Sadder than the Winter Soldier’s story.

The fandom life is one of feelings and heated debates over motives and the future of fictional characters that you’ve found yourself emotionally involved with.  Which to a person who doesn’t “feel the feels” seems completely mental.  I mean Bucky Barnes is not real! and why are you crying over Rue, she’s a fictional girl in a book? and what was that inhuman squeal I just heard?

But why are we so connected up with characters we read or see on screen? what makes us just latch on and want to hug that character with all our hearts?

Here’s my notion on the emotions over fictional characters.  It’s because they’ve let us get to know them.  Obviously they didn’t consent, the writers wrote them, they haven’t sat down to coffee with us though we’ve sat down to coffee with them as we read Lord of the Rings in our local coffee hangout.  But the character’s souls have been bared to us in a way few of our living breathing fellow human beings in actual reality would ever let us get to know them.

Our society is one of shallow friendships and fleeting relationships and here are these people, made real to us by our sight and imagination, and they’re vulnerable enough to allow us to empathize with their woes.  The people we actually know won’t let us get to know them so we go and fill the void with fictitious personages to ease that need to be trusted by others.

If people spent more time and weren’t so defensive and allowed others to get to know them and visa versa then maybe, for all it’s glory, the fandom life would not be so vital to us.  But with people always holding us at arms length those of us who feel keenly the need to let in on what makes others tick find our solace in the pages of books and the films of the fandom variety.

There’s a sad want for true connection between living breathing human beings and so the fandom lifestyle has grown in accordance.  It would be nice, as much as I love the fandom life, to see it’s prominence diminish in favor of actual people letting each other in and bearing each other’s burdens like the fangirls are burdened with our glorious feels!



Time to talk

I love having friends over, I really do.  And I love talking life.  I appreciate that the theme of my generation (amongst my friends at least) is getting to know each other and bearing each other’s burdens.  But sometimes, maybe because I’m accustomed to something more, I really wish I could just sit down with someone and discuss the background of Shakespeare’s works.  Or the underlying theme of a work we’ve read.  Or discuss how the flow of history has affected events both past and present.  Some people who want to talk about the Bible as a book not just as the Almighty’s love letter, but it’s flow and it’s themes and the intellectual side.  I’m not saying my friends aren’t smart, they’re brilliant, many much smarter than I am.  But the emphasis on sitting and talking about things in a deep manner is gone.  We have our movies and shows and we talk about them rather than talking about books and nature.  The days of enlightenment salons and romantic parlors are gone.  And while I love watching a good show with my friends, I wish I could just ask them over for poetry reading instead, but I doubt anyone would come.  We don’t have the time to talk, or to think hardly.  So when we do find downtime we want to turn off our brains and watch some fascinating show that is visual not intellectual, and while they make us think perhaps.  How often do we discuss the deeper meaning afterwords? Or do we just gush about the quality of the film (or, my guilty point, the eye-candy).

I don’t know what it takes, or if it will ever happen again, but a movement of rediscovering quality talk, not just about ourselves, but about things bigger than us, and how we think and feel about them, would be so refreshing.  Could we do it?  Would people come to read books together and discuss lofty thoughts I wonder?  Or is this all the delusional dreaming of a hopeless romantic who’d like nothing more than to live in a forest dancing and writing novels and reading poetry while surviving like Keat’s gypsy Meg.