Quite an interesting matter to ponder on; I suppose those who are inclined to the composition of literature may have at one point let this thought cross the winding and twisting roads in our mental breakdown: Why exactly do people insist on uncovering every minute detail of a story? Only authors know the true details of what their tales hold; of course being the fact that their thoughts were the very fabrication of such subjects and plots. However, why must we over analyze every word, metaphor, phrase of each poor sentence? Would it primarily be possible that perhaps an author’s intent is solely in the overwhelming and looming theme or idea that is as easy to spot as a black cat in a white parlor? One could argue that authors like Mr. Fitzgerald take great pride in soaking up every persistent piece of evidence and wrapping it up delicately into five letter words. However, let’s say an author is describing the room of a protagonist. “The red curtains blocked the harsh sunlight shining down on the lush moor.” I suppose an overly excited aficionado of symbolism would squirm in their seat at the exposure of this statement. I could hear their loud thoughts “Passion, perhaps danger? What else could red mean?” Well here a thought, what if the curtains are red, because the curtains are red? The author needs to designate a color to such object for full imagery, he might as well of just picked out his favorite. Why do we have to let insignificant things rise in significance? It’s as if ones rubbing the parchment to a grater, trying to shred each useless meaning that could very well perhaps add depth or enrich the story. Please guys, we have poetry for that.