Dear Gosh, It’s Me, Reading Kiwi

reading kiwiI have one simple request for you.

At least, I think it’s simple – I’m not sure. After all, what do I really know, right?

Anyway, my request is this: please, please, make the trilogies, quadrologies, quintologies, sextologies, cycles, series stop. Just make them stop.

Don’t get me wrong, I love books. After all, “Fiction gives us a second chance that life denies us,” and believe me when I say my heart weeps when I really, really think about all the lives I can’t life. But just. Make. Them. Stop.

I can take no more. The stretching out, the dragging on, the ever so subtle dropping of hints, of cliffhangers, of new characters that are somehow vital, yet never appeared before. What I want is stories to love in one go, to live in one go. Characters that come into my life for a while, only to leave me a few days later, broken, but better, somehow. You know what I mean?

I’m growing weary of having to like and appreciate and care for these people who come and go as they please, walking in and out of my life at regular intervals. I want closure. The chance to say goodbye, knowing that, however bitter-sweet, it is forever. Genuinely, truly, veritably forever.

Just give me everything in one go. The whole deal, all of it, from beginning to end. Doesn’t even have to be sizeable, monstrous volumes are fine with me, too. As long as they’re volumes one of one, now and forever. Okay?

Also, I want some of my favourite, most beloved characters to die sometimes. Not the protagonist, necessarily; I can see how that might be too painful. The best friend, though, or the love interest, they can go Sometimes people we care about die, not just those we should care about, or care about, but not so much that it incapacitates us, but the ones that really cripple us. Metaphorically speaking. Literaturally speaking, (see what I did there? You know, because of the whole debate on the death of the English language? Because literally is defined as, like, not-literally… Yeah OK, you get it).

I want to savour that good kind of hurt, from a gaping wound where your heart used to be, until an author tore it out, threw it on the ground, and starting flattening it into nothingness with a sledgehammer. Give me pain. Real pain. [Spoilers ahead!] Pain for me and pain for whomever I’m supposed to be rooting for, against all odds, but sometimes the odds just aren’t in your favour and Peeta dies. Not just Prim, Peeta. I want Hermione to die, alone, stupidly, shockingly, with her mouth open in surprise, because she never imagined this would happen to her. Kill them like they killed Drogo. Murder them like Fred was murdered, and then dwell on it. Dwell on it like lovers and family do because it hurts so much and there’s nothing else you can do and you can’t move on and you don’t want to and you never will. You can live on but they will always be there. Tell me what it’s like, because I have no clue, and I want to experience that kind of sadness from a safe distance. BOOM, straight to the heart but non-lethal.

Can you do that for me, Gosh?

Thank you,

Jay Jay.

PS: I’m sorry if I don’t make sense, I hate rereading, so I only bothered with spell check. Surely you understand.

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