High School: Part 5

My senior year is the year of high school I remember the least.  Go figure.

It's sometimes a wonder to me that I graduated valedictorian that year because I was not focused on school at all (for all you other students who worked and sweated for hours to get the high grades you got while I did whatever I wanted when I wanted to, I'm sorry.)  What happened, though, was that in my previous years, I had filled up so many credits that the only classes I had to take was that English/History block in the morning and I was done for the day.  Afterwards, I went to the gym, went out to eat, took a couple Creative Writing classes, or went home to nap.  Nights were often for hanging out.

Truth is, I had more freedom that year than I've had my whole life.  And I did nothing valuable with it.  Hence, remembering anything I did, including English class (which these posts have been centered on) is hard to do.

There was one thing in English that is hard to forget: it was the third time that I read George Orwell's 1984.  Man, was I ever sick of that book.

I first read it when I was fifteen on a friend's recommendation.  I was blown away; it was powerful, deep, terrifying, traumatizing, and absolutely broke my heart at the end.  I thought was Orwell was a genius and had written a well-thought out plan.

Then my sophomore year, we read it again and again, the writing was just as good as I remembered it.  Orwell had a way of transporting his audience into his dark and haunting world and the ideas he shared were clear.  You knew what he was saying.  I was still upset by the ending but for reasons I couldn't explain, I felt dissatisfied this time around.

My senior year, I read it the third time and I understood why I hate this book.  My beliefs changed or solidified from the time I was fifteen until I turned eighteen.  When I was fifteen, I was new to politics and why people behave the way they do.  My own religious convictions weren't strong then.  And my own skills in comprehending and analyzing literature weren't so strong either.  I had three years to develop all those things, and though all my knowledge and beliefs were still that of a novice (heck, they still are), I understood myself better and I understood that I just couldn't believe this story anymore.

I understand that Orwell was telling a story of the perfect dystopia and how it would destroy the human race.  But while in my Freshman year, when I believed that a dystopia like that could exist, in my Senior year, I was completely convinced that the dystopia has to fall apart.  It can't stay organized long enough to be so complete as to cover the world as Orwell suggested here.

I'm not going to go into why I believe that here.  I just thought it worth noting how time really can change your experience with stories.  A fun example is Animorphs by K.A. Applegate, my favorite books series when I was a kid.  I thought they were the greatest things to ever hit the bookshelves.  I came back to reread them when I was in college and shook my head.  They were still fun but MAN were there flaws and weirdness in the story I hadn't appreciated then.

The thing is, I grew up and with it, so did my reading tastes and how I would accept a story.  Now the sign of greatness as I see it is reading a story you liked when you were younger, read it again and discover that it's even better than you thought.  One such case for me is The Lord of the Rings, which was infinitely better the second time I read it.

How about you?  What stories have you come across that became better or worse with your next rereadings (or viewings, if it's a movie or play, if that's more your cup of tea?)