Accumulated Insanity

There is something that I have been trying to put my finger on ever since I decided to study an Arts subject at Undergraduate level, and finally it has slid into place under my fingertip.  I have been looking for the answer to the question ‘Why is literature important?’, alternately asked as ‘Why does literature continue no matter what?’ and ‘Is reading really important or are we just kidding ourselves?’, and at last I have it.

The kudos to my coming upon the answer lies entirely with Neil Gaiman, the English author living in the USA with a penchant for writing what I like to call Weird-and-Wonderful fiction.  Attached as an addendum to his book THE GRAVEYARD BOOK is his acceptance speech for the Newbery award he received for the aforesaid novel, and in it he goes on about his voracious reading appetite as a child, ending by saying that reading is important, books are important, libraries are important, and children’s fiction is most important of all.

I found myself in such full agreement with Mr Gaiman, one of the authors I respect most, that I couldn’t help but immediately turn on my computer and open this Tumblr post, even though several letters on my keyboard don’t work and I have to resort to pasting them from elsewhere when spellchecker fails, turning what should be a 30minute post into an hour long one.

I would like to add the importance of all fiction, art and imagination to Mr Gaiman’s list of important things.  To quote Mr Gaiman:

Sometimes fiction is a way of coping with the poison of the world in a way that lets us survive it.

And I remembered.  I would not be the person I am without the authors who made me what I am - the special ones, the wise ones, sometimes just the ones who got there first.

It’s not irrelevant, those moments of connection, those places where fiction saves your life.  It’s the most important thing there is.

I could not say it better myself.  The importance of children’s fiction lies in that it acts as the babysitter, parent, sibling, best friend, teacher, relative and guardian we turn to when we feel disappointed with the people who fill those roles in reality; as a result, we learn from books, just as we learn from our families; our characters are formed, influenced, and nurtured by the books, comics, movies, cartoons, series, plays and games we partake of during childhood.  

However I would like to go a step further.  We grow as people throughout our lives, our existence and experiences; we do not remain the person we are when childhood ends, perhaps because childhood is the first part of what you’ll hopefully forgive me for calling our humanhood rather than our humanity.

Everything we read or watch or listen to has an effect on us, whether we choose to reject it or to acknowledge it and, in effect, to absorb it as part of ourselves - we continuously learn from such things.  This is what makes literature and fiction so essential to our well-being.  It is always in high demand simply because we know it, perhaps subconsciously, as a provider of guidance and understanding, and it is always there for us to find when we need it.  It doesn’t matter that sometimes the understanding we need comes to us at odd times while experiencing fiction, what matters is that it does actually get through.  We know this, and so we ensure it’s survival and continuation, no matter what.  One of the ways we do this is by writing more, making more films, more music, more art, more anything that captures the imagination.  Once again, I find Mr Gaiman’s words perfectly express the point, and will end with this quote:

We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living.  But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can.  Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story.  Someone who will grow up with a different landsape, who without that story will be a different person.  And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort.

And that is why we write.

I have just discovered why I’ve been having a problem with my thesis.  It’s because somewhere inside of me I firmly believe there is no way I could write one.  And here I am writing an actually very good thesis.

I cannot begin to express how disturbing it feels to suddenly and unexpectedly excel at something I’ve always been convinced I could never do at all.

1. Get up to drink coffee, then go back to bed.

2. Suggest and go for a walk with mother and dog, suggesting exploring on the way and generally taking sweet time about it.

3. Converse with mother and ask many leisurely questions.

4. Go back to bed.

5. Get up, turn on pc and visit Facebook, Gmail and favourite webcomics.

6. Spend 2 hours playing Restaurant City and chatting on Facebook.

7. Have lunch.

8. Go back to bed for an hour after mother leaves the house; actually sleep a sleep of the dead for 3 hours.

9. Get up, revisit Restaurant City, Facebook, Gmail, and check Tumblr.

10. Close all browsers, Open Word document to begin working, stop to tweeze eyebrows.

11. Play 90s playlist on YouTube while bringing in and hanging up laundry.

12. Have a shower, wash hair thoroughly, scrub face well, shave underarms, soap all over, shave legs all the way up to thighs, shave toes.  Do all this very meticulously.

13. Receive call from one of oldest and dearest friends.  Spend 18 minutes catching up.

14. Open Facebook, Gmail and Tumblr.  Play Restaurant City.  Close Facebook and Gmail.

15. Update Tumblr with post about How Not to Write a Thesis Chapter [or anything, for that matter].

I swear, one day I will put on the best variety show this country has ever seen.