Robert Jordan
Sep. 17th, 2007 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katharosI learned today that Robert Jordan has died.
It's strange. I fell out of love with his books a long time ago. They were all my pocket money went on at one point - big, thick, satisfying bricks of books that really made you feel that you were getting your money's worth. But then I read more books and began to develop more selective tastes and there were things about this world that grated on me and there got to be so many plot lines that one of those great big bricks only lasted a day. I never bought the last couple.
But I remember. There was a party at one of the houses on the street and I mouthed some excuse at my parents to sneak off early. I curled up in the corner of the sofa in the empty house and opened my latest purchase and started reading and didn't stop until my parents got back at about two in the morning. I hadn't moved a muscle in all those hours and I was feeling all floaty and disconnected from my body, which felt heavy and unreal when I tried to move it next to the words of the page.
I've said and thought a lot about Robert Jordan lately since I've become an English Literature Student and learned stuff about Deconstructionism and Lacan and New Historicism. But all I'm thinking of now is that late evening when I read myself into a trance I was so lost in his world and I think that is the best way, is the way I choose, to remember him.
It's strange. I fell out of love with his books a long time ago. They were all my pocket money went on at one point - big, thick, satisfying bricks of books that really made you feel that you were getting your money's worth. But then I read more books and began to develop more selective tastes and there were things about this world that grated on me and there got to be so many plot lines that one of those great big bricks only lasted a day. I never bought the last couple.
But I remember. There was a party at one of the houses on the street and I mouthed some excuse at my parents to sneak off early. I curled up in the corner of the sofa in the empty house and opened my latest purchase and started reading and didn't stop until my parents got back at about two in the morning. I hadn't moved a muscle in all those hours and I was feeling all floaty and disconnected from my body, which felt heavy and unreal when I tried to move it next to the words of the page.
I've said and thought a lot about Robert Jordan lately since I've become an English Literature Student and learned stuff about Deconstructionism and Lacan and New Historicism. But all I'm thinking of now is that late evening when I read myself into a trance I was so lost in his world and I think that is the best way, is the way I choose, to remember him.
