That Horrible Unknown

I knew the ending of every book I read in my senior year English class before I even opened the covers. “…Thanks Dr. Ledlie”, I would remark with an obviously sarcastic tone. She could never contain her excitement, and consequently ruined the ending of each novel in her opening overview. I used to think such a disruption in my narrative enjoyment was simply catastrophic, but I have begun to reevaluate my instinctual reaction since.  As other readers struggled in agony over the unknown, I merely sat back in my chair with an easy mind. “What shall I have for lunch today?” “Oh, I hope there’s chocolate cake for dessert!”

            For us readers, the unknown is a space that we are always trying to fill. But often, when we find out what actually occupies this space, we don’t like what we see. And more importantly, when we think we know what could occupy this space of the unknown, and we don’t approve, we revolt. I experienced such a phenomena while reading “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce. I read the story with skepticism, and found myself sensing the morbid end to the story. So as the end became nearer and nearer, I began to resist the final words of the tale. “Oh please, can Peyton finally be a hero?” Questions, or really pleas, such as these, cycled around in my head. I was uncomfortable with the unknown, and reached a point where I became so exhausted with inconceivable hope of a positive outcome for Peyton, I simply gave into the story. “Fine, you win.”

If Dr. Ledlie had been there to tell me the end of the story, I probably would have experienced a lot less mental anguish. I wouldn’t have tried to fight the words of the tale; I would have accepted the sentences as they came. If this is any indication of my reading experiences to come in this class, I think I may set up a biweekly Skype session with Dr. Ledlie, for it would probably save me from a great deal of stress.