This morning I finished reading The Time Traveler's wife. My friend lent it to me a few weeks back. She knew I would like it so told me to stick at it as it was a bit 'all over the place' in the beginning.
I am aware that I'm probably the last person in the world to read this book, but I did love it and wanted to write about it anyway.
I will not go into detail with the ins and outs because its intricate to say the least, but I felt the need to write about one of the main themes and how it made me feel.
I don't like surprises. I had been forewarned that the book was 'a weeper' and kept asking people what happens. Call me ridiculous, but I like to know what is coming so I can prepare myself. I read the last page of books first of all, I don't know why but it's just one of those things and I'm ok with it!
So, I know that a character dies. I am prepared for this and last night when I came to that moment in the book, I was pleased that I knew about it. It was very moving, and as with every great book...it was very real. Although the clue in title suggests a subject that is not real at all, the novel grabs you and doesn't let you go from it's extreme yet moving grip.
Death comes near the end, and as with every romantic story, it leaves a grieving loved one in it's wake. When I was getting nearer to that point, I was tempted to stop reading. I knew the character died and I had read the last page so could fill in the blanks myself. I have recently realised that I don't want to knowingly put myself in situations that will affect my mood, or make me nervous or sad.
For example: I refused to watch England play penalties against Italy in the recent European Championships.
After watching one day, I don't want to see it again.
When it comes to match point in a Murray Wimbledon match, or a final lap in a Mo Farah race , I like a distraction.
I don't see the point in letting myself get worked up. You might think that I'm far too sensitive and ridiculous for needing a distraction, and that may well be that case. But never the less, things affect me and I neither like it or welcome it, and therefore do something about it.
So, death arrives and I didn't cry. Phew! I got a little nervous and wondered if this would be another situation that takes hold of my thoughts, and plays on my mind for hours and hours (the biggest culprit so far is the film Sweet November) But it didn't cry. I did have the urge to keep reading though and I finally finished the book this morning.
I certainly would recommend the book, it is beautiful and very very clever, but I'm not sure there is anyone left to recommend it to!
However, having watched one day in the last few weeks, having just finished this book, and of course, having watched so many other films that have made me cry, I have only recently wondered why death is portrayed as romantic. It certainly isn't in real life and I'm a little disturbed that my (well, not just my) emotions are used for cinematic and literary success. I do know that's absolutely the whole point of a good movie or book, but I've found out (a little late) that I don't like feeling upset by something that isn't real...hence the consideration of stopping reading.
The penalties were real, and I chose not to watch them, I get so tense and I don't really know why because I'm not even a real football fan! (any character analysts out there...enlighten me!)
My point is probably a reflection of my insecurities regarding emotional vulnerability, or something equally deep and in need of 'talking about'. After all, everyone likes a good cry. And what's the big deal with crying anyway? Nothing, I do it a lot.
But I don't want to choose to put myself in front of a film or book that I know will make me sad and wish it had turned out differently. Or wonder how I would cope if that happened to me. Tragedy is not sentimental or glamorous and I am afraid that that is how it is dressed up in such story lines.
I am not meaning to get on a soap box, or rage about being moved by good films and books. No, I don't deny their quality at all, but I am kind of choosing to deny them the privilege of breaking my heart.
After all, it is just a book.
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