Discovering a new book blog isn’t always postworthy, but I’ve been quietly reading tn’s booktherapy for the past couple days and am slowly coming around to its philosophy: books as mental health barometers. With bits of intimate details interspersed with ideas around reading experiences, the blog examines, psychologically, the impact of books on various aspects of mental health. In context, here, to the author’s life. This got me thinking: how do we view books in terms of our own psychology? Do we all have books / authors that act as a divining rods in terms of insight into our own psyches? If so, what are they?
I know I read On the Road because I dream of the day I can take off on a year-long, world wide tour of places I’ve never been. I know I feel absurdly attached to so many stories that seem to have an effect upon my own brittle grasp on reality. Anyway, do you all have a book, novel or otherwise, that sort of reflects your own psychological and/or philosophical point of view?
I do have books I re-read when I’m in a certain mood. Love Story by Erich Segal when I’m sad, because it makes me cry and then I feel better. Pride and Prejudice is comfort reading.
That reminds me of a time a few years ago when I was getting really depressed over the course of a few days, and mentioned it to a friend and she was all “Duh, you’re reading The Bell Jar. Of course you’re depressed.” I hadn’t realized how strongly my mood was affected by what I read until then.
You know, that’s such a good point about “The Bell Jar,” I hadn’t even thought about my particular moods when reading that book. But I did indulge in a very extensive Plath period when I was in the depths of despair in my mid-to-late 20s. You’re so right about that.
I checked out that link – great blog.
Can’t think of THE book that defines me – there are too many and I have changed throughout the years.
Looking forward to On The Road – it’s with the pile on my bedside table.
Actually, I’m not reading much right now – I have the time, just not the energy. Has that ever happened to you?
Absolutely. In the first few months after the tragic hip was replaced, I could barely read a sentence without putting the book down. The title that I managed to get through? Tom Green’s ‘autobiography,’ — you could barely call it writing, as charming as I thought it was at the time.
Personally, I think your body just shuts down entirely when it is trying to heal — and all you can be is patient.
I had all these piles of books by my bedside during the first few months of the recovery. And all I did was watch movies. You do what you can do, when you can do it.
It would be folly and indeed imposible to pick just one book to define me. One book that influenced me greatly at a critical point in my life when everything influenced me was The Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man.
In and around that that time I, too, was caught up in the thrall of On The Road. Over time, however, I have come to view Kerouac’s work much as Truman Capote: more typing than writing.
If you love On The Road then you must embrace the entire Beat generation. This will call for great helpings of Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Cassidy, and while more marginal to that group, I’d throw in Fante and Bukowski, too. Burroughs is the best of the lot. Disturbingly great. And heir to the thermostat fortune!
There is a whole other generation of Beat influence writers who followed I could suggest, but tuck into that first lot. That should keep your huaraches filled for a few months.
I personally have never gotten over Orwell’s 1984. I read it in high school and it has stayed with me since.
I tend not to gravitate to books when I’m in a certain mood. The books just meet me where I am I suppose, and I always seem to be reading the right thing at the right time.