on reading

I belong to a family of readers.

My father was a remarkable reader; he was the kind of person who, after X years later, still remembered all the names of the characters from the books he read and he would be able to rival anyone else's knowledge of these books' plots. My mother's interest in reading was never blatantly evident when I was growing up. I took her reading activities for granted; she was an educator after all, so I translated it to more of a need than something she actually enjoyed doing. It was my aunt who enlightened me about this after my mother died. She said that when my mother was a teenager, she read everything in sight. She even told me about the time when my Lola spanked her for forgetting to change her napkin because she was reading a book so intently. Her bedsheets became soaked with blood and they marvelled at how she wasn't able to notice it.

My mother taught me how to read. At the age of three, I was able to read those hard-bound Bible Stories that almost everyone I know has copies of. She was a very patient teacher during the times when she wanted to be. She ordered books accompanied by instructional tapes; she taped educational posters on my bedroom walls (A is for Apple; B was always for Bandana and never Banana, for some reason). We pored over books for two hours everyday and she'd make me go through some exercises that she devised. This is how I learned to read. I imagine that it must've been a difficult feat but my mother soldiered on, as all mothers must when they want their children to learn about something important.

But when I got older, it was my father whom I turned to for advice regarding reading material. He was always so vocal about classic literature and how rewarding it is to be able to read books penned by the greats. Of course, I had to try them out. He told me how lucky we were here in the Philippines to be able to access these significant works because in some countries, they were forbidden, especially to women. I didn't believe him at first; I thought it was something he just told me to help me appreciate Dickens and Alcott, the first two classic lit authors whose works I've had the pleasure of reading. Eventually, I learned that this was true. Last year, I read the book Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. I cried a lot and remembered my father and was once again thankful for the privileges that are given to us here.

Of course, I also went through the necessary phase of reading more popular books like the Sweet Valley High series and books by Daniel Steel and more books that were written by anonymous authors that cannot be necessarily categorized as smut but are things that I may never read again, not because I'm an elitist. I've never belonged to a "literary circle" and I've never published anything that may be considered note-worthy. But as most of us know, when you go through the natural process of growing up, you have to decide on what kind of knowledge you'd want to take with you and what you want to let go of.

One of the bloggers included in my Reader list posted this in his blog. The issue caught my attention because his sentiments regarding the reading of classic literature mirrored my thoughts perfectly. This battle of wits all started with the blog entry that someone posted and it did cause some furor, I think, in the lit circles and has even started a rereading of Amado Hernandez's Mga Ibong Mandaragit. I've tried to weigh the two sides and have read the other posts related to the issue. I believe that Connie Veneracion has made some valid points as well but I would have to agree with the people who felt offended by what she posted.

A year ago, I've chanced upon someone's entry mistakenly linking reading preferences and orginality. Aside from the fact that I think everything that person spews out is total BS, I think that one has nothing to do with the other. Good reads are truly not limited to time-tested literature, but this is not a reason to write them off as books that only nerds or people in certain circles can enjoy.

You'd think that lawyers would be capable of posing better arguments than these.

I have no problem with how "eclectic" other people's tastes are. What I do care about is the way of thinking that people go for nowadays. They say it's the modern brand of cool. Let's be mediocre and unobtrusive because that's sooo cool! Let's be content with what we know and just read about stuff that we already have learned about a trillion times because that is sooo cool. Let's not succumb to standards that other people set just because they think they know about these things! Let's read anything that may or may not contribute to intellectual growth! Who cares? I don't.

I think that Ichi Batacan's statement takes the cake: "[There is] so much fear of 'elitism' in this country, when there should be a far, far greater fear of backwardness and parochialism and mediocrity. So much in our national life and culture encourages us, forces us, calls on us to settle for so much less than the best in ourselves, to aim for not even the barest minimum in our aspirations. It makes me ferociously angry too."

Connie Veneracion's and that other girl's statements are indications of some people's attitudes toward learning and discovery. When has this all started? When has it been considered bad or undesirable to read books that would enlighten you, that would make you grow as a person, that would enable you to think more critically?

I am the product of two readers and I think this is the one thing in the world that I am most thankful for and am insanely proud of. If my parents were lax and let me learn how to read at my own pace, if they were the sort of parents who never pushed me to understand the things that I do not, then I seriously don't know if I could've gotten a good job or if I would even be posting stuff in this blog now. Because of my parents, I was able to grasp the reality that life isn't something that you go through by making small, easy steps. The lessons you learn and the experiences you encounter should be able to push you to be someone better, someone who embraces what it can offer.

If you don't have the time to read Tolstoy, then say so. Don't make disinterest an excuse because it just makes you seem stupid. Reading classic literature is no walk in the park. It has to be done with a certain grace and persistence. These works have been published for us to learn important lessons from them and they have been crafted, yes, to be taught by capable people.

Of course you'd ask, who's left to teach us now that the educational system is shot, now that there are more and more people who can't construct a simple sentence, yet they pass the LET exam? Everyday, I get to interview English teachers who mix up past and present tenses and my heart sinks. This is a serious glitch that we really have to look into and yes, it will take a lot of time and an enormous collective effort for us to be able to develop competent teachers. But the seemingly educated people perplex and disappoint me more -- people who have finished "important" degrees but have the audacity to disregard the absolute necessity of thinking out of the boxes they have comfortably settled into.

I'll be closing with an excerpt from Ian Casocot's entry that says it all: The art of appreciation is ultimately colored by where you come from, so don't judge anything -- books, paintings, music -- as being flawed, especially if you're the one who lack the tools to understand the nuances of the text at hand. Your ignorance and your personal incompetencies should not be the standard by which something should be judged with.