I'm not into the hoity-toity book thing. I hate how you go to Barnes and Nobles and they have that whole little shelf just devoted to their Barnes and Nobles Classics editions of novels like Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights, and you just know that however much you loved Junie B Jones, none of her books are ever going to end up on that shelf because they haven't been deemed "literature", or whatever.
The ultimate collection of Barnes and Noble's Classics.
http://www.splendicity.com/thelistmaven/files/2009/10/20091018-barnes-noble-ultimate-collection-leather-bound-books-classics-590x577.jpg
ANYHOW, what this whole introduction (which I could drag out forever because it is something I feel very strongly about) is supposed to be hinting at is that I did not approach Life of Pi with as much a tabla rasa state as I should have. I was thinking more along the lines of "Oh, good lord. here we go. Yet another serious novel about life and lessons and blahblahblah". The first few chapters kind of reconfirmed this idea, but then... I don't know. There comes a point in every book that you read when you realize that, if this book were taken from you right now, and you had to stop reading it, you would actually suffer. I have some first had experience with this, let me tell you. Pathetically enough, when I was little my mom used to punish me not with a grounding, or with no TV, but with taking away the latest book I was reading, whether or not I was at a good stopping point. OH. MY. GOD. Torture. That's what it was. Legalized torture, dealt from the hands of a Puerto Rican mother bent on teaching her daughter a lesson. Only a Puerto Rican mother could be that creative with her punishment. It's like they're trained or something...
I was not feeling the love when my mom took away my books.
http://rlv.zcache.com/i_love_my_puerto_rican_mom_postage-p172805840193372228anrd1_210.jpg
So, I'm completely enthralled with this book, and I get to page 114 and I know it's time to stop, reflect, and shoot out a satisfactory DB before (if energy allows) trying to get in a few more chapters of reading because Canada (CANADIAN PLEASE!) is a cool place, "too cold for good sense, inhabited by compassionate, intelligent people with bad hairdos" (7) and I'd really like to see how this Pi kid got there.
I start out my DB (my first attempt, anyway) with this really strange, scattered praise, and I'm about 300 words in before I realize that I haven't really said anything (which may or may not be happening again with this new attempt, but I'm going with it because it's late and I know where I'm going with this). So, I delete and think about what it was in the book that struck me the most. When I read, I'm looking for real life. Yeah, reading is an escape, and I'm a sucker for the happy endings that all you pessimist out there keep reminding me are full of cheese and painfully unlikely, but still, I'm looking for that element of realism that makes the book, and the ending, however unrealistic it is, relatable to my life. And in Life of Pi, I found this realism in Pi's journey to find God.
Which is sort of ridiculous, actually. I'm not deeply religious in any sense of the word, at least I don't think I am. I have strong faith, I guess, and I'm catholic though and through, but I do find myself, when I sit in church on Sundays, surrounded by tradition and grandeur and stained glass, looking for God. And I hate to say it, but I don't always feel him the most strongly at church. I mean, that's where He's supposed to be, right? Well, everywhere, but most definitely at church, filling us with the father and the son and all that. But as much as I close my eyes and feel and call to Him, there are times when all I feel is tradition and grandeur and no God.
Where is God?
http://top-10-list.org/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/The-Catholic-Church.jpg
Remember Are you there God, It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume? You know you read it girls. No need to be ashamed. I'm about to quote it, and I am currently 19 years old and in college, so obviously it has a useful ideas in it. Anyhow, if you missed out on this vital part of childhood literary development, Margaret is raised by a Jewish father and a catholic mother, and they decide that Margaret can decide what religion she wants to be. Well, tries out a few different things, but when she comes back from church, she addresses God, saying "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. I've been to church. I didn't feel anything special in there God. Even though I wanted to" (63). That is exactly what I'm talking about. When I'm church, I'm actively seeking God. But church, and active seeking, aren't always the best ways to reach him, at least for me.
In The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen (see, I told you I wasn't into hoity-toity literature), the main character says her dad used to say that making breakfast on Sundays "was his form of worship, and the kitchen was his church, his offering the eggs and biscuits and bacon" (pg 212). And in Anne of Green Gables, a frank and somewhat tactless Anne points out that the minister at her church "wasn't talking to [her] he was talking to God, and he didn't seem very much interested in it, either".
Lots of examples that basically illustrate my point about church not meaning anything, about the importance of finding your own way of getting close to God. In Life of Pi, Pi says that he tried out and practiced lots of different religions because he "wants to love God" (87). I get that. I feel it, every day. I'm looking for him, all over the place, really, and some days are better then others, but what I've found is that I usually find him in the most unexpected places.
Pi was just trying to love God.
http://www.scottburns.co.uk/images/blog/love-god.jpg
I've been babysitting a little girl named Sophia for about 2 years now: she turns 4 in March. I was with her a few Saturdays ago, and I was having a bit of a hard time because I was also babysitting her 1 year old cousin, who wasn't used to being away from his parents. I was trying to calm him down, and finally he fell asleep, and I sat down with Sophia so we could read a bit before she had to go to bed. And it was so beautiful... she had been so patient, all night long, and I thanked her for being such a huge help, and she said something like "He just wanted his mama", and... I don't know. You had to be there maybe, but there was something so... deep about this realization, that she was so in-tune to what her cousin had been lamenting, and that she, an only child, used to all the attention all the time, had been so patient all night long because she got it, she understood what this kid was going through...
I felt God in that room, for some reason. I felt him, and I thanked him.
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