Victories and Mirth

Book recommendations are precarious things.  It is not unsafe to venture an opinion into an established discussion: "yes, I agree -- by far one of his better works."  But to initiate the uncovering of something more closely bound to the truth of yourself is, well, downright reckless.  Too many variables impact the assessment of anything I read.  If the house was chilly or I was sneaking chapters between the work I should be doing, magic might be robbed from a tale.  If the tea was just right and the sunbeam stayed long enough over my spot on the couch then the story may have caught the flavor of beauty from the day and not the author's pen.  Worse still, if I spent the pages worrying over the pronunciation of the heroine's name, my preoccupation could have hindered my falling in love with characters whose lives remained too remote for any lasting attachment.
After all the extraneous influences have been adjusted for, there is the state of my mind which is ever changing.  Was I depressed, or fey, or bored?   Did the poignancy come from a perspective that resonated because of my history or was this an insightful work?
With established cohorts the risk from exposure is mitigated.  They are more inclined to view criticism through the reputation already built and at least consider a conflicting analysis, should I offer one.  But I seldom do.  As with much of my life, I prefer the route that most predictably leads to approval.  I hazard opinions when I am fairly certain of their reception, and I mingle in a homogenous section of society.
Upon recommendation of friends not constrained by the same self-imposed censorship, I read two great books this last week.  One challenged me with excellence of vocabulary, finessed fate versus destiny tension, and a spectacularly tragic hero.  The other elevated a standard of stark honesty that has begun the work of emboldening me. 
And I am reflecting.
Whether answering, "How was your Christmas?" or "What did you think of the new Harper Lee novel?" we are given the same opportunity for precarious vulnerability.  There is risk of appearing weak or foolish or even of standing in isolation. 

The alternative just might be more dangerous.