Well. I’m not sure if I can speak for the rest of you participating in ‘The Big Read,’ but I think I can finally say that I’m finally past the point where I was wondering why this particular book was chosen for us all to read together. Visiting the National Endowment of the Arts website, at first, I kept seeing books that I thought were way more interesting and might draw more people in; books like ‘The Maltese Falcon,” “The Great Gatsby,” “A Lesson Before Dying,” “A Farewell To Arms” and “To Kill A Mockingbird” to name but a few.
What changed my mind? What led me to a point where I think I understand why the choice was made to select this particular book? Simple; I began reading it.
Now on page 50 I can safely say that I have been drawn into this book and that I find myself fascinated by the people who live within its pages. People such as the thin, deaf mute John Singer who seems so hopelessly sad and fragile in his loneliness. People such as Biff Brannon who seems to not only hide behind the counter as he works his long hours in the New York Café, but who also seems to hide behind the tired uncomfortable routine of his relationship and life. And definitely people such as the fantastical character of Jake Blount.
Ragged, drunken and seemingly to be running on a mixture of wild-eyed craziness and weary exhaustion, Blount just takes center stage in chapter two and you find yourself simply unable to take your eyes off of him.
That’s a funny way of describing things when you’re talking about a book, right? That you simply can’t take your eyes off of something that is inherently, well, make believe and built on nothing more than the patters of black ink stamped onto a white background over and over again. It’s true, though. Blount and his manic energy just grab you and you can almost feel the pungent beer on his breath as your eyes roll over all of the frustration that seems to pour out of this man.
Oh! I nearly forgot one character that caught my eye in the second chapter. Perhaps due to the relatively small amount of time that she graces the stage, the very young girl named Mick (someone we will get to know much more as the pages turn by the wayside) swaggers into your imagination every bit the inner city tom-boy that she seems to be. If Becky Thatcher were living in the big city, she’d be Mick.
Of course I’m not remembering all the characters (the woman in Brannon’s life, for instance, is this wonderful petulant grump of a woman and we only get to see her in small bursts as she’s struggling to either go to sleep or wake up to begin her work day. Suffice to say, the characters are a definite revelation to me as they are much more than I ever would have given them credit for.
You know how it typically goes, I’m guessing. When a book is known to you as a “classic,” then there is just a certain knowledge that it will most likely be long-winded, preachy, dull or interminably dreary and dreadful to read. At least, that’s what goes through my own mind.
Having said that, of course, I will unhesitatingly tell you that I adore some of those stodgy old classics (Moby Dick ceased being a horrid chore of a book that I’d been assigned to read in high school and, around page 200 or so, changed into a book that I adored and still adore to this day.) but that doesn’t mean the bias still hasn’t got a toe-hold on me.
Case in point: I’d never read Pride and Prejudice because I thought it would most likely be the most boring book known to man. Then, someone has the bright idea to take this classic and insert additional scenes where the characters battle zombies. The result? Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I’ve read it twice (which, as the complete original book lies jumbled amongst the added zombie mayhem, I now consider myself to have completely read. Twice.)
The characters, though wonderful and wonderfully realized, are perhaps not why I think this was in the end the right choice for this shared endeavor. Instead, I think it is the general tone of the book itself.
It’s weary and depressing, mainly. Thought there are sharp bursts of activity and emotions, on the whole so far it’s mainly people just dealing with their own lives and perhaps undeserved circumstances… as they make their way through.
That’s what it’s about, really. While many books and stories seem to aspire to tell you that there is a greater purpose to life – that there is something wonderful we are all mean to be doing with our lives – the simple truth is that the wonderful part of it all is life itself. What you do might wish or desire to do with it is, in the end, perhaps irrelevant.
Life itself is the treasure, even if it might be mired in the mud about and not as shiny as someone might like. The simple fact that we are here and we get to live, laugh, love, and cry, embarrass ourselves and just generally kick around and act, well, human… that’s the good stuff.
Even just 50 pages in I can see that in ‘The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.” I see it in the way that John Singer just holds his head up and just goes on about the business of being a good and decent man, even when the people he might be trying to help (whether Spiros or, as we see toward the close of chapter two, Blount) don’t seem to notice him at all and just take without ever thinking to give anything back in return.
It doesn’t matter (to Singer or to anyone who ever truly gives of themselves and reaches out to help someone they perceive as being in need) whether there is thanks or appreciation. Much like a simple carpenter from Galilee might, in passing, notice a tile loose on a man’s house and fix it in passing without ever knocking on the door and letting the people inside know of his deed… there are those for whom the act itself ends up being the thanks they receive.
Okay. Chapter two found me thinking thoughts of goodness and charity and of the fact that, even in the dreariest of lives, there is something of value to be noticed. That is why I am greatly enjoying my own participation in ‘The Big Read; and that is why I hope you are turning the pages along with me. Until next time…
