Here's an interesting phenomenon.
I studied English, which means, among other things, that I read (and sometimes half-read) a lot of books. I remember thinking, during all of that schooling, that sometimes I just wanted to read another book--not as in, I just couldn't wait to read another book, but more like, I wanted something different. I thought of the entire library (which is rather massive, by the way) filled with all kinds of books, many of which would have been more interesting, I thought, than what I was reading at that time. This wasn't always the case, and I enjoyed reading many of my required books.
But classics--we all can name at least one because we had to read at least one in high school--were never my area of interest, especially in high school. I remember reading The Red Pony, by Steinbeck in 7th grade and being so disappointed that the pony died (spolier alert!). Yeah, the pony dies. And that sums up just about everything that I remember about that book. The English major in me wants to reread it and see what it's really about, see what I missed.
In 7th grade, I was much more interested in reading Terry Brooks, Tamora Pierce, and Brian Jacques--each of whom write excellent books, mostly fantasy. I was crazy for all fantasy books that fit into the YA genre, but my favorites were the ones with strong heroines. I still like a good YA novel, I mean, The Hunger Games! How could you not love it!
I don't think I found an appreciation for classics until I read The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood--though you could say it's more contemporary than classic, especially since she's still alive! I remember before that, being rather disgusted at Lord of the Flies and how it made me feel kind of sick when I read it. I did not enjoy literature that made me feel sick. And I suppose, the next year, I did kind of like reading Invisible Man (and we're not talking about H.G. Wells here). But from where I stood, if anyone wanted to write a classic, all they had to do was make the characters miserable and the plot depressing, add in some death and viola! You have a classic.
Finally, here's the phenomenon. I suddenly find myself, not unable, but not wanting to pick up a fantasy novel. Gasp! Perhaps it has to do with my graduation, and now I can read all of those literary classics by choice! Or maybe it has to do with my sudden interest in all of John Green's books. I read Looking for Alaska last week, and I liked it! Tonight, in a hungry moment, I just decided to buy the rest of John Green's books (very contemporary, and very YA), as well as two by Kurt Vonnegut (Cat's Cradle and The Breakfast of Champions), and Catcher in the Rye. Although, if we're fair, Kurt Vonnegut sometimes falls under speculative fiction. I think it's fair to ask--what is happening to me? All I want to do is read contemporary, thought-provoking fiction and classics. I daydreamed earlier about reading Moby Dick. Did you hear that? Moby Dick! Since when is that something to daydream about? And on top of that, I've started writing something new, and it's completely modern--no fantasy, sci fi, or speculative anything.
Maybe it has to do with my Netflix binge, which is officially over now. You know it's bad when you start watching like five different movies and then stop them all after about 30 seconds.
I don't want anyone to take this the wrong way--fantasy and sci fi are very thought provoking. One of my favorite writers is Brandon Sanderson. He knows how to put the epic in fantasy! I think I just need a little break from it, just a little breathing room.
Who knows why I have this sudden book craving, but I'm going along with it. I've already started on my next John Green novel and have recently found some little intellectual nuggets (in the guise of YA) for my brain to chew on. It's quite nice, really.
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