Saturday has been half chores, half fun things. I got the chores done early on, in between reading chapters of It. I did some more drawing and watched The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. Read on to see how that went down.
The interesting theme of today has been children’s perception of the world. I’m halfway through It, and (I don’t know if there should be a spoiler warning, I’m not talking in specifics) there’s discussion of how a child’s perception of the world is different to an adult. Specifically, how children run on intuition.
I occasionally freak out about how much I get caught up in the reason and logic of decisions and how hard it is to be free of it. Children are free in a way adults can never be. When I was a teenager I used to watch a lot of horror films. As I’ve got older I’ve found that harder, things feel more real somehow and it gets difficult to suspend disbelief.
The Boy with the Striped Pyjamas plucked further at this theme. The story of a German boy making friends with a Jewish boy imprisoned in a concentration camp. He doesn’t really see what’s going on, he doesn’t understand the differences and takes things at face value.
I remember feeling like that as a child. I don’t know when it is we turn into big lumps of neurosis, I guess it happens so gradually that we hardly even notice. There’s a lot to be learnt from children though, the simplicity of taking things as they are, and occasionally running on intuition and seeing what happens.
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas was excellent, a unique take on the war. I had no idea Rupert Friend could be so terrifying.
I’m starting to realise that Stephen King has created his own little universe. Seeing the name Dick Hallorann in It was bothering me until I remembered he was also in The Shining. Shawshank Prison gets a mention too. There are websites out there listing all the links between his stories. There’s something beautiful in that, he has his own (very scary) world.
I think Ben Hanscom is my favourite character in It so far, I really enjoyed his description of the library. It’s exactly how I feel about libraries.
Here was the same murmuring quiet, broken only by an occasional whisper, the faint thud of a librarian stamping books or overdue notices, the hushed riffle of newspaper or magazine pages being turned. He loved the quality of the light as much now as then. It slanted through the high windows, gray as a pigeon’s wing on this rainy afternoon, a light that was somehow somnolent and dozey.
King, S. It. (1986). Great Britain: Hodder & Stoughton, 647-648.
I drew another cup (or the same one) in a different position, this time using different pencil weights. I also gave myself less time to do it so the proportions are still a little off. Still, practice makes perfect!
I’m looking forward to a quiet Sunday!