13th Grader

I wrote earlier about my joining a book club.

When I was told the first reading assignment would be Wuthering Heights, I suddenly felt like I was 17 and Bonnie was handing me a book we both knew I'd never read. However, I was glad it at least was a generally agreed-upon Classic.

I'd rather read something of time-tested literary importance than some junk Oprah picked out last week.

During our Boston trip last summer, we made a day-trip to Salem. While much of the time was devoted to specters and political hysteria, we also visited the house that inspired The House of The Seven Gables. The tangibility of the experience led me to make an open-ended commitment to someday read the books I ignored in my youth.

In 4 years of high school, I recall reading one book assigned to me by my various English teachers (sorry, Bonnie) - A Separate Peace. The plot was interesting, the prose easy to read, and featured characters I could relate to.

Telling me what to read - and appreciate - is a different subject matter, though. And for that, I didn't read the [so-called] required texts. The quizzes and tests were always what my history teacher would have described as a mix of direct democracy and socialism.

I was highly interested in To Kill A Mockingbird so I started it with the best of intentions. It was during baseball season, I believe, and I quickly got behind so I just gave up. I've since read the book, and many others assigned to me, and thoroughly enjoyed most of them. On the other hand, I never had any intent on reading The Grapes of Wrath. I did read one chapter, though - the chapter that describes in agonizing and excruciating detail a turtle crossing the road.

Don't get me wrong. Ever since I could put syllables together, I've been a voracious reader. I was terribly upset at the time, but one of my favorite childhood pictures is one my mother unexpectedly took of me while reading a book. I've always been captivated by the written word; I believe my night stand and study speak for themselves.

After getting a copy of Wuthering Heights at Half Price yesterday, I was determined to not get intimidated or frustrated. I would take each chapter slowly and analyze the characters, sub-plots, and symbolism. Before I went to bed last night, I isolated myself in the bedroom to the rarely-used but very comfortable reading chair in the corner. It serves more as resting place for trousers before they find their way get back to the closet.

Reading for pleasure allows my mind to relax and escape. Reading with the understanding that my insights and observations will be used as a basis for discussion gives me incentive to focus.

My thoughts so far - good book but no way I would have understood this 15 years ago. I was way too emotionally immature and self-absorbed to get it. As an adult, however, I can appreciate the timelessness of lost loves, social elitism, and revenge.

As I'm not Evil incarnate, I can't justify revenge on everybody who's done me wrong. I don't feel I have to wipe everyone out -- just my enemies -- that's all. I am mortal, however, so I do enjoy small doses of schadenfreude from time to time.

Maybe I'll start the discussion with that.