to fill and spill out of my body. An incandescent sensation of elation. An airy, glittery excitement. A drive for awesome adventures. If I could read about it in a novel, I could join in the fun. Real life, I reasoned, was too mundane and habitual, filled with school days loaded in paper assignments and calculations of hypothetical scenarios. The classes I loved most were art and English where I could lose myself in fictional worlds and characters. I could learn how to become a hero, pull myself out of being a victim, or laugh maniacally as a scheming villain. Magic was the norm and heroic quests were side dishes, waiting to be undertaken and tasted. The possibilities were endless.

Throughout high school, the passion for reading continued, for lack of a better word, a little less passionately. I was introduced to somber tales of despair and betrayal, the perpetual longing for something to fill the void deep within the human soul. I journeyed through the bleak and brutal River Thames with Charles Marlow, nervously whispering “The horror! The horror!” at the blurry lines of being “civilized” or “savage.” I became familiar with the philosophy of objectivity when Roark isolated himself from the rest of the selfless world who was intent on bringing him down to their level. I spiraled down with Pecola Breedlove as she realized she could never be beautiful in her own distorted eyes. I lamented at life’s hostilities when Holden Caulfield meandered throughout his days seeking for meaning in his young, burgeoning life. I was enraged when Piggy was killed—and when I realized they were still only children by the time an official landed on the shores of their island as fiery chaos had quickly claimed the schoolboys in their attempt to establish authority.

It was just the tip of the iceberg but I became a confusing mess of angst and hopelessness. I was bitter at the world, cynical of anything close that came to joy. And so I stopped reading.

It wasn’t until in this past month that I realized how much I had been missing out on. I started reading some short thought-provoking short stories, added in some Christian fiction to dip my feet back in and was pleasantly surprised at how refreshing it was to be transported out of my own life. Then I remembered I was captivated by science fiction odysseys and detailed worldbuilding, mythical lore and moral dilemmas. I remembered I loved dragons.

Now, I’m reading three novels at once, all from different genres. I’m just barely getting started.