“Stop punishing yourself for being someone with a heart.”
― Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars
It’s was an odd moment when I realised that a fictional character – words on a page – has more emotional insight than most humans I’ve encountered. The palpable mixture of fervor, sorrow, zeal, and tenderness on the page seems to hold far more value than anything I’ve experienced in real life.
The reason why I love losing myself in a book is not just for the escapism it offers; there’s also a strange kind of solace in finding your own sentiments mirrored in those of literary characters. And more than picture-perfect characters with their life all figured out, I love reading about characters who have absolutely no idea about what they’re doing – because those are the ones readers relate to the most.
Love in Literature
And now we come to the topic I had been eluding – love. In a world of practicality and prudence, where everything is filtered through the lens of logic and analysis, there’s something deeply refreshing – almost rebellious – about reading romanticized love stories. Yes, the kind where people fall in love mid-apocalypse. Or after three pages of witty banter. Or despite being sworn enemies from rival kingdoms. This kind of love is entirely, unapologetically impractical.
And as thrilling as these stories are, the tantalizing power of slow-burn romances keep me on the edge of my seat – the barely-there glances, the soft brush of fingers, the mindless arguing only because the characters want to protect each other. I live for that moment when the characters finally verbalise the longing they’ve been battling for the past hundred pages.
“I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together- knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”
– Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom
(And to all the concerned parents reading this passage – I get it, it might feel a little too soon for young, imprudent teenagers to be daydreaming about love. But trust me, if not in books, we’ll stumble across it in real life quite soon… and honestly, I’m not sure that thought is any more comforting to you. Oops.)
The Fictional Friend Group
Every reader has a group of fictional characters that they visualise themselves as part of, and seek when they require comfort. These are the characters we adopt into our own emotional ecosystems.
They can’t hear you. They don’t even exist, but in a way, their presence feels almost tangible. They not only become the “favourites”, but as something between friends and co-conspirators.
When I read Harry Potter for the first time, I found myself wanting to be exactly like Hermione – brilliant, bold, witty, and with a strong sense of justice.
Now I read the same books again, this time comforted by Ron. He’s not The Boy Who Lived or the brightest witch of his age – he’s just Ron. Loyal, insecure, funny, sometimes jealous, but only human.
My average-ness has always aggravated me – because I thought I was meant for more (maybe the Hogwarts acceptance letter got lost in the mail?). I’ve realised that it’s perfectly okay to be just okay at the things you do, so long as you embrace it.
And hey, while I may be a Ron today, I’m still hoping for a glow-up arc sometime. Preferably one with less emotional instability.
In Conclusion (Because Apparently Blog Posts Need Those)
So here’s to the fictional best friends who live in our heads rent free, and to the ardent, passionate love stories that make our hearts race.
(And, of course, one last quote):
“At one glance I loved you with a thousand hearts . . . Let the zealots think loving is sinful. Never mind, Let me burn in the hellfire of that sin.
– Mihri Hatun, sixteenth-century Ottoman poetess”
― Elif Shafak, The Architect’s Apprentice
(P.S. Mom, Dad, if you’re reading this – please disregard all romantic references and all the bits about love!)
Yours truly,
Divi
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