I read 'Pilgrim's Progress' by John Bunyan. It just seemed the right book to start with. I'd spent most of my life reading non-fiction and biographies, believing this to be more worthy than reading fiction. Fiction isn't real. Therefore, fiction is a waste of time. But, then, I decided: out of the blue: to give it a try. And 'Pilgrim's Progress' seemed the right place to start. I was a sort of a pilgrim myself, embarking on a rite of passage towards a something that never happened or didn't exist.
Nobody had told me, you see, that even non-fiction was a concotion of misappropriated facts leading to a similar altar of untruth. History, biography ... all networks of criss-crossing lies. Fiction was no different.
From Bunyan - I literally leapfrogged all so-called literature such as Shakespeare and Dickens - and started reading a Private Detective novel featuring an investigator who was known for his Hawaiian shirts. One shirt in particular - highly coloured, wearing it time after time. Its armpits hung out, but you didn't notice under his wide-lapelled baggy suit.
Amazing coincidence. This novel I had picked out at random as my second step in the Ways of Fiction happened to feature a central character - the investigator with the Hawaiian shirt - who was actually called John Bunyan. How did the author of the novel *know* that I would be reading this straight after 'Pilgrim's Progress'? Such things only happened in fiction...
I worked out who committed the murder before the Private Dick did, I'm proud to report. It was as if I simply knew - or, incredibly, that I was truly *there* watching events as they unfolded. I witnessed John Bunyan as he questioned various wide boys and coves who inhabited the Slough of Despond that some call downtorn Dark City.
Bunyan even attempted to finger me - the reader of the book.
I escaped to another city - where I live now. Tomorrow I shall start another book. Not sure which one yet. Maybe a Stephen King. Maybe a bigger, blacker, older book. Instead of a crown of thorns on my head, there is a garland of Pacific flowers.
