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novelty
2005-03-31 @ 4:54 p.m.
i've been reading reviews of loving che, the novel i'm currently reading. and i wonder how one becomes a skeptical reader of fiction? with non-fiction my cyncism often has free range and my critical abilities come out in their full regalia. but with fiction, particularly beautiful novels, the skepticism simply isn't there. i am an inherently trusting reader of fiction. i'm a willing slut. i give myself over. of course i believe the narrator. i don't find myself wary of their exploits and details. maybe it's a little like how i am, when i'm first falling in love. slave to a certain innocence that is doe-eyed and trusting, wanting so badly just to believe and soak it all in. i could have an affair with this novel, were it a person. breathing heavy, lusting. everything you tell me i will believe to be true, just hold me, in the dark and in the hot afternoon. and in real life, so easily i can be taken advantage of. but novels, i think, have yet to betray me. except of course, for that moment after i turn the last page, when it ends. and after which i can't read another novel for sometime, not wanting to betray the memory of my beloved.
hello, i'm drivel prone, nice to meet you.
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