Of the two books from my mother’s bookshelf, Captain cast the more lasting influence. It prefigured my fascination with cultures and the origin of cultures. It prefigured my obsession with identity, not just who I am but why others are who they think they are. Reading that book was the first step towards an almost intrinsic bent to deconstruct reality itself.
Back then the book was just a story that somehow held my interest until I finished reading it. Who knows how our interests take shape? From the moment we become conscious we make choices. As children the adults regiment much of our time but they can’t regiment what we think. Our interests first find expression in what we think.
I read the book and didn’t recognize it as fiction. It described people and places different from what I saw in my life outside the book but I was ignorant of the difference between real and fictional. Back then I didn’t jump to conclusion as quickly as I do now. There is something to be said for innocence.
No comments:
Post a Comment