Are You a Reaper?

In “How to Mark a Book”, Mortimer J. Adler delves into the importance of active reading. His purpose is to encourage an audience of readers to not be afraid to write in a book because “…the soul of a book can be separated from its body” (Adler 17). Meaning, a book is more than its physical being and deserves to be cherished for what is written inside of it.

The inevitable had happened; I, as a small child, was demanded to read. A little antisocial human being launched into a world of, at first, difficult words and lengthy phrases. While words and literacy were forced into my mind, I had reluctantly begun the adventure to enjoy and accept the art of literature. Later however, my hopes and dreams were crushed to pieces by a gruesome teacher with an interesting form of a so called “grading policy.”

“The boy went back to the corner where he had been studying and pulled out a thick book carefully covered in brown paper.” (pg 233)

The occasion of the story is a crucial advice about critical reading: one has to “read between the lines” to fully understand an idea. According to the speaker, he not only wants the readers to “read between the lines” but also to write between the lines to effectively enhance one’s critical reading skills. The speaker encourages readers to take notes inside a book to fully retain one’s knowledge about the book and make it a

children east but as leaves, she stops one final time glancing back to see the farm and the vision of her

As once said by Socrates, a famous Greek philosopher, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” He believes people should read between the lines, and in the case of books, delve into what the author is trying to say by using symbols and imagery. To someone who does not examine the book, The Catcher in the Rye, it may seem to be about a “messed up” teenager who wanders around town and doesn’t care about life. But when a range of ______ are explored, one will find that this book has common themes of innocence, changing, growing up and also death. It is discovered in various _____ the novel, such as in The Museum of Natural History, his red hunting hat, and the ducks in the Central Park Lagoon.

His sun kissed skin was sprinkled with grubby marks and one of his top teeth was absent as he chuckled. His black hair flopped down over his eyes as he stared intently into a book held tightly in his hands, seemingly ignoring the chaos I saw around him. The blue of the cover stood out amongst the neutral tones, and the word “infinite” stood out to me.

I gripped the over-annotated, photocopied packet in my eager fingers so that my sweaty fingers made print marks on the black speckled page. And I read. I cried. And my dream changed.

A book is like a door, without stepping through the door, you will never know what's on the other side. It is a mystery that can only be unveiled if you open it and look through it. Dana Gioia wants us to take that mystery and open it up, as many young adults have lost interest in the action of reading itself.

Throughout all of time, literature has played an important role in people’s lives. Books are more than just stories to laugh at, cry with, or fall asleep to, but books can teach. Books can teach a person a simple task such as baking cookies or an extremely complex one such as solving for the derivative of a trigonometric path and its parabolic motion. Whatever the subject, whomever the reader, books can teach people many lessons. One of the most important lessons that a book can teach a reader is a lesson about himself, about the difficulties of life, and about living a good life. As time has passed, so has literature itself. Older books focused on historical events, fictional poetry, and important figures; however, books now have evolved to

A beautiful young woman steps down from the horse drawn carriage, one foot touching down onto the rough ground outside her second home. As she looks around, she cannot help soaking in all the wonderful scenery surrounding her. The fabulously large trees too tall to climb perfectly blanketing the hillside in the distance. The sky clear, blue and bright with a few lingering perfectly formed cotton clouds. The trees just starting to turn from their deep green to shades of orange, yellow and brown. The grazing grass that surrounds still the brightest shade of green imaginable.

Damp orange leaves stuck to my shoes as I trudged my way toward the back entrance of the school. A chilly wind whooshed past me, spraying my face with vapor. It felt good, almost numbing. Shoving my hands into my jean pockets, I then began to think of the red book. A tingle of warmth spread throughout my body as I recalled the way my fingers had glided over the embossed gold design on the cover. The gold always seemed to glitter when it touched the light; it was worthy of admiration, praise. As if suddenly slapped across the face, I came to my senses. Daydreaming about a book, especially one that was that was supposedly inherently evil, was not normal behavior. That was such a random thought, think about something else Jared, I scolded myself.

My hand reached for my suitcase, intending to take out my sketchbook. The leather bound book was a comforting thing, the turmoil of anxiety in me calmed as my fingers skimmed across the soft cover. It had been with me through all of this; it still is now. This book was not a traitor, not like Charles, not like Oswald.

The girl on the silver bench glanced over the shoulder and quickly came back to the pages. She was not reading them, but, staring at the pages. The look on her face was of melancholia. She might have been thinking of her damn life. -As any young teenager who is curious about the entering in the evil world of

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not