On Reading

(Pardon the lack of post yesterday--things got unexpectedly busy and I ran out of time.)

I'm auditing two classes this semester--an introduction to Spanish literature class and an Iberoamerican History class. Which are classes right up my alley. The history one is basically AP Euro History again, but this time we ignore pretty much all the other countries. Also, I'm quite proud to be one of the few who knew what the Punic Wars were, so yeah, freshman year history: still changing my life.

You're probably not surprised to learn that I'm eating up the opportunity to read some Spanish literature in the original language, despite (and perhaps because of) the challenges that come with it. I'll be re-reading Bodas de sangre this semestre, and I cannot wait. I read the play last year in school, but only understood about 45% of it. Enough to know who is who and to have a very basic understanding of the plot. But definitely not enough to write an essay, not enough to pick up on subtle symbolism and imagery, not enough to identify thematic elements. Forty five percent, because I was too busy slogging through the language barrier.

But it was this slog that made me understand a bit more about the power found in being able to read. When I was in first grade, I didn't like reading. At all. I remember "reading" (staring at the pictures) a book, bored to tears. But in third grade, something shifted. Maybe it was because three and a half years of trying to read started to pay off and it started to get easier. Maybe I found a book I really, really liked. I don't know. But in third grade I didn't stare at pictures, bored to tears, any more. I stared at words, slowly understanding them. By the next year, I loved reading. And in middle school my consumption of books sky rocketed, and I know that there was a stretch of time in sixth grade when I read a book a day for several weeks. (Oh, the joy of not having very much homework).

So when I hit high school, and suddenly didn't have much time to read for pleasure anymore, but still had to read A LOT for school, I had the advantage of several years of practice doing this reading thing. Basically, reading was easy for me. I didn't struggle recognizing words, comprehending sentences, I could easily grasp the who, what, and where aspects of the stuff I read and school, leaving my brain power devoted to understanding the stories on a deeper level.

That, of course, all changed when I was required to read Spanish stories. It was like being back in first grade again, unable to comprehend how the words fit together to form a story that was meaningful. Every ounce of focus was employed in trying to understand the bare bones of the story, the mere sentences. There was no chance that I was capable of thinking to myself "Hey, the author sure references the darkness a lot" or "How cool was that description? Lorca is definitely utilizing to traditional folklore." Nope. All that when right over my head.

It was only when I could not understand these stories did I realize how fortunate I was to have fallen in love with reading so early on. I'd had enough practice, enough years under my belt for reading in English to become as second nature as breathing. This skill unlocked the world of literature for me. And, man, am I glad I have access to it. And I had a newfound understanding and empathy for people who might not find reading to be as easy, or as pleasurable, because I was unbelievably frustrated at my struggles with Spanish literature.

But now I get another chance. Bodas de sangre here I come.