So, I recently finished reading Divergent after my brother borrowed the book. That novel has become one of my favorites to date. So much went through my mind while I read and I started to realize more about myself that I hadn't dug deep enough to see. It was really quite the escape into my subconscious and imagination, and it's always a time I cherish. I haven't had that experience since I read Looking for Alaska a year ago as my summer reading assignment (though I recall rushing through it because I fell behind) and The Hunger Games a few years prior.
The first thing I truly noticed was my trouble paying attention to details. For some reason, every time I saw dialogue, my eyes would fixate to it, and I would have to force my eyes back to the paragraphs I skipped. I don't believe I had this before; usually I am a slow, pacing reader that will take his sweet time and savor every single word. Why now I started to lose attention I have no clue, considering this is the first novel I've thoroughly enjoyed for a long time.
Now don't take it that I dislike reading. On the contrary, I really do enjoy delving into to someone else's imagination and seeing what oddities they can concoct. This mainly goes for modern literature; I can read thousands of those all the time. School is probably what caused my love for it to decline. My high school has no clue about selecting novels that don't get lost in every significant detail or get way too attached to one subject. I felt this pain throughout most of my sophomore year, being I disliked so many of them. Some of them I would quit halfway through because it disinterested me. Some of these novels included A Tale of Two Cities, Things Fall Apart, and Pride and Prejudice (and before you condemn me, Internet, please. We all enjoy different things.)
This was the first time in a while where I could take a reprieve, or an adventure rather, in a new world and not have to worry about the test we have to take the next day or the essay our teacher will assign. School took the fun out of reading. This reminds me of a poem that probably every English class has ever given, Introduction to Poetry. One line mentions something about his instruction not wanting the kids to beat the poem with a hose to search for its meaning. How are we not going to if you give us the hose in the first place?