I loved escaping into the world of literature ever since I was a kid. There was something so comforting and warm about these literary worlds, so different from the crudeness and harshness of the real world. But now I think about it, there is another thing: Events make sense in these worlds. People make sense. The third person narrator ties up everything neatly for you. You know what's going on, why it's going on, what everyone is thinking, what they want, why things end up the way they do, and so on. There is a kind of internal coherence that is very satisfying, there is a 'plot' so to speak, and there is a rationale to it. A beginning, middle, end. Sometimes they may leave things a bit open-ended. But then too there is an arc around which you can exercise your imagination. It all comes together. And more often than not, the good people win. There are just deserts to be had all around. Which as you know is one of my pet peeves ;)

The real world, in contrast, is nothing at all like these worlds. Here you are a character and not a reader, which means you are carried by the plot rather than watching it unfold. But the bigger difference is, there is no plot as such. There is no overarching logic in motion that will make everything make sense in the end. There is no 'end' as such. You end, but the story for want of a better word goes on. And people? They are mysterious, their internal logic if there is one, completely opaque, inconsistent, and undeterminable. Their moves seem very arbitrary because they don't have bubbles over their heads telling you what they are thinking, why they are doing what they are doing, what is motivating them, etc. Add to which people may themselves not know. And of course, bad things more often than not happen to good people!

Any wonder why the real world is so disorienting? Perhaps a different orientation to it is needed... one which gives up on my compelling desire to 'make sense'...