April Twelving started out with reading Jules Verne novels and though I've tried other genres in the world of books, I have remained faithful to the classical novels. Call me old fashioned but there is much more to learn from the classical category. Be it the delicacy of notions, languages or how they lived, you get to have your very own window that overlooks the finest of your unhindered imagination of putting up a vivid mental sketch of how the world in which the novel was conceptualized was. Also, you get to know more about history and its different cadences so wonderfully and actually be able to digest it; your high school or elementary history text book would have never helped you to come to this realm of understanding with proper realization of the facts.
Enough of this cross track riff raff. What I mean to say is that novels have taught me so much and have been pivotal to my life so far. I end up realizing that many things that have happened to me in life is just exactly or almost the same of how some character in this book I had read was. There are also those instances where some happenings from this book I had read show a much similar stance of what I am going through. But, these might happen to all readers, no doubt about that. But the impact of what that piece of reading brought upon the reader is what is always different, and important.
I fell in love with the way Thomas Cromwell was portrayed in C J Sansom's Dissolution and then with two of Hilary Mantel's works that have been released so far, both winning prestigious prizes and acclaim everywhere. Miss Mantel's work is so excellently profound that each word gives out the feel of poetry being read out from the poet's lips in the most natural fashion. I remember a point from either of the Mantel novels that George Boleyn wanted to divorce his wife because he never felt like doing his deed toward her, and also another stately woman complaining to the king outwardly that she wanted to split from her husband citing that in all their days of holy union, he had never done his duty toward her. Why? That is easy to understand as soon as you read that in the novel: she felt utterly neglected.
Not just Miss Mantel's work has made me constantly recall this--spouses feeling utterly neglected and wanting to eventually separate because the 'holy' deed toward them wasn't done--but there have been many other books that have some characters swirling around this dispute. Its just that the way it was written out in Miss Mantel's book was so delicately true to life that I always recall it.
I have been recalling those scenes from the book for many a times these last few months. The reason is quite obvious if the last two paragraphs made perfect sense to the reader. Today was the final straw as it is put, for me to put down my feet over that negligence and for once make myself heard, even if not that clearly. The crux is that though I have understood with a serious mien when I have read that lack of physical love takes huge tolls on relationships, I only truly comprehend that now as I am a 'victim' of that.
No matter how clearly I put the message across, there was nothing echoing from the other side as a sign of love, and assurance. There wasn't anything comforting but feigning (or not) ignorance. It actually hurts, and kills your personal sunshine on the inside, and the world is just winter solstice all over.
No reconciliation but constant arguments that are pointless to what I'm trying to reach across is terrible. Such sentences do make me sound like the bad guy. But this 'bad guy' here is hurt deep down, and you just don't want to see or understand that.
Finale: 'Just saying, hon.......you gave up long ago' is what I get as a reply.
Well, the context back then was ENTIRELY different and positively compelling me to give up. Using that context which is SO unrelated to the current context is just proof of how much you understand my pain. Maybe you just want me to give up on you wholly.
I hate what I feel, and even despise even more what I told you. But there are things that must be communicated for the better or worse. And I did that. But you never reached out to me, never. I write this with tears threatening to spill down my already tear soiled face. You wouldn't know that. You would only believe that I am just another biatch in the block. But go ahead.
Have it your way.
Ich bin liebe anyway.
Enough of this cross track riff raff. What I mean to say is that novels have taught me so much and have been pivotal to my life so far. I end up realizing that many things that have happened to me in life is just exactly or almost the same of how some character in this book I had read was. There are also those instances where some happenings from this book I had read show a much similar stance of what I am going through. But, these might happen to all readers, no doubt about that. But the impact of what that piece of reading brought upon the reader is what is always different, and important.
I fell in love with the way Thomas Cromwell was portrayed in C J Sansom's Dissolution and then with two of Hilary Mantel's works that have been released so far, both winning prestigious prizes and acclaim everywhere. Miss Mantel's work is so excellently profound that each word gives out the feel of poetry being read out from the poet's lips in the most natural fashion. I remember a point from either of the Mantel novels that George Boleyn wanted to divorce his wife because he never felt like doing his deed toward her, and also another stately woman complaining to the king outwardly that she wanted to split from her husband citing that in all their days of holy union, he had never done his duty toward her. Why? That is easy to understand as soon as you read that in the novel: she felt utterly neglected.
Not just Miss Mantel's work has made me constantly recall this--spouses feeling utterly neglected and wanting to eventually separate because the 'holy' deed toward them wasn't done--but there have been many other books that have some characters swirling around this dispute. Its just that the way it was written out in Miss Mantel's book was so delicately true to life that I always recall it.
I have been recalling those scenes from the book for many a times these last few months. The reason is quite obvious if the last two paragraphs made perfect sense to the reader. Today was the final straw as it is put, for me to put down my feet over that negligence and for once make myself heard, even if not that clearly. The crux is that though I have understood with a serious mien when I have read that lack of physical love takes huge tolls on relationships, I only truly comprehend that now as I am a 'victim' of that.
No matter how clearly I put the message across, there was nothing echoing from the other side as a sign of love, and assurance. There wasn't anything comforting but feigning (or not) ignorance. It actually hurts, and kills your personal sunshine on the inside, and the world is just winter solstice all over.
No reconciliation but constant arguments that are pointless to what I'm trying to reach across is terrible. Such sentences do make me sound like the bad guy. But this 'bad guy' here is hurt deep down, and you just don't want to see or understand that.
Finale: 'Just saying, hon.......you gave up long ago' is what I get as a reply.
Well, the context back then was ENTIRELY different and positively compelling me to give up. Using that context which is SO unrelated to the current context is just proof of how much you understand my pain. Maybe you just want me to give up on you wholly.
I hate what I feel, and even despise even more what I told you. But there are things that must be communicated for the better or worse. And I did that. But you never reached out to me, never. I write this with tears threatening to spill down my already tear soiled face. You wouldn't know that. You would only believe that I am just another biatch in the block. But go ahead.
Have it your way.
Ich bin liebe anyway.
