Right before I had made the choice for what English course I had planned to take in senior year, I was at a road block. AP Lang had challenged me, yet I hadn’t really read all year. The only difference between sophomore year and end of junior year me was I could tell you the logos, pathos, and ethos behind an essay written by an John or Jane Doe in the year 1800. Entering the course recommendation, I had been told that AP Lit would be a heavier course load, filled with much more non-fiction books, and that’s what caught my attention. That there would be much more reading, more applying, more imagination, in my opinion. Now, I could do one of two things: I could take a much lighter 1 semester course, (i.e. Sci-fi Lit, Sports & Lit, War & Lit, etc), get my A and graduate. Or, I could take a chance on one of the harder classes in the school, and see where my decision falls. To say I made the correct choice would be an understatement, as not only did I discover books that I loved, and even disliked, I gained my spark for reading back. Two books in particular stuck out to me out of the 8 or so we have read throughout the 9 months in this class, those being The Stranger and Beloved.

Similar to many others in my class, and especially on this blog, when I began reading the stranger, and even when I finished it, I had a strong distaste for Meursault, and who wouldn’t? The guy hadn’t cried at his mothers funeral, hadn’t reciprocated an ounce of love that his girlfriend had given him, and didn’t see the error in his commitment of a literal murder. What had irritated me even more so is that he only finally realized the meaning of life at the very end of his, that it took death for him to finally realize. Although it took me quite a few days to get over this anger towards Meursault, I realized something. That Meursault’s nihilism isn’t one of despair, but one of rebellion against forced meaning. Once the cloud of anger subsided, I realized that even Meursault realizes the greatness of his life, that at the end he is incredibly grateful for those who had interacted with him, and although cut short, he lived his life how we wanted, to his fullest, and no one else’s. Although his world is absurd, it inspired me to make and find my own fulfillment, not where others had looked/told me to look.

Beloved had such a similar effect on me too. Although there were points that had be at a lost for words, not in a way of amazement but one of bafflement, the book stuck with me. The way the book constantly shifted from the present to past, making the rushing emotions and thoughts of Sethe feel real, and eventually help piece together the story as a whole. The language was amazing, Morrison’s sentences are lyrical, meaningful, and powerful. Finally, Beloved was a centerpiece in showing me that stories aren’t just entertainment, but history. They matter. They carry history, they contain laughter, they contain pain, they contain who people are. This didn’t just spark my love for reading back, but ignited it.