I'm kidding, and while I am trying to lose some weight, I don't think my loss of appetite can be completely credited to my will power. I think instead it belongs to the works of J.D. Salinger, Charlotte Bronte and Phillippa Gregory (to name a few). The language and imagery feed my hunger, fill the hole in the pit of my stomach, and more importantly, make my heart beat with a surge of life. If I had nothing to read, I think I would be a shell of myself, an unintersting, unhappy, lost soul wandering the streets in hopes of something more. And while this may sound melodramatic, something I clearly have no experience with, it barely touches on my true feelings for what a good book does for me.
It always amazes me how any good story can become relatable when we need it to be. A love story that ends well gives us hope that our story, though it has gone hopelessly astray, may in the end work out the way we would like. Perhaps an amputated hand in the process, but happily ever after nonetheless.
A great spiritual journey will take us to the heights we never thought possible, give us the peace we need to sleep through the night despite the real-world troubles we hide within ourselves on a daily basis.
The terrible troubles, horrible beatings, name-calling and crimes in the books we read put our lives into perspective. Maybe my life isn't so bad after all. There seem to be people in the world who have it much harder, and I don't mean those suffering in third world countries. We know they suffer, we ignore it to be able to go on with our lives because the truth is we can't help them all and helping only one at a time may not be enough. But there are real people, influential members of society, still living in countries where one wrong move against the person in charge can get you and your family into more trouble than you ever bargained for, but you survive. They survive. I don't know if I could.
I was reading Stolen Lives by Malika Oufkir. Her determination, perseverance and drive to live is astounding. I wouldn't have made it past day 1. Twenty years and she helped her whole family survive things far worse than I could ever imagine as I sit here typing on my Mac. The fact that she had the courage to press on, dream of a day of escape, and create a happy life inside that prison is inspiring to say the least.
And that is why I hunger for books, for stories, for other people's lives. Because I may find mine difficult, I may think it can't get worse, knowing that it can, but there is no escape. Except into someone else's world.
