Was there anything so real as words?
Beginning to read at a young age meant that I held on to my childish preferences longer than I ought to. This is a blessing. Still, eventually I had to expand my selection and shelf. This is not a post about the classics or the greats, I am not a snob or an expert (yet). But, this is a list of the books that made me love words for themselves and more, though they do happen to be classics and/or great.
My first classic was back from when I was too little to realize it, or to recall anything now. My first conscious experience of picking up a classic was after watching Greta Gerwig's Little Women. I just had to get the book! While it is not in a style that I was particularly enamoured by, I relished its beautiful prose and the feelings it inspired. It's just an endearing story and it was a good teaser for what's to come.
I also read Silas Marner by George Eliot. I never considered it a proper favourite. It was incredibly dense for me but it was touchingly poetic. It prepared me to attempt much more difficult texts.
And now my favorite, most dearest Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Briefly, it is accessible both in text and in subtext. On the surface it is already a chilling and engaging (frame) narrative, but beneath it is a more profound story. The themes of human nature is resounding, and is universal and highly versatile making it ideal for interpretation. Its fantastic yet forward imagery is a good introduction to analysis.
With my initial exposure to the gothic, soon enough I got bitten by the Victorian Gothic Lit-Bug. I read and loved these books, in order: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Jane Eyre, and another favorite, Wuthering Heights. These further engulfed me in themes and elements I would soon seek in other books. These include nature, power, madness, love; the human condition. Particularly with the two elder Brontë sisters, I developed an acute fondness for intense and impassioned writing.
Additionally, Catherine Earnshaw was unpleasant but she was such a character. I wanted to be:
half savage and hardy, and free.
Strangely, she was aspirational. Jane Eyre, even more so. In a novel and unfamiliar manner, I was empowered. The fierce nature of their characters was one that I look for in other dramatis personae and pursue for myself.
To talk of character, I eventually enjoyed books for the sake of the character study, to soak in the psyche. Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh was a masterful debut.
Soon enough, but unexpectedly so, I even began to appreciate the “no plot just vibes” books as they call them. In the same vein, but different ends of the spectrum: The Bell Jar and The Dud Avocado.
Lastly, to honor the emotive quality in simplicity and complexity of human interaction and relationships, Shoko's Smile.
My literary endeavours are not limited to these, of course. But these books made a big impression on the way I view literature and consequently, life.