Recently, I re-read the Curse of Chalion which I hadn't read since it was new. I had found one of the Penric books at the library, which led to buy the other Penric novellas. Ultimately, I was inspired to go back, check out, and reread the entire series by Lois McMaster Bujold, of which Curse of Chalion is the first.
Be warned: if you haven't read Curse of Chalion this post contains spoilers.
I remembered finding the Curse of Chalion very stressful to read. One of the major plot points (greatly simplified) is that the protagonist believes he is terminally ill. There is extensive description of his symptoms and worries. In the end, the character is saved (literally by a miracle). My stress from this plot point colored my whole perception of it, which I am certain is why I hadn't re-read it previously. But this time, I did not find this aspect of the book stressful. I don't think it was because I knew the ending. Instead, I think it was that my own perspective about life, sickness, and death has evolved since then.
It reminds me of when I first saw the War of the Roses. As a callow youth, watching a couple grow apart and their love turn to hatred and bitterness, was utterly horrifying. It was supposed to be dark humor, but for me it was pure horror and tragedy. After another 20 years, however, I found it resonated with me a lot more than it had when I was young.
I've often said that I feel like the same person I was when I was younger. But sometimes it's clear that I'm not. It's helpful to me to reflect on how my own perspective has evolved: from child to parent, from student to teacher -- and that it continues to evolve.
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