I’m a happy person. I just finished reading a book by the German author Kerstin Gier and aaah – I can’t get that smile off my face.
She writes books for young adults/teens and maybe I’m getting a little too old for her books, but honestly I don’t care.
I first came across her books when I read “Rubinrot” or “Ruby Red” in English ( I believe it has been translated, as it was rather successful) and I was addicted from page one. The two following books of the trilogy were just as good – or even better and her new novel “Silber” (Silver in english, but I don’t think it has been translated yet) is the best yet.
Without telling you exactly what happens in all four books, it touches a part of every girl’s every heart that make me forget all my feminist values.
She writes about exciting as well as hilariously described teenage love-affairs (she writes some GOOD kissing scenes) all wound up in some crazy mystery among a thousand little secrets the reader constantly tries to figure out.
The thing is about these kinds of books that the reader knows exactly that a situation as described in a novel will never happen in real life, therefore we do our best to dive into these perfect stories with all the emotion we can come up. We want to feel what the self-centered protagonist feels who only sees herself and all her problems and confusions, completely disregarding everything else that may be going on in the world.
There is no mention of war, global warming or whatever awful thing there is in this world. You know, while you follow the protagonists through her worst nightmare, that everything – and I mean everything – is going to be more than alright.
These books are a safe-haven for anyone who will allow it.
In school we read all these serious, important books that criticise society (even if you have to look for VERY hard for the criticism sometimes, the teacher says it’s there). You could start to feel guilty for enjoying these “easy-reads” like those of Kerstin Gier or Sophie Kinsella.
But not every book you read has to be by Al Gore or Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
We are surrounded by worries, some of us more than others. And I, certainly, have very few worries (they still seem large enough though).
The more I get to know all that is wrong in this world, the more I get the feeling that it’s wrong to try and be happy. The moments in which I have fully felt happy are not so numerous anymore, the older I get and the more people tell me to grow up, thing about my future and inform myself on every single crisis there is in this world. Of course, we can’t live in ignorance of what happens around. But somehow I feel that – if the only thing we do is worry and curse, there can’t be a fight for change, as, what is there to fight for if we can’t remember what it’s like to be happy. This may sound a little as if we were all a group of rebels and our leader is Robin Hood.
But I don’t thing we really are every truly happy. Many of us aren’t, anyway.
We work, we eat, we sleep, we meet friends and family, but wouldn’t you agree that there is always some kind of cloud hanging over our heads and we chat and giggle, as we sit in front of our computers (says the girl typing on her laptop) or make promises to make improvements.
No family is perfect, we all know that and friendships change constantly, technology consumes our lives and I think the ignorance of all that happens around us has already begun to solidify itself.
That’s why we need those feel-good-books and movies, those moments of utter silliness, even if it means to resort to every cliché you can think of. Someone like me doesn’t usually embrace the pink, girly side, but it’s there – somewhere hidden away in the depths of my soul, away from judgement and serious faces.
Thank you, safe haven.