1.19b

Literary History

Robby Van Arsdale

19 January 2011

When I was four, my mother looked at me and said to herself “If this kid doesn't stop bouncing, I will probably never finish the laundry.” So she did the best thing anyone has ever done for me: she taught me how to read. I'm sure her main aim was to find a way to make me sit down for a solid five-minute span. First, she taught me my alphabet, which led to a spelling of my name. This knowledge I used to carve my name into the wood paneling on the side of the counter. Finally, I started reading short “how to read” books. I remember only one specifically. It involved a complex plot by a cat to steal the king's girl, or some such irrationality. I enjoyed my books immensely. Mom could bring them in the car and I would shut up and let Dad drive.

When I finally got to the stage in school in which my peers were learning to read, I was already proficient. I remember only one book from this time period. While my classmates were sounding out “dog” and “cat” and “butter,” I read a book about a man in Mexico who found an ash-cone volcano had grown in his field overnight. That book has stuck with me. I have always wanted an ash-cone volcano in my backyard.

The next books I read were the Mossflower series by Brian Jaques. I enjoyed the harrowing tales of adventure and triumph. As his characters were animals, I learned to mistrust foxes, weasels, and rats, and appreciate mice, moles, and otters. I now think the otters are the best “fish” in the Chattanooga aquarium. After Mossflower, I continued through many adventure books. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien is the only other book that stands out from this period. My sister protested that I was too young to read it, but I knew otherwise. I loved it.

At about this stage in my life, my mother's careful plan started to backfire As I was capable of chores, I always had a ready supply of things to do around the house. However, my books got in the way. Mom had a running joke that my name was “Robrob” because I never, ever responded the first time. I was extremely difficult to rouse, as I had a unique ability to focus on one thing, and only one thing, completely. It was possible that I could have read through a burglary, or a tornado, or some other occurrence.

In high school, I read many books that I still love, such as Ender's Game, Wicked, Dune, The Lord of the Rings, and Mere Christianity. However, my math teacher introduced me to the last epic which I will discuss. Robert Jordan has achieved a status in modern literature which is to be feared. His book, the Wheel of Time, turned into The Eye of the World, which turned into a trilogy, which turned into twelve books, which somehow attracted a prequel. As he was working on the twelfth book, he passed away. His legacy was handed to a man named Brandon Sanderson. The twelfth book which he wrote became so massive in the effort to wrap up the series that it became three. After fourteen books and a prequel, not a one under 600 pages, I can say that Robert Jordan has written more words that I have read than any other author on earth besides perhaps God.

In college, I have discovered that perhaps my causal reading has left some holes in my classical education. I have begun to fill those holes by reading Shakespeare, Wilde, Hawthorne, Twain, and others. Recently, I discovered Faulkner as my favorite author. If I could choose an author to emulate, it would be a hard choice, but Faulkner would prevail.

All of my reading has caused me to become an appreciable writer. I am able to draw on my memory of stories and use the words and phrases I know. More than that, however, it has given me a solid knowledge of what good writing is, and how to explain it. I have digested such a massive amount of verbiage, I am able to distinguish between good and bad writing. This will is immensely helpful in my profession as an explainer of good and bad writing.

Finally, reading has always been a passion of mine. There is no feeling like finding a book I want to read until the earth stops spinning. This is excellent, because it is hard for a claustrophobic person to lead a caving expedition, just like it is hard for a book hater to teach books.