an argument for overestimation

when i was little, i wanted to be matilda. the book was one of the first chapter books i ever read, and amidst the immense pride i felt at having completed a 21-chapter book, i wished i could be as smart as this girl.

around a decade later, 'matilda' is still one of my favorite books. maybe it's a little strange, but i've always felt that the amount of wear and tear a book goes through shows how much the owner loves reading it. by that logic, 'matilda' is one of the best-loved books in existence. i've read it so many times my copy is falling apart. it doesn't have a back cover, the front cover is a tiny bit singed from a campfire accident, the whole book is a little warped from water damage, the pages are turning yellow, and most of them have that telltale dog-ear crease in the corner.

anyway, i read it so often mainly because i loved the character and wanted to be like her. she was my age, maybe even younger, and she loved learning, so she was just like me. well, not entirely like me. not only could she move things with her mind, but she could also do complicated math in her head and read books that were more than 21 chapters long. i'm certainly not a telekinetic, and there are very few things i'm more hopeless at than math, but at least i could read.

in an effort to be more like matilda, i started to attempt to read books way beyond my own abilities in the literacy department. she impressed the librarian by reading books by dickens, bronte, austen, wells, hemingway, faulkner, steinbeck, orwell and more, so naturally i tried to read all these authors too. of course i didn't understand a word of any of these books, and i didn't develop a charming relationship with the local librarian.

entirely undiscouraged, i resigned myself to the fact that i'd have to start out a little smaller than matilda. i read the rest of roald dahl's books, but wanted something more. realizing that while i wasn't exactly 'great expectations' material, i could be shooting for something a little more complicated than 'james and the giant peach.'

i'm sure all those bedtime books my parents read to me as a kid played a big part in why i love reading so much. it's 'matilda,' though, that contributed to my consistent overestimation of my own reading abilities growing up, and my current appreciation of classic literature.

as of now, i have read (and actually comprehended) most of the books matilda breezed through when she was in kindergarten. it doesn't matter what i read, though, because i understand why matilda loved books so much. she could escape into another world, learn about other people and experience their stories. my parents aren't narcissistic, neglecting neanderthals like matilda's, so i didn't rely as heavily on the escapism aspect, but i think everyone likes to know they can read a book and experience something else for a while.