So I've been reading and re-reading the books for the Lonesome Dove series. The books offer a fascinating breadth of detail (sometimes quite bloody and violent) about life on the western frontier 150 years ago. I wonder what it says about me that I find it so interesting and engaging?
When I read, I like to escape and see places I've never been to and meet people that I've never known. I'm least fond of books about people like me-- scratch that, I'm least fond of books with dying, dead, or missing children. But reading about a white suburban housewife just doesn't have a lot of appeal for me. Maybe because then I would feel a need to compare myself with the character and then note all the ways I've come up short. Ugh. Pride is a terrible thing in how it makes us compete with others--even fictional characters. The way that it makes us rejoice to find others' faults or problems is the height of unchristlike-ness.