“set down in some old book”

There’s nothing like reading to disabuse one of the notion that they are unique, alone in the universe, an anomaly unto themselves. Yet, at times, in the insulation of our own consciousness, we are inclined to imagine ourselves the sole inhabitants of the universe. In a way, we are the only inhabitor of our own perception of reality… yet even that is questionable if not altogether disprovable.

We don’t need to wander into the philosophy of solipsism to make some simple observations about how people interact with others. At times, it is hard to relate to other people in a way that is true and meaningful. Whether it is the constraint of societal convention, disparate experiences, or a selfishness that prevents us from investing the time required to either try and understand another person’s point of view or actually make an effort to communicate our own in hopes of being understood, there are innumerable obstacles to establishing connection with other people.

Add to these a personality, cultivated or innate, that has difficulty formulating coherent expressions of the self and experiences to others, and we have a recipe for misanthropy and isolation. Literal and emotional.

Which is where books come in.

Because what’s the use of learning that I am one of a low row only–finding out that there is set down in some old book somebody just like me, and to know that I shall only act her part; making me sad, that’s all. The best is not to remember your nature and your past doings have been just like thousands’ and thousands’, and that your coming life and doings’ll be like thousands’ and thousands’.

Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles

Tess, as written by Hardy, rightly points out the patterns of literature in replicating consistent patterns of human behaviour, but unlike her I have almost always seen it as a comforting rather than dejecting phenomenon. Who doesn’t need the reassurance that there are others like them? Being able to relate to people is essential to living in relationships.

I find immense hope and reassurance in reading that others have had similar experiences and feelings as I have, which extends beyond a simple need to be validated into a need to be connected. To know I’m not alone, I’m not a freak, that what I am experiencing is “such as is common to man.”

This doesn’t mean we should limit ourselves to only reading what we relate to. Rather, it is often the most unrelatable person or last one you would think to have anything in common with whose works or ideas on some level or another present a mirror to your own. It proves that even the people you wouldn’t usually think you could be friends with might actually have common ground if you’d care to dig deeper than the pleasantries and find it. It expands our capacity to acknowledge foreign modes of thought by putting them on some level we can understand–because our own is also understood.