A little something that may seem off-topic, but is partly related to the subject matter.
I would rarely derive much pleasure from reading. I guess I've fallen victim to the unsettling condition some young people suffer from these days. As a child I used to read Harry Potter and fantasies alike. Still, I cannot truthfully say I've ever been an avid fan of books.
To my mind, what deters young people from literature is (for example) the overwhelming amount of mandatory reading, which they are being swamped with in every year of secondary education. I'm chalking this judgment up predominantly to my experience, although I've observed a similar sort of attitude among my friends. Don't get me wrong. This whole chastisement doesn't pertain to fiction itself, quite the contrary, I perceive works included in the curriculum by both Polish and foreign writers as intrinsically really good. Still, the method of teaching somehow shifts the emphasis from freedom of interpretation and quiet reflection to cramming vast amounts of material into every class. This would bug me to the point where I decided to take part in a national literature competition last year with the sole purpose of dodging the necessity being one of the compulsory final exams (in Polish language and literature—you are exempt from taking it once you become a finalist). I hate those classes where we are told to analyze a poem inside out by probing arbitrarily for meaning behind virtually every single word in a verse. And whenever someone comes up with an interpretation which strays from the example set in the curriculum (and followed by teachers accordingly), their point of view gets dismissed, because it fails to fit the pattern. You're doing a bang-up job, education system!
Having said that, I'd like to stress the role of Brokeback Mountain in letting me gain a new insight into this matter. And I'm talking here both about the movie and the short story. Never have I come across a film/book which would leave me devastated, but at the same time so engrossed that I'd be longing to watch/read it again. The film is spellbinding (I know I'm preaching to the converted here), and I love uncovering new subtle nuances upon every viewing (various mannerisms of J&E up on Brokeback, struggling to finally fully "decipher" Ennis, to no avail, Jack's storyline subsequent to the final parting, to name a few). However, it also has a big advantage over the novella, take the score, astounding acting, beautiful cinematography, and finally your favorite scene (be it the reunion scene, if you are fond of romances, the dozy embrace scene, whenever a nostalgic mood kicks in, or the ending, no remark needed). I wouldn't diminish the significance of the short story, though. My digression above proves that my reading experience is fairly poor, certainly nowhere near yours, so it all depends on your frame of reference. Nonetheless, I regard the writing style of the short story as artful and original. I'm reluctant to praise it unconditionally though, as some parts of the narrative seem gratuitous (for instance, Jack's father sloshing the little boy around in the toilet, or the "baby-whipping"—what does that one even mean?), therefore they got bypassed in the movie.
Every reading of Brokeback brings along breaking new ground. This led me to reflect upon the joy of interpreting literature I hadn't experienced earlier on. I figured that apparently to some extent those literature classes make sense. I love the emotional punch delivered in the prologue, lurking beneath a graphic description of a middle-aged man's morning routine. I love how the story is brimming with a gritty realism, which is painfully true-to-life. And yet, we are mesmerized by the more tender moments, such as Ennis's thoughts while he was riding back to the sheep, the dozy embrace, or the discovery of the shirts. They do not upset this somber balance—Annie Proulx doesn't over-romanticize her prose. Instead of being bombarded with sweet images and big words, we are happy to see that the characters managed to find a way to retreat from the cruel reality. I love the descriptions of nature. They are short, but extremely meaningful and exquisite. They won't draw your attention away from the action, they will reel you in. I think it's a sign of an accomplished writer, when they can mix colloquial speech along with sophisticated language, so that one doesn't chip away at the other.
I know I barely touched on the subject, but that's just something I wanted to share. The story's strength lies in its ability to elicit different feelings in different people, thanks to its universal theme, which, sadly, many people are unable or unwilling to grasp.