After the Party, Into the Rochester

After any pleasing night out, such as tonight with both James and Pip, there is the moment when one comes home, prepares a simple meal, and retires to the world of pyjamas and t-shirts. These last few weeks I have been immersing myself in the world of 19th Century romantic literature, and it is with great pleasure that I return of an evening to the delights of Jane Eyre or Far From the Madding Crowd. But it is not simply the reading that pleases me, not simply the worlds of Gothic literature, but the comfort of enjoying said works in my pyjamas.

Without the company I so crave, I have retreated into a world of Radio 4 and books aplenty, but beyond this there is a greater pleasure; classic literature has the ability to elevate the mind and put one into direct contact with a society long-gone. Without these books, without the films of said books, I would be just a lonely man living from day to day in a fantasy of current affairs and trivia. But with the classics, I have the power to be enlightened at the very same moment as becoming isolated... my loneliness becomes my salvation. For in Hardy, in Brontë, in Daphne du Maurier, there is a higher calling. The Geek can be called to Linux in such circumstances, into the esoteric world of computer hell, or he can be transported into a world of diverse pleasures. In essence, he can learn. And this, my dear fellows, is what I do with my spare time. I absord great works of fiction. After all, whatever QI might purport, fiction is the finer art. Fiction is the breeding ground for fiction. Fiction is where Art lives.