the Devolpment

To my reader,

     Two weeks ago, I concluded with the resolution that I would learn how to care about characters more than plot.  (You can find that post here: the Reader.)  Since then, I have been in a therapy (of sorts) to learn how to do just that.

     I began with a book I'm already deep into, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien.  I was in the second of half of The Two Towers at the time, and was dreading finishing it because it focused on Frodo and Sam, and -- shudder -- Gollum.  But I forced myself to begin reading again, this time not moving onward to find out what happened next, but to find out what happened next to Frodo and Sam.  (I could care less what happens to Gollum.)
     My reading was well rewarded.  Even though I've seen the movies several times, I'd completely forgotten what happened in the last few chapter of The Two Towers.  But! I was not anxious to read because of the plot; I was anxious to read because I care about what happens to Sam and Frodo.
     A few days later, I read Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine.  It's an amazing book, but the first time I read it, I wasn't impressed.  It was mainly because I saw the movie before I read the book, and the movie has an expanded plot, and, being obsessed with plot at the time, I looked for that in the book.  When I read it most recently, I fought my inclination to read only for the plot, and cared about the protagonist Ella.  I was again rewarded.  She's a funny, brave, and stubborn character that I feel in love with.
     I intended to reread more books read before reading new material, but a book I'd ordered before I made my resolution came into Barnes & Noble.  As I opened With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin, I told myself I would read for the characters, not the plot.
     It worked.  I was, most of the time, able to ignore the prose that could have been better and fell in love with Philomela and Tom, the protagonists.
     Yet again, I got a reward!  Because I wasn't looking for or expecting any twists, one crept up in my blind spot and whacked me between the eyes.  I was so happy.  I couldn't ignore a big plot mistake, though.
     Where the climax was supposed to be, there was an anticlimax.  It was like Sundin was filling a balloon with air and kept on blowing and blowing till I was on the edge of my seat waiting for it to pop and confetti to go flying.  Instead of the grand explosion I wanted, it sputtered to a formless rubber pocket with that immature balloon fart that we all loved to annoy our friends with as kids.  I was so disappointed.  Though it may not have ended the way I would have liked, but I still really enjoyed it.
     Since With Every Letter, I'd been eyeing Divergent, by Veronica Roth, which sat on my bookshelf, daring me to open it again.  Two days ago, I accepted that challenge.  But as I flipped through the first three chapters, I realized I was failing to complete the dare.  I saw only the plot details, the setting of the stage for what was later to come.  I wondered how I could get myself to care.  Then a wonderful thought came to me.
     Why don't I read it with my mother?  She cares about characters more than I ever could and perhaps that concern would rub off on me.
     I decided to set my plan in motion for the next day, but in the morning, I woke with a headache.  Wanting to comfort me, Mom spotted Divergent at my bedside and offered to read it to me.  The plan was back in motion.  I quickly realized, though, that this setup was not going to work.
     Beatrice's voice, the protagonist's voice, is distinct in my mind, and Mom was not reading how I heard Beatrice.  It was more distracting than trying to read it on my own.
     Feeling a bit better than when I first woke up, I motioned for her to give the book to me.  I read to her.  Boy, was that the best choice I've ever made.
     Reading out loud distracted me from the headache and required a bit of acting on my part, which is something I love to do.  Feeling Beatrice' emotions helped me identify with her more.  Before I could only tell you what happened to the characters; now I can tell you how they feel about what happens.
     I'd say I'm making great progress in my therapy.

This maturing reader,
Janelle