Words and Weeping

          Has a book ever made you cry? And I don't mean one glistening tear, brought on by the bad-assery of the author. I mean cry for an unexpected snag in the plot or for the loss of a main character. One instance I recall being quite a tear-jerker for many, is the loss of the greatest sorcerer in the world. I am referring of course, to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Everyone loved Dumbledore, and his pathetic death was somewhat of a shock. Surely this great, loving, eccentric and yet ever witty giant among wizards would find a way to survive. But we mourned alongside Harry, our half-moon spectacled friend was gone.

          However, I was not among those to reach for the tissue box. I was sad, but no where near close to tears. And I would not consider myself a cold person- I still can't watch the Lion King because Mufasta's death is quite possibly the worst single moment in all Disney history (next to Bambi's meadow experience). The fact remains: books don't make me cry. So what makes it possible for some to weep by words and others to merely flip the page?

          I propose that it is a loss of imagination. I cannot get past the fact that these characters are words, and they cease to exist whenever I wish. I close the book and they are gone: black words on white pages that don't mean anything without a reader. I feel their emotions whilst reading their pain, books can depress me for days or excite me to the point of annoyance (to others), but death is nothing for me to weep over. How could it? Real death is sad because one can never have that person back- never relive their favorite times together, and it's final. In a book, a character's real death comes at the end of the book. And all characters die. You will get nothing knew, all you have is the past. When a character's life is cut, I can relive my times with them as with the others- by rereading the book. I can have them alive again: or just as alive as they ever were. 

          At its core, a loss of imagination inevitably means a loss of innocence; and I in no way am about to advocate for a loss of innocence. Logic crushes imagination in its fist, and imagination is not something so easily rescued. If you are one of the lucky ones who still needs those Kleenex, I admonish you to safeguard it against the world. And if you're like me? God help us.

*Do books make you cry? Share opinions from your attic in the comments below