Books > TV
*real love baby by father john misty plays in the background*
I’ve said it once I’ll say it again, my favorite movie is A Clockwork Orange. A psychological thriller, a challenge to societal norms, cinematography that incites uneasiness, a soundtrack that elevates emotion (Symphony No. 9, Singing in the Rain… holy shit). Watching the film entraps me; I can’t look away. Rape, murder, violence. The director incorporated the some of the book’s language, too: droogs, viddy, horrorshow.
Yet when I read the novel, I experienced deeper anguish, which, in part, has to do with the pace in which fiction is consumed. It’s methodical: one word after the other, as opposed to a film, where your eyes divert from one character to the furniture to the background, all in one scene. Reading requires focus and two hands, one to hold the book and the other to turn the page, forging a physical connection to the text, grounding you to that moment. And after you read a sentence or a page or a chapter, you can pause, allowing your mind time to digest what you read, to marinate in its meaning.
Reading fiction means your mind fills in the blanks, as opposed to being told how things look or sound or feel. The imagination is capable of endless possibilities, and arguably a dangerous yet creative place to spend a lot of time. Fiction connects you to the characters in an intimate way. You read word for word their life unfolding before you, allowing an almost empathetic curiosity to their well being, despite how unlikeable a character may be.
I understand it may be a hard sell: reading fiction = deeper pain. So let me give another example. Lonesome Dove, an 850-page western, won the Pulitzer Prize. It also has a TV series (granted, from 1989) with big-name actors: Tommy Lee Jones, Robert Duvall, Danny Glover, Diane Lane.
The book is a true definition of “a page turner;” I read it in three weeks, with the majority over the course of one weekend away. I was captivated by the action, the way in which love was dissected. I’d tell my partner I’m headed up to bed early to hang with my friends, Capt. Call and Augustus, and I’d stay up late reading, chasing a feeling of admiration and longing. I want to name my future child Woodrow. I created an emotional bond with fictional characters, rooting for their success.
Then, I turned on the television series, and what I had pictured as Call in my head, simply put, wasn’t Tommy Lee Jones. TV also leaves room for other electronics, almost invites them. My hands aren’t required to watch, so I’d find myself browsing the web, texting my friends. Electronics, TV — they’re not linear, as reading is. They’re manic, as Johann Hari from Stolen Focus puts it, designed to be consumed quickly, designed to move from one bit of information onto the next, no time to rest in between.
I read fiction to feel, to give myself time to think; a chance to invest in someone else’s story, a chance to slow down.
If you say fiction isn’t for you, I’d argue you’re reading the wrong book.