I finally decided that my next read should be The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I've heard so much about how great both the novel and the movie are. I figured this way I can join in on the fangirling the next time the book is mentioned.
I started reading it on the subway, on my way to meeting some friends for karaoke. I've read only two chapters and I have that tingly feeling one gets when he or she begins a truly awe inspiring book and knows it. I can already tell that Ms. Stockett is a masterful storyteller. One second, I was on the train with Red's "Forever" blasting in my ear, thinking about how late I was and one hand holding the book, the other trying to open up my croissant. The next thing I knew, I was sitting at the kitchen table with Mae Mobley watching Aibileen go about her duties as Ms. Leefolt's housemaid. My croissant was abandoned. I no longer knew what song I was listening to. And the coffee that had been held between my knees grew cold. I cannot remember the last time, I was so quickly, so irrevocably drawn into a story. I was starting to miss the feeling of becoming lost in a world created lovingly by a author's pen (or keyboard, or pencil, or quill). Kathryn manages to take us back in time to a time that is no longer our own (at least not exactly), but there is no disconnect from reality. The story is real. The characters are real. Their emotions, as well as the ones evoked in us as readers...are real. And isn't that all we ask for in a good work of literature? For it to be real, believable, irresistible, and make us feel.
I started reading it on the subway, on my way to meeting some friends for karaoke. I've read only two chapters and I have that tingly feeling one gets when he or she begins a truly awe inspiring book and knows it. I can already tell that Ms. Stockett is a masterful storyteller. One second, I was on the train with Red's "Forever" blasting in my ear, thinking about how late I was and one hand holding the book, the other trying to open up my croissant. The next thing I knew, I was sitting at the kitchen table with Mae Mobley watching Aibileen go about her duties as Ms. Leefolt's housemaid. My croissant was abandoned. I no longer knew what song I was listening to. And the coffee that had been held between my knees grew cold. I cannot remember the last time, I was so quickly, so irrevocably drawn into a story. I was starting to miss the feeling of becoming lost in a world created lovingly by a author's pen (or keyboard, or pencil, or quill). Kathryn manages to take us back in time to a time that is no longer our own (at least not exactly), but there is no disconnect from reality. The story is real. The characters are real. Their emotions, as well as the ones evoked in us as readers...are real. And isn't that all we ask for in a good work of literature? For it to be real, believable, irresistible, and make us feel.
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