Reading Novels Isn’t Wasting Time

Books are a form of escapism, and since my childhood days they have never let me down. Friends and family have their usual dramas and bad days, but cuddling up in bed on a boisterous day with a good book in my hand never failed to brighten the gloominess.

Reading fiction is elemental to your nature and addresses our deeply primitive needs of achieving that vital sense of owed and function of doing things. To say it is a “waste of time” and “impractical” would be a blatant slander to the sophisticated and romanticised minds of the authors behind these projects. Jacqueline Wilson was my companion around my early childhood days and I consider every cent of my savings spent on her books to be money well spent. As my mind and soul grew older I begun to appreciate the types of adult romance authors like Nora Roberts and the ever heart-wrenching yet topical novels by Jodi Picoult. Every novel offers a view into reality and the natural signs of life. scum villain self saving system

Fiction is more than the easy and overly imaginative content that some people make it out to be. It is worthy of the appreciation and mulling over by the scary mind. A novel has a synopsis and storyline which is the back of the book and the core of its various spin offs along the way. Usually we find that novels are crucial in disclosing a prominent trend in society like the increasing intricacy of life in the world and the difficulties it causes to young people. The novels “The fault in our stars” and “Paper towns” by John Green are a few of the hottest recommendations. The authors, by their plot and diction, are hinting at their views on this growing society and what we as the public could possibly do to reverse some of the disturbing and hard to bear trends. Romance novels, however softly, are also trying to tell us something. Love those around you. Show your appreciation to your family more often. Paradise is fragile. Transporting yourself to another dimension to fortify and explain to your tired soul following a hellish day is not a bad idea at all.

If everything we do has to be for a concrete and laid out purpose, that has to be excessively gloomy. Sometimes we need to have things we do just for the fun of computer, to enjoy the simplicity of sheer joy we get out of that moment. The novels we read may paint stories that are hard to think, but in that blessed moment I am not bored down by the mundane soccer pratice drills of existence. The occasional serendipity I discover from some of the plot twists disappear. Everytime I close a very good book, I am reprehended by the callous glare of reality again. As morbid as it sounds, and perhaps a little exaggerating, you get the picture.

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