My friend recommended that I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower the other day, and she's been gushing about it so much that I was kinda intrigued. I heard it was good, and short. And I figured I wouldn't have to think too much while I was reading it. I really like books like that. I've come to appreciate them now, now that so many books that I read are "deep" and I have to find meaning and symbolism in every damn sentence.
So I started it last night. Finished it at about midnight. I was a little underwhelmed by it, but there were so many little beautiful parts that it turned out to be all right. I liked Charlie, a lot. I have this theory that anyone named Charlie is automatically a good person. My brother's name is Charlie, and he's the sweetest kid. I know two Charlies at school and they're both really nice. Charlie's just an agreeable name.
Anyway, I didn't like how he was always smoking and tripping unnecessarily. I felt like that was out of character. But he was all right. I did not like Sam; I thought she evidently hadn't escaped her past (meaning her reputation as a sophomore). I liked the gifts Charlie got everyone, even when no one gave him anything in return, and his sweet little mixtapes, and the suicide note-turned-poem that Charlie read aloud. I really liked Charlie's teacher Bill, and I'm making a list of all the books he told Charlie to read for my own devices. Here it is.
To Kill a Mockingbird
Peter Pan
The Great Gatsby
The Catcher in the Rye
The Fountainhead
This Side of Paradise
On the Road
Naked Lunch
The Stranger
Incidentally, I'm reading On the Road right now. It's a little slow to start, but I'm definitely going to give it some time because I loved The Dharma Bums, and I've heard On the Road was the original Beat book and all. But the thing is, I loved Dharma Bums more or less only because of the places Ray went, and how he lived, and what he ate, and how he dressed and all. He was just so thoughtful about all that stuff. I really appreciated it. But I found Kerouac's wording to be a little pretentious. I find that with a lot of writers, which is sad. But I can't help it. So many people are projectors. Even me, I guess.
You know, that really is sad.
So I started it last night. Finished it at about midnight. I was a little underwhelmed by it, but there were so many little beautiful parts that it turned out to be all right. I liked Charlie, a lot. I have this theory that anyone named Charlie is automatically a good person. My brother's name is Charlie, and he's the sweetest kid. I know two Charlies at school and they're both really nice. Charlie's just an agreeable name.
Anyway, I didn't like how he was always smoking and tripping unnecessarily. I felt like that was out of character. But he was all right. I did not like Sam; I thought she evidently hadn't escaped her past (meaning her reputation as a sophomore). I liked the gifts Charlie got everyone, even when no one gave him anything in return, and his sweet little mixtapes, and the suicide note-turned-poem that Charlie read aloud. I really liked Charlie's teacher Bill, and I'm making a list of all the books he told Charlie to read for my own devices. Here it is.
To Kill a Mockingbird
Peter Pan
The Great Gatsby
The Catcher in the Rye
The Fountainhead
This Side of Paradise
On the Road
Naked Lunch
The Stranger
Incidentally, I'm reading On the Road right now. It's a little slow to start, but I'm definitely going to give it some time because I loved The Dharma Bums, and I've heard On the Road was the original Beat book and all. But the thing is, I loved Dharma Bums more or less only because of the places Ray went, and how he lived, and what he ate, and how he dressed and all. He was just so thoughtful about all that stuff. I really appreciated it. But I found Kerouac's wording to be a little pretentious. I find that with a lot of writers, which is sad. But I can't help it. So many people are projectors. Even me, I guess.
You know, that really is sad.
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