“I Was a Teenage Illiterate,” is the title of the New York Times article by Cathleen Shine my father emailed me earlier this week.
“Seriously, Dad?” was my initial reaction as I opened the email. I am aware that no person who has yet to read the “insuperable masterpieces” of Joyce’s “Ulysses” and Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” can be deemed a literary erudite. Nevertheless, I consider having tackled Shakespeare, Balzac, Sophocles, Hugo, Wordsworth, Proust, et al fairly commendable accomplishments. I certainly do not deserve to be paralleled with a self-pronounced “Teenage Illiterate.” Do I?
Mind you, at this point, I had not contemplated the fact that it’s been two years since I could officially call myself a teenager, not to mention that I hadn’t even begun to read the article. Therefore, when these notions finally surfaced into my consciousness, I realized that my father’s intention in sending me the article was probably not to hint at my ignorance, but rather to recognize the merit of my aforementioned literary battles (I’m not exaggerating with the war imagery; have you read Proust?).
Post-article, I felt pleased with my previous frontline glories (there have been some defeats as well, but let’s not mention those). For, unlike Shine, I am quite literate in the rhetoric of Austen, James and Flaubert—and I’m only 21 years old. So, HA! Take that, major-newspaper-published-author. NOTE: It would probably be wise to mention that I suffer from a fairly dominant competitive streak, which is very much exacerbated whenever I feel challenged or attacked (i.e., when an author declares in THE NEW YORK TIMES that she’s glad she was “illiterate” in her teenage years because it gave her an opportunity to read the masterpieces at a mature age and actually appreciate them).
Thus, I was blinded by the desire to prove to that arrogant, self-serving author that although I had read “Pride and Prejudice” at age 12 for sheer enjoyment of the love story (only to discover Austen’s wit years later), I wasn’t deprived of the “transcendent experience” of reading Austen as an adult. The fury of ambition clouded my judgment like the smoke from a bullet, as I failed to appreciate the validity of Shine’s claim.
However, once the army of my competitiveness had retreated and the white flag had been waved (yes, I am aware I’m being cheesy), I realized that in my past I had experienced a few episodes quite similar to the author’s. The summer of eighth grade I trotted along through the Amsterdam airport on my family’s European trip, “War and Peace” in tow (all 1645 pages of it), absorbing the admiring glances of adults that walked past me. Admiring glances were just about all I absorbed that summer—not including the works of art in the museums, the fantastic food and the richness of the European culture, but never mind those—to my father’s great dismay, I never got past the first 100 pages of Tolstoy’s tour de force.
You could say that I too was a “teenage illiterate,” for Tolstoy is not the only writer to have overpowered my concentration, determination, discipline and analytical skills. I have also clashed with Borges, Camus, Shakespeare, Orwell, and yes—although I would hate to admit it to Shine—I too possessed a sort of apprehension towards Dostoevsky. Nevertheless, I have since conquered those individual fears and can no longer imagine my life without Richard III or Marcel Mersault.
There is one book that I have yet to reencounter in battle, which is, ironically, “War and Peace.” It’s fascinating how certain works can have the power to influence you at certain times in your life and seem inconsequential at other moments. It’s like meeting the person you’re going to marry; of course physical attraction, tastes, and background matter, but the timing is almost as determinative of a relationship’s outcome as any of those more perceptible factors.
I think my encounters in life and in literature have prepared me for the definitive challenge, and perhaps this Spring Break, I am ready to take on my most fierce opponent. So prepare yourself, Tolstoy, because here I come, armed with knowledge and resolve, and ready for the ultimate “transcendent experience.”
Read Cathleen Shine’s full article.
