If it is your life

On Becoming a Reader

by rail daily to school, thus my penchant for departing class prior to the schoolday’s rightful conclusion that I might not disintegrate through the unutterable boredom of the subjects under consideration, my being forced to consider these subjects that I might the better advance beyond my fellows on the hierarchical ladder that was the greatbritishsocialsystem, the place of my parents and family not deemed of the lower orders but affixed therein through no fault of our own how-somever the school subjects under consideration purported to bring about the opportunity of escape, nor yet the fault of my parents whose apparent acceptance of this greatbritishsocialsystem ceded to myself a marked nauseousness largely indescribable but by authors whose ability to transcend that same indescribability by virtue of the act of storytelling exhibited not only the sad limits of an inferior art but an open-armed adherence to that system, inducing within myself a consolidation of purpose, effected by that same nauseousness, the predictable outcome of right reasoning, my unconscionable assumption of the dubiety of all adult authority, my consequent contempt being ill-concealed, barely disguised, leaving withdrawal from that society my only duty, the last straw being the charred remains of a book I had purchased, found in the fireplace, having been adjudged licentious by my mother and set in flames, though the book were purchased on my own account by means of a monetary gift from a grandmother, that was mine and mine alone to do as wish should take me, so that now, approaching a birthdate of more than passing interest its being the age by which a youth may decree that the departure of the education system is the one route by which the guarantee of sanity may be