Perhaps I am looking too deeply into the book but Quixote's highly specific lapses in reasoning reminds me of real people. Most of us have most likely met people who seem to be highly intelligent, mature, and all-around decent human beings but they perhaps have one area in their lives where reason and logic seems to fly out the window. We can be clear-eyed and level-headed in some contexts and irrational, emotional, or immature in others. This is an unfortunate part of being human. At the same time, individuals carrying out "irrational" endeavors (who often ignore the advice of their family, colleagues, friends, and societal expectations and norms at large) accept immense uncertainty and risk for the sake of pursuing their passions and dreams. It's true that many who walk down such a path will most likely fail but this doesn't mean that their drive and commitment is not admirable and respectable.
Quixote can be seen as a tragic character who is extremely delusional (perhaps even mentally ill) when it comes to matters dealing with knights and chivalry. However, the reader can't deny his immense devotion for leading the life of a knight (or desperately trying to anyways). It's evident that he's exceptionally well-read in matters pertaining to knighthood and can cite even the most specific of verses from the chivalry literature. Although many would consider his passion and devotion misplaced, the reader can't help but admire Quixote's ability to believe in something at such a deep and intense level.
Ultimately, one person's notion of an irrational and irrelevant pursuit can be a source of meaning and passion for someone else. Perhaps many of us could lead more meaningful lives if we found our own unique version of the path of knighthood.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye - a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!