Merry World Book Day!
As a third year English student, nothing gives me more pleasure than a day solely dedicated to books. Sadly it also means I’m reminded of all the non-academic books I’m missing out on due to my degree. Ask any BA in Literature and they’ll tell you the same sob-story of degree with a never ending reading list, and the guilt you feel when you stray from your assigned books.
Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for my tutors, I’ve become a bit of a reading rebel since I was bought a kindle for my birthday. Buying books has become ridiculously easy, and I can carry so many around with me!
As I’m in my final year, most of my prescribed reading revolves around Freud and Marx. And while I enjoy reading about how I supposedly want a penis (I really don’t Freud, I REALLY don’t…) sometimes I just want to unwind with some easy reading. Reading that doesn’t make me question whether or not I’m substituting my lack of penis with my clit.
So on this joyous book filled day, I offer you just five of the books I’ve read recently that have helped me escape my Freudian nightmare.
“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can’t tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal”
“It wasn’t as if the flowers themselves held within them the ability to bring an abstract definition into physical reality. Instead, it seemed that…expecting change, and the very belief in the possibility instigated a transformation.”
“So why did I think about her every second? Why was I so much happier the minute I saw her? I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sure? I didn’t know, and I didn’t have any way to find out.
Guys don’t talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.”
“The world inside myself is vaster and richer than this paltry plane, peopled with mere galaxies and gods,” he quoted. “I’m beginning to understand why you like Necans.”
“She sleeps. And now she wakes each day a little less. And, each day, takes less and less nourishment, as if grudging the least moment of wakefulness, for, from the movement under her eyelids, and the somnolent gestures of her hands and feet, it seems as if her dreams grow more urgent and intense, as if the life she lives in the closed world of dreams is now about to possess her utterly, as if her small, increasingly reluctant wakenings were an interpretation of some more vital existence, so she is loath to spend even those necessary moments of wakefulness with us, wakings strange as her sleepings. Her marvellous fate – a sleep more lifelike than the living, a dream which consumes the world.”