Romans & histoires Reading The Classics

“You don’t exactly give off the warm and approachable vibe.” “That’s because I’m not warm,” he said flatly. “But I am human.” That made me pause. It was the first time he’d said it so directly. As if he needed me to hear it. To believe it. “Do you remember what you read here?” I asked softly. “Mostly old classics. Steinbeck. Hemingway. My mother was obsessed with making me ‘well-read.’” He made air quotes. “Said a man who could understand words could understand people.”

“I know what you mean. I had one too—it was a family outing for us, going to the library. My mom insisted my brother and I read books if we wanted to play video games. I was that nerdy kid who actually preferred reading to gaming. I guess it carried over into adulthood.” Fiona’s gaze focused on his face, and one side of her mouth smirked. “Nothing wrong with that.” Handing the book back to him, she continued to investigate the books lining the shelves. “Do you have a favorite in here or in one of the boxes?” Chris chuckled. “Well, having a degree in English Literature, you’d think so. But I love so many of them. I’m partial to the classics—Keats and Shelley, Lord Byron, Shakespeare…”

Lucas explained and I turned to him. “I’m really sorry about your mum,” I said sincerely. “What was her favorite thing to read?” Lucas turned to me with a small smile on her face “It was anything between children fiction- she loved the classics, everything written by Charles dickens- that was all she loved and she had an entire section dedicated to it. It’s phenom-“ “Someone is here.” Malcolm said hurridely as he interrupted us, his eyes were hard and focused on Lucas who looked equally as confused.

“Oh, Nate. Remind me to educate you on the joys of a show called Firefly. It’s old, but fun.” “And it involves man parts?” I was still confused. I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of the language shared by these three. It seems to be equal parts sarcasm and quotes from random books and shows. At the beginning of summer, I listened to an entire rant about men in classical literature.

"But when the fog rolls in off the water at six in the morning, and there's nothing between you and the horizon, no rail, no glass, just open air — it'll be worth it. Some things are worth looking slightly insane for." Emma smiled at her knees. "I know something about that." He made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh. "What are you reading?" He nodded at the paperback beside her. She picked it up, turned it over. The God of Small Things. "It's for a class. World Lit, first semester." "Is it good?"

Even my hair seemed to regain some of its luster, though it remained thin in places where it had fallen out. Dr. Clarksdale had delivered on his promise of books—a small stack of carefully vetted volumes: a medical text with all the interesting pages removed, a collection of insipid poetry, and a Bible with several books mysteriously missing. Nevertheless, I devoured them, reading passages over and over, finding meaning between the lines where none was intended, creating stories from the spaces where pages had been torn out. I was running my fingers over a paragraph in the Bible, memorizing the texture of the paper, when I heard the door open. The heavy, measured tread told me it was Carlisl

“Actually….I didn't… well I haven't.” “You haven't what?” The title I couldn't read it, it wasn't very clear,” I said hoping I was right, it was an old book after all and there was no title on the thick back so maybe it had faded. “Really? Let me see,” he said, stretching his hand towards me. I handed him the book and he opened it to the front page. “Ooh! La Divina Commedia, it's an Italian classic…how couldn't you read this? It's very clear,” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"W-What kind of books?" "What kind I like to read?", he asked with an amused tone, trying his hardest not to laugh. "I'm a classics kinda guy. I'm surrounded by so much technology I need a break and avoid futuristic books. My favourites are the Trial by Franz Kafka, 1984 by George Orwell, Don Quijote by Miguel de Cervantes. I should stop here or else I'll talk day and night about my favourite titles. I love any classical literature I pick up." Michael leaned forward. "Weren't it to the high expectations my parents left behind, I would have studied literature."

Jake and Ethan exchanged a few pleasantries while I tried to focus on going through my books and deciding which ones to keep and which ones to donate. Ethan helped me and exclaimed when he picked out the classics we had read together for our English assignments. The pages were annotated with both of our messy handwriting. “God, I hated reading classics,” he said, closing yet another book and keeping it in the growing pile. “I thought you were always excited to read the next one as soon as we finished one.” Ethan looked at me, his blue-green eyes warm in the sunlight splattered across my room. He gave me a small secret smile and said, “It’s because I loved reading them with you.”

Lucas’ POV 0 The morning is busy, and everyone is getting ready for school and work, and I'm getting ready to head into the city, a drive I hate. I admit I’m a terrible driver, and I typically avoid it at all costs. 0 Before I head out I search out Leo and find him standing alone in the library. 0 "You could spend the rest of your life in here and you'd never finish reading them all," I say as I approach him. 0 "It's incredible. So many of the classics, and first editions." He runs his hand down the spines of a row of books and then pulls out a hardcopy of Robinson Crusoe.