For some reason, the concept of the portal has been on my mind lately.
It could be the hypotrochoid set I bought at a thrift store recently, but it was also likely brought on by this interview with Jennifer Egan, in which she says, “reading is always about finding a portal into another world.”
In a similar vein, Fran Liebowitz says in the Netflix series, Pretend It’s a City, “Now people are always saying, “There are no books about people like me, I don’t see myself in the book,” […] A book isn’t supposed to be a window, it’s supposed to be a door!”
Perhaps it’s the idea of being transported–taken away into some separate reality–that has me so fascinated.
At its best, this is what storytelling does to us. It takes us someplace else, somewhere outside of ourselves. And when done well, it allows for a kind of emotional deepening we fail to encounter in our every day lives.
Why do people go and see those sad things? Because they want a profound experience of something…Doesn’t matter what it is, human longing for deepening their experience is such that, even if they have to poke themselves with a pin, they will do that, but they want something profound to happen to them.
Otherwise, who would bear a child? Who would go through all this nonsense about life, if they are allergic to all those things? The reason why they’re going through all this is seeking profoundness of experience.