I think, honestly, every book I read changes my views on things, shifts my brain slightly left, slightly right, shakes it up a bit (this is starting to sound like the Hokey Pokey, I'll stop there.) I'm a fan of fiction, often of the fluffy sort, but not always. Even those open one's eyes, always, to something one hasn't thought of before. One that's not fluffy, The Blue Notebook, didn't change my views as such, but rather made something known to me that previously I hadn't realised. A chilling, sad, monstrous truth. And that's just one example. I'm going to warp this topic a bit, though, and not go on about one, specific, book.
Okay, they're not, by any stretch of the imagination, books, but you'll get my point... Women's magazines. They're also not high on my list of desired reading matter. I'll happily read them in a waiting room but I would never buy one unless it was under dire circumstances. I have always had great faith in humankind. I think, intrinsically, we're all good people, and have the greater good at heart. Even if some people don't try very hard to show that, I'm certain it's there.
Then I read women's magazines, and discovered a whole population of people to whom The Outer is the important bit. You will never find a man unless your toenails are pedicured, your face is covered in a layer of make-up (and, preferably botoxed, collagened, stretched and tightened surgically) and you resemble a stick insect in a bikini (preferably designer). God forbid you're seen outside the home without the latest Vuitton/Gucci/Balenciaga handbag. The world might crumple in on itself.
My views changed, I realised there is a vast majority out there who are completely driven by the material, the labels, the outer beauty. So I stopped reading them. There are, also, a bunch of people, apparently, who can bury their head in the sand, and pretend it's not happening... Me? Never.
1 day ago