Well, last month marked one year since James Oliver Rigney's (known as Robert Jordan to most of us) passing. The series began the year of my birth, and it has since stretched out to 11 wonderful books, with the final volume left unwritten when a terrible disease took Jordan's life. Luckily for us fans, another author has agreed to finish the saga with the notes and recordings that Jordan left behind to his editor and wife. The fact remains, however, that the world is left without yet another one of its greatest writers.Jordan was, I'm proud to say, a writer from my beloved Charleston. One of the most important towns within his series was, in fact, based off of charleston's peninsula. So, a few months ago I decided to make my very own pilgrimage. I already knew the general area, but after a long search I finally found the house that he had lived in. On a rainy lowcountry day, I parked at the battery and made my way there. After a bit of a walk, there they were - the white Dragon Gate. RJ's house and yard are absolutely stunning on their own, but seeing that gate was amazing. And to think, I had nearly passed by this house a hundred times. Who knows, perhaps I did once and happened to only be looking at the other side of the road.Standing at the Dragon Gate, I regretted that I was only visiting this house now. A few years earlier I might have seen it, and known that RJ was madly typing away inside. Instead I felt very sad, despite my euphoric state of mind over standing at a literary genius' front gate. I felt sad for the loss of a great artist who made his mark in a world that is disgustingly loosing its desire to read. Indeed, I think of literature as one of the greatest of all arts. I felt sorry for the widow whom I knew was probably somewhere inside that great house. Here was the home of a dead man who had dedicated his life to a dying art form. The world is going downhill at a dizzying pace. I'm horrified at the number of people, even in the academic setting in which I now spend most of my time, who say quite unabashedly that they hate to read. Here is a home still marked by its previous master, with all of his things still residing within and his gate still standing - and most of the world neither knows nor cares. They spend their time worshipping the superficial, but never stop to consider anything deeper.If people would take the time to actually look at even most fictious literature, they would find that there is almost always a message underneath all the fantastical things. Literature is about more than just stories, literature provides a controlled environment in which we can explore aspects of our world. By controlling all the variables, we can examine the exact ethics of some action. Yes, stories are enjoyable as well, but there is so much more to them! People rarely stop to think about philosophy in any degree nowadays though. The world is going to hell, and sometimes I think it deserves it. They are getting exactly what they ask for - so go on, let them have it.But nonetheless, I'm going to take the time to think about my beliefs. I'm going to keep reading. I'm going to appreciate the artists of the world. And when I am old, and even fewer people remember the great writers of my age - I, at least, will know that I have taken a moment to pay respect to someone who left something more to the world than carrying a gucci handbag with them to a premiere party.
