It’s rare, but very occasionally, I read the first sentence of a book and know we’re going to be friends.

The sentence in question is: “In the town there were two mutes, and they were always together.” –It’s from The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers.

I’ve always been fascinated by mutes. Voluntary mutes (selective mutism) or people who simply cannot speak. I would be quite happy if I was never expected to speak. I want to be able to hear–just not be expected to communicate verbally. This is probably something to do with being schizoid and feeling like everything I say is either misunderstood or not worth giving voice to (small talk).

Anyway, the mutes in this book are interesting to me because of the way they choose to communicate. One speaks sign language and the other doesn’t bother. Other parts of the book I enjoy are the responses one of the mutes (Singer) evokes. “His eyes made a person think that he heard things nobody else had ever heard, that he knew things no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human.” “Singer looked as though he could not be surprised by anything.” Because he is silent he is seen as wise.

I would much prefer to be seen as wise than as a snob, which is what a good number of people think if you have nothing to say to them. Keeping one’s own counsel is akin to walking around with one’s nose in the air, which I find to be an unfair judgement.

Personally, I find people who feel compelled to rabbit their every fleeting thought to me to be the inconsiderate ones. But then again, I’m a massive snob, so what do I know?

[Repost from a now-defunct blog, Original post date: August 6, 2007]