Saturday, February 7, 2015

The hero I like

So its offcial. I actually have a type. That does sound wanton of me, and hardly my type of confession.

Oh no its not the blue eyed tousled hair, not the witty intelligent debonair. Neither the broody silent kind, nor the one who makes love sublime.

As all my anecdotes seem to start, this one also started with a book. I searched for Jane Eyre and reached wikipedia. One click lead to another and soon I reached a dawn of understanding.

"a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection" 

A bryonic hero.

Exactly what I get drawn to each time, with variation for sure, but right at the bottom I think this is who I find in each character I end up liking. I see him in Heathcliff, I see him in Damon, in Arnav Singh Raizada, a glimpse in Rhett Butler, perhaps even Darcy.

It's actually the sense of force, a distinct thought process and a conviction within that what makes these men inspiring.

Following this sentence is a brilliant few lines of poetry. And this time the inspiration from these lines is not to swoon, but to return to study. There is no way I can even think along these lines, its time I did some digging up of literature. 

Don't get me wrong my English teachers from school are some of my absolute favourites, but they never brought me even close to this fire within. A desperation to learn how to think like these authors, which seems next to impossible. Well, I might just settle to be able to review like these critics.

And in the magnificent era we live in, where even though we are a few romantic heroes short, we have the internet and free online resources at our disposable. 

Leaving you with the lines that are for the hero of my type...

That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh— (I, VIII)

He knew himself a villain—but he deem'd
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd;
And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too.
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt: (I, XI)

All credit to this article goes to wikipedia ~

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