An Indecent Proposal?
This is taken from the first paragraph of a NYTimes review of the new 6-hour play “Gatz,” based on Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby:
“What happens between a novel and a consenting reader is usually a deeply personal activity, occurring behind the closed doors of individual minds. It is arguably more intimate and subjective than sex.“
So, Mr. Brantley, what have you been reading lately? Because m.snowe would like to get all up in that. Actually, no, m.snowe disagrees with your characterization. Reading a good novel isn’t just a little more intimate than sex–that metaphor doesn’t seem close enough to the truth–because sex, although subjective and intimate, is still always a shared experience. So basically, m.snowe thinks Mr. Brantley was just too shy to say it: reading a novel is autoerotic. There. Now it’s been said. Sure, the novel was written by an author, but they don’t participate in your reading experience. They just provide the initial mental stimulation, if you will.
We all like to get off intellectually, whether on the train, during lunch breaks, or at home, alone on the couch. Why? Because we can.