Human Again

I've always loved to read. When I was in pre-school, I sat on my bed, surrounded by books, crying because I couldn't read them. Eventually, my love of reading led me to major in English. However, the "read and analyze" part of literature classes was not usually my favorite part.

To me, reading is immensely personal. A good book takes you on a journey--but not one that is necessarily punctuated with literary devices and philosophical criticism. I find myself caught up in a book because I care about the characters, not because the author skillfully uses symbolism.

One of my classes that made the biggest impact on me was actually centered on dramatic literature (a.k.a. plays). The professor would ask us, "What does it mean to be human within the context of this play?" Then, he let us discuss. Even when talking about works such as the seemingly dry Greek tragedy "Antigone," I found myself connecting to the characters in a very real way.

That question still comes to me in unexpected ways. As an Adult Education teacher, I find myself face-to-face with people whose lives couldn't be more different from mine. Yet, if I pause and really ask myself where they are coming from, our humanity brings us onto common ground.

A good book should do just that. You should feel what the characters feel. You should learn what they learn. You take a glimpse inside their lives, and you learn what it means to be human.

Someone once told me that they only read nonfiction because it teaches, while fiction just entertains. I would have to argue that you can learn a great deal from fiction. Hopes, failures, love, and loss make up the pages of our lives as well as a books'. At some point or another, we ask ourselves what it means to be human. Reading books shows us that we're not alone.