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21 April 2008 @ 08:18 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 227: Question 227  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 917


A friend asks you to recommend a book: which book would you choose and why?


I am not someone who is leant to writing fiction, but I do read it, both to explore ideas and to escape from the world in a myriad of characters, places and events that haven’t really happened, yet seem so real. I read a wide range of things, eclectic as some might say, from science fiction, to horror, to fantasy, and period pieces, those great English and American tomes that have now, in the modern day, have given way to accurately costumed movies and plays. There are classic authors, people imprinted into widely published auras of renown, Stephen King, Michael Crichton, Jane Austen, Agatha Christie, Edgar Rice Burrows and Isaac Asimov, people who have done brilliant things with literature. They, amongst hundreds of others, are people who have written, brilliant works, full of words, strung together in such a clear and precise coherence that it makes you wonder, if you think about it, how could they have gotten it so right, in such a way?

That is what authors try to do, I suppose, make things that are not of our own world, feel as if they are. The point of stories, of tales, of books of little fiction pieces in the newspaper, is to briefly, or at length, get us attached to a story, to its characters and events perhaps, so that we eventually finish it, buy it, complete it in some way, simply because we have found it interesting and engaging enough to be worthwhile. Of course, some writers work only for the money, are supposedly talented enough to splurge out books without correction or being nipped at the edge by editors, so I have been told, and these I find worthless. Nice as they may be, they lack the spirit of a good book, a brilliant, honest idea that is treasured by a writer, like a child.

Liking what I like, reading what I read, I am sorely tempted to recommend more than one book, as each has its own triumphs, its own qualities and strong points. I will pick from all of these possible title, however, one of my favourite books, Moby Dick. It was, long in the past, a book I studied, for a period, in English class at school, with Marianne. It was one of her favourite books too, and I suppose it captured for us that almost irrelevant desire within ourselves to chase something greater than just ordinary adulation of common human goals. Not destructive for us, our chase was, no, not like Captain Ahab, but nonetheless, there was a relentless passion for something else that we found within that book. I keep an old copy of it still, in one of my bookshelves at home, and I re-read it still, once in a while, going over it again so I can remember not only the story, the brilliance of the characters, but also the moments I spent imagining its events and locations with my friend. My friend, my girlfriend, my wife, my lover, my partner, oh, Marianne was all that, and more.

Moby Dick is a good book, if not for many, than one sole reason. It shows us, and it has shown me, over the years, again and again and again, that we all need a goal in life. A goal, yes! We, as human beings, with all our wondrous natures, our trials and tribulations, need something to reach towards, to stretch towards, to keep us going, even in our darkest or dankest, saddest hour, and maybe, even when we experience untroubled happiness. Yet though, ah, yet, of course! Yet we cannot let whatever it is we live for, strive for, work towards with all our hearts and hands, we can’t let it take over us, nor let it grip us within a titan hold and drive us, singlehandedly, mad with desire for the obtaining of the end of pursuit. There is nothing wrong with being mad with desire, mind you, but letting one goal, single-handedly obstruct you from thinking or considering the other multitude of things available to you as you go about your life, well, it’s a bad thing, much like being selfish or overly self concerned. Having a goal, there is no trouble or concern with that, but have other goals as well maybe, or if it is a long term thing, becoming a Doctor, a Priest, take the time to have other bits of life, in life, to look forward to or work towards.

Moby Dick is not the only good book out there, by any means, and as we become freer with our minds and what we allow to be published and by whom, there will be many more good books to come, I am sure of it. However, that is the book I would recommend to someone, as it has entertainment, it has imagination and drive, and I have spent so much time with its words, its concepts over the years, that it is now a comfort to me in some way. In a way, Moby Dick, even without rereading it again, just seeing it reminds me of the fact that there was something good in my life, and even without her, even without them, I can still continue. I have new goals now, different in some parts from what I once desired to have, and with them sculpted into my mind, with the fluency about which I move through life, continuing, always continue, I am sure that I will be ok.
 
 
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