Essay On My Love Of Literature

In the essay, Disliking Books at an Early Age, Gerald Graff talks about his transition from being displeased and uninterested in literature, to having intellectual discussions about it and even teaching it. He did not begin to enjoy reading until he had discussions about the books that he read, which showed him a different perspective. Overall, his essay explains how readers can only enjoy literature if they turn it into a social activity by freely interpreting and discussing the pieces they have read.

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.”

Literature is an essential part of the center of a person’s life. It provides a certain assurance and “feeds the soul” of one. Whether it be a book, TV, or even an advertisement, literature exists everywhere. A person is able to develop many skills by studying literature, and expand the horizon of their learning. An immeasurable amount of insight and knowledge can be gained from the study of literature which contributes in providing readers with an understanding of the past, and a philosophical assimilation of the moral behind a writing piece.

The essay “Disliking Books” by Gerald Graff gives reason to why so many kids and young adults dislike reading. Graff mentions things from his childhood, and things from his time as a college student to explain his reasoning. Being a part of a middle class family, Graff explains the stigma surrounding studying and enjoying books in his childhood. Graff then shows us his experience that changed his mind. Graff uses details from his life to give meaning to his ideas.

As a product of South Central Los Angeles the expectations bestowed upon me were less than remarkable. I grew up in a system of public schools where textbooks and classrooms where infested with graffiti and marker lines by students with no intention to learn. As a child growing up this kind of environment I did what I saw around me. Ignored my education and focused on making friends. Both my parents worked full time jobs so time spent with them was limited, I never cared much for reading or writing as a child, books where never a gift; more of a chore that was taking up time from my true interested. It was by these guidelines that I never saw the true magic behind literature until now a grown up.

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

When I was younger, the amount of obligations upon me fewer and less likely to affect life in the long term, it was far easier to pursue my passion for fiction. School consumed less time, and the classes were introductions to various principles rather than in depth study. The books contained within the library of my elementary school weren’t great works of literature either. They were simple stories, with simple characters and events, but I loved them anyways. These simple things made sense, a comfort blanket that I simply had to reach into a basket on a shelf to find. When library time rolled around every week, I always managed to find three or four new ones to take home, and then read them all within a day or two. I had never been a particularly athletic child; I had the time and the will to devour as many stories as I possibly could.

In the article, “Why Literature Matters”, the author, Dana Gioia, states how reading is taking a turn downhill as young adults are not reading literature. Gioia addresses that in order to fix the issue, politicians and business communities need to try and fix the problems. Dana Gioia uses a series of logical appeals to show how the decrease in literature is affecting the society.

As a young girl, I remember my grandma used to read me a story every night before bed. Now that I’m older I find writing as an escape, a way to let my feelings out. However, in the persuasive essay, “Why Literature Matters” by Dana Gioia, it is brought to light that literature is a dying subject. The author informs the reader of this tragedy by providing a solid, well built argument, and backing it up with factual evidence.

1. There are numerous reasons about why Miss Narwin’s opinion of reading books differs from Philip’s opinion. The first reason is that Miss Narwin is a mature adult, who can understand literature better than children. Miss Narwin also has a love for classic literature, which not everyone shares. The second reason is that Philip would enjoy books that were written when he was growing up; it would be easier to understand and relate to for him. I concur with Miss Narwin’s point of view, as I love to read and some older books have a deeper meaning to them. I also agree with Miss Narwin, for I believe that more classic literature should be spread, so that classics won’t be forgotten. Philip’s attitude might be considered a self-fulfilling prophecy since most children would not have such a deep love towards classic literature. Children also appreciate books that they can understand and relate to.

In an age where the printed novel has been somewhat on the decline, and the necessity of readable fiction has almost faded into obscurity. I believe that literature still harbours a crucial part within our society; from the very foundations of most theatrical adaptations, to preserving the culture and encapsulating the feelings of generations past. In this case literature cements itself as one of the most decisive elements of our civilisation, and combining it with history makes it become a testament to who we are as people, as well as the conservation of both our progression and degradation. I have always enjoyed reading literature, from reading J.R.R Tolkien’s classic ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy within my childhood, to perhaps more sophisticated,

The thin rustic pages scrape past my loose fingers as I sit engaged. My heart pounds harder and faster with every word my eyes pass over. My ears hear nothing, even within booming noise. My complete focus is on the book that lays in my hand with a laminated cover, and I have no choice but to submit to the content. My breath tastes of spearmint and the aroma of fresh paper floats past my nose. I couldn’t resist but delve into the worlds and mysteries that books hold. Once opened, everything around me becomes a distant blur. I am hooked. Books have always created an escape for creativity and fancies to run free. Books are used as a medium for reason. Books are formative to the development of human beings. In my instance, books changed my life.

Reading was the new outlet for my imagination and the stories I read fascinated me. They weren’t too unlike the scripts of computer games or the own stories I came up with on my own, but books actually had the action and emotional aspects written out. And again, while my peers were reading things about growing up, things that had morals and would teach valuable lessons (I remember one book about a shoplifter who had to do community service at an animal shelter), I read real fiction: Jurassic Park, Dragonriders of Pern, Lord of the Rings… Stuff of fantasy and science-fiction that let my mind stray from reality. Stuff that kept my imagination alive while I was being forced to learn multiplication and the names of countries. Of course, my teachers encouraged me to keep reading, as long as I wasn’t doing the reading in the middle of their lectures. But it wasn’t because of their influence, however, that kept me interested in books. It was because I loved it. It put pictures into my head and made me think. So I kept reading. But even then I knew reading wasn’t enough… Yes, the stories were fascinating, but they weren’t what I wanted. Back then I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but as middle school came to a close, I found it.

Although reading literature when being forced and for educational purposes has withered my once love of reading, I can still vividly remember where my love of reading began. My comfy living room couch holds my

As a child, my interests were more focused on reading than writing. In elementary school I fell in love with books. Initially I read simple children’s books, much like everybody else in my class, but it did not take long for my passion to drive me to read more difficult writings. Fiction books quickly became a replacement for any childhood toys. Instead of blocks or stuffed animals I would ask my parents for books. Since they were aimed at young readers, they tended to be short. I found myself going through them within days, and then soon several hours. Towards the end of elementary school I was reading series like Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I was captivated, and reading truly opened up a whole new world for me.