“Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I’ve read and what I haven’t read.”
— Virginia Woolf
Yesterday morning,I was in my bed under the blankets listening to the hollering of the wind, that when I started counting. Then I felt this book calls to me and I began reading.
This book is about the wallflower, not about the people who lead the conversation or the people who have the interesting lives, it’s about the witness, the listener. Charlie was the main character mostly for feeling too much, and then distracting himself from his emotions by reading books and other means. (No need to use art to annihilate the desire to act because he didn’t have it in the first place).
I did like to say that "it was the kind of book you made your own", but I didn’t feel that way, I guess I was a filter not a sponge this time.