One night, therefore, Blue finally turns to his copy of Walden. The time has come, he says to himself, and if he doen't make an effort now, he knows that he never will. But the book is not a simple business. As Blue begins to read, he feels as though he is etering an alien world. Trudging through swamps and brambles, hoisting himself up gloomy screes and treacherous cliffs, he feels like a prisoner on a forced march, and his only thought is to escpe. He is bored by Thoreau's words and finds it difficult to concentrate. Whole chapters go by, and when he comes to the end of them he realizes that he has not retained a thing. Why would anyone want to go off and live alone in the woods? What's all this about planting beans and not drinking coffee or eating meat? Why all these interminable descriptions of birds? Blue thought that he was going to get a story, or at least have something like a story, but this is no more than blather, an endless harangue about nothing at all.
It would be unfair to blame him, however. Blue has never read much of anyting except newspapers and magazines, and an occasional adventure novel when he was a boy. Even experienced and sophisticated readers have been known to have trouble with Walden, and no less a figure than Emerson once wrote in his journal that readign Thoreau made him feel nervous and wretched. To Blue's credit, he does not give up. The next day he begins again, and this second go-through is somewhat less rocky than the first. In the third chapter he comes across a sentence that finally says something to him – Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written – and suddenly he understands that the trick is to go slowly, more slowly than he has ever gone with the words before. This helps to some extent, and certain passages begin to grow clear: the business about clothes in the beginning, the battle between the red ants and the black ants, the argument against work. But Blue still finds it apianful, and though he grudgingly admits that Thoureau is perhaps not as stupid as he thought, he begins to resent Black for putting him through this torture.

164-165. oldal (Faber and Faber, 2004)

Kapcsolódó szócikkek: Henry David Thoreau: Walden