Instead of inundating everyone with scathing commentary regarding the sickening A-Rod trade to the Evil Empire, I decided to take another break from the norm.
I have always wondered what it would be like to have A-Rod-type dollars in my bank account. However, at the same time, I know that even with all the money in the world, I wouldn’t really be happy if I hadn’t taken a life path that included words and lyrics along the way.
So f*ck A-Rod and his money; here’s a different kind of tribute:
Exploring the Fabric of Words (and Music):
Factors that Determine a “Literary Classic”
In this particular lifetime, my two biggest passions are – simply enough – words and music. There is nothing more enjoyable than reading a good book, except, of course, for listening to a good song. Both activities have become integral elements of my life, ever since I uncovered one small truth that is as elusive as it is apparent: reading works of literature and listening to albums of music inspire me to think, feel, and write. Whenever I hear any song from Alanis Morrisette’s Jagged Little Pill, for instance, I think about the angst-ridden emotions she conveys; I feel scars rise to the forefront of my mind; and if the tears aren’t too unbearable, I write about being angry, lonely and/or lost in those formative high school years.
It was 1995 when Jagged Little Pill debuted in America, and at the time, I was a shy and distant high school sophomore who had bottled up every difficult emotion since birth. In all honesty, I don’t think I would be alive today if that album had not been released. To this day, I make it a point to never underestimate the sheer influence that words and music can have on an adolescent’s existence. Of course, some authors and lyricists carry more weight than others, and it can be a deceptively painstaking process to distinguish the all-time greats from the rest of the ever-growing pack.
What makes a literary classic?
It is difficult for me to determine the qualities I look for in a literary classic, perhaps because I am hypersensitive to the fact that everyone’s personal tastes are unique to their own experiences. I have some very close friends, for example, who discount me as a sophisticated music fan simply because I revealed that Alanis Morrisette had a profound impact on me as a teenager. This type of dejection can cause unnecessary arguing among my friends and I for hours, with no palpable conclusion ever in sight. What kind of hypocrite would I be, therefore, to inform any reader that his or her favorite story is not a literary classic? I have struggled with this onerous question for a long time, yet I do think I have finally reached a point where I can admit to the possibility of being able to decipher what works and doesn’t work in literature, at least on a personal level.
Allow me to expound upon the aforementioned idea that reading can be a momentous literacy event. While this aforementioned guideline is certainly not for everyone, I have learned to become comfortable with the notion that a touching literary work will inspire me to think, feel, and write in the following ways: to think about or rethink my ideas about the issues and themes being presented by the author; to feel emotions and assign emotional connotations to the characters being developed in the text; and to propel a passionate written response from the annals of my heart or mind. To me, these would be the three key factors – if I were to be really pressed for an answer – that would assist me in excavating the classics from the rest of the literary pile that looms in my mind.
My First “Literary Classic”
I distinctly remember my second grade classroom at Albany Avenue Elementary School as being a haven for vivid children’s books, and every month we were permitted to visit the school library to add additional stories to our collection. The only rule ever doled out by Mrs. Norton – our beloved and graceful school librarian – was that all students had to read the stories they chose to take out before displaying and sharing them in the classroom. This is how Tomie de Paola’s story about a little Italian pasta-maker became the first book ever to truly catch my eye.
Named after its main character, Strega Nona – which translates to “Grandma Witch” in English – recounts the tale of a little old woman in a Calabrian town who tends to solve the woes in her community by conjuring up assorted potions, mixes, and magic. Trouble arises when Strega Nona leaves town to visit a friend, and mistakenly places the overly hungry and curious Big Anthony in charge of her house. Big Anthony becomes entranced by Strega Nona’s magical pasta pot, and while Strega Nona is away he decides to use one of her spells to make himself a pasta dinner. The spell goes awry, however, and the entire town winds up being filled with pasta, thanks to Big Anthony’s carelessness. Strega Nona returns to save the town, but punishes Big Anthony by making him eat all of the pasta that remained from his foolish foray into her book of spells.
Looking back on it now, there are three reasons why I was and still am drawn to Strega Nona. First and foremost, I was blessed with a classroom environment that fostered literacy, and this enabled me to acquire that initial interest in books. Next, I was able to quickly assign strong emotional connotations towards Strega Nona and Big Anthony, because it mirrored the type of relationship I had with my grandmother. My grandmother would care for me and feed me when I was hungry, but her motto used to be, “You always eat what you put on your plate.” If I had suffered the same fate as Big Anthony in Strega Nona, my grandmother would have handed down the same verdict in a loving yet stern manner.
Lastly, the story of Strega Nona made me rethink my relationship with my grandmother, even as a second grader. The positive characteristics attributed to Strega Nona the woman made me appreciate my grandmother as someone who was much more than just my Grandma Connie. Instead, I learned to view her as a woman who had many more relationships and responsibilities than I ever could have imagined, and as a result my respect for her grew immensely. To this day, my fondest childhood memories involve my grandmother, thanks, in part, to the tale of a little old woman from a town that could have been located in Long Island as easily as it was in Italy.
Closing the Book, or Leaving it Open?
Although Strega Nona influenced me to think and feel on higher mental and emotional levels, I was not old enough at the time to be inspired me to write on a higher level. In contrast, many of the works I have read at the secondary and post-secondary levels have enabled me to grow in all three facets of thinking, feeling, and writing. Such works include W.P. Kinsella’s Iowa Baseball Confederacy, John Fowles’ The Collector, Franz Kafka’s The Trial, and William Shakespeare’s King Lear. These are just a select few of personal favorites that I tend to read more than once a year because I long for the unique sets of emotions that each work of literature can evoke in me at any given time.
Ultimately, I will have to leave the book open regarding my own personal guidelines for determining a literary classic. While I am comfortable with the three key elements I have outlined above, there will never be a time when these general guidelines become a concrete set of criteria.
After all, life in literature is so much more stimulating when there is a gray area that is up for discussion.
That’s all for now Peace.
