bleak

I’m reading again. A book. I feel the need to clarify because, well, these days it’s not so obvious. It’s a dystopia. It’s reminding me why I love them so. They’re like, no, they are, an indulgence. They answer a question, and it doesn’t matter if the answer is correct or not, that’s irrelevant. The fact is that they answer it, and through doing so, they widen our eyes to a perspective that we may not have beheld otherwise. Through dystopia, I can test human nature. My what ifs becomes hows. And by the end of the story, I’m usually grateful for living in the world that I’m in. Although I’d be the first to criticize its vices, I’m terrified into admitting that it’s not the most cruel fate that we could be subjected to. I find some degree of solace in that, for better or worse. It’s only so terrifying because in any of these tragic and lifeless situations that the protagonists find themselves, you can see how they’re only a few careless steps away from how the world is today. Their fictitious realities are too real, and reading these tales is decidedly uncomfortable. It’s like when you read a news article about something particularly gruesome. It’s difficult to fathom how it could be real, yet it is. In the same way, these novels have touches of authenticity to them that makes them cautionary tales rather than the act of leisure that their reader had perhaps intended. Regardless, they are, without a doubt, my favourite genre.

bleak

I’m reading again. A book. I feel the need to clarify because, well, these days it’s not so obvious. It’s a dystopia. It’s reminding me why I love them so. They’re like, no, they are, an indulgence. They answer a question, and it doesn’t matter if the answer is correct or not, that’s irrelevant. The fact is that they answer it, and through doing so, they widen our eyes to a perspective that we may not have beheld otherwise. Through dystopia, I can test human nature. My what ifs becomes hows. And by the end of the story, I’m usually grateful for living in the world that I’m in. Although I’d be the first to criticize its vices, I’m terrified into admitting that it’s not the most cruel fate that we could be subjected to. I find some degree of solace in that, for better or worse. It’s only so terrifying because in any of these tragic and lifeless situations that the protagonists find themselves, you can see how they’re only a few careless steps away from how the world is today. Their fictitious realities are too real, and reading these tales is decidedly uncomfortable. It’s like when you read a news article about something particularly gruesome. It’s difficult to fathom how it could be real, yet it is. In the same way, these novels have touches of authenticity to them that makes them cautionary tales rather than the act of leisure that their reader had perhaps intended. Regardless, they are, without a doubt, my favourite genre.

Posted 2 years ago & Filed under reading, books, literature, dystopias, utopias, 21 notes

Notes:

  1. justsomerawthoughts posted this

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simply ramblings, unadulterated and certainly unapologetic.