The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

Hector, The History Boys

The History Boys.  has always been one of my favourite movies. I don’t watch movies much, but the ones that I love stay with me forever. I love it the most for what it says about language, and about individual stories. How we frame history and how we frame our own lives. How we contextualise things.

Last night, I was reading aloud. Not an uncommon practise for me, I have to admit. There is that fragment of the Victorian pater-familias in me that would far prefer to sit around sharing a book, than sit and watch the television in the evenings. I love the way the words play across each other, and the way I can get so much more from the book when read out loud than when enjoyed in the confines of my own head. The words come alive. I notice things I never noticed before.

And that quote from the History Boys floated to the top of my brain again. I found a passage, a passage I’ve read a half a dozen times before, but that when read out loud it touched the deepest parts of my psyche. It skirted round the deep wounds which I know are still there, and which I cover day in, day out, with my own brand of psychological concealer.

“…all you can do is concentrate on the facts which are beyond dispute: he was married, the two of you became emotionally involved with each other, he brought you to breakdown.”

Seeing the words there, black and white on the page… As I say, I’ve read them a number of times before. But this time, reading them aloud, they came alive. My voice crackled as I read them. I blinked back the tears, and suddenly I was tracing the scar-lines on my soul. I may give off the impression, sometimes, that there is not a care in the world. That if the world were to come to an end tomorrow, I’d be there to organise a brew-up, cracking jokes, singing songs, and inventing some new and fascinating game to take everyone’s mind off it. Possibly flirting outrageously at the same time. And yes, I probably would.

But bear in mind, humour can mask a great deal of things. Word play, dark humour, biting wit and sarcasm. They are the lenses of words through which I see the world. “Safeguard your attitude.” I once did a job where that was the watchword. And their idea was to do it by redusing the average IQ to the level of a puddle. Shouting mindless slogans and listening to hideous music as half seven in the morning. It was enough to drive every thinking part of you deep into hiding.

I see the scars. I ignore them. I plaster on the spiritual slap to lessen their effects, and when they need to, the tears burst out. And when there’s no energy left, I use it where it’s needed – to keep me glued together. I safeguard my own attitude. I cannot do anything but, and I do that by letting as few people behind the curtain as possible. Not showing off the scars. Laughing it all off. until the unexpected blow hits me askance, and all that masonry of the soul is cracked again.

“Then you can expand a little on those basic facts with some degree of certainty: he was probably under stress for various reasons – and perhaps you too were under stress in some way, with the result that you each found an escape from your problems in the other.”