Well... That realism is exactly what makes it an interesting read, I'd say. In many ways, it indeed doesn't have a real moral, and it doesn't tell a real story, not in the traditional sense anyway, but, the characters are probably the most realistic characters I've ever read, every single person is fully three dimensional, and really lifelike, and you get to see the things that happen through the eyes of quite a lot of them. You get to see a love affair through the eyes of both of the lovers, one rejected person, a parent of one of them, and someone just passing by, for example. A better example of the effect of this would be Tolstoy's less famous work The death of Ivan Ilyich (1886), this novella shows, well, the death of Ivan Ilyich, and some parts of his life. This character would in many novels be the antagonist, a high court judge who, looking at him from the perspective of the people surrounding him, (fist chapter) doesn't really seem to care about anyone but himself, someone who is mostly just careless, maybe even unlovable. Jet, throughout the work, Tolstoy shows the other sides of this person, shows past trauma, disillusionment and efforts to do good, albiet in a wierd way. Tolstoy, if nothing else, manages to show the complexness of individuals. No one is mean just to be mean, humans aren't that simple. People are misguided, unknowing or maybe just in need of therapy. There is no such thing as a "good person" or a "bad person;" Ivan Ilyich might have done more harm than good, but that doesn't make him unworthy of compassion. There is no such thing as a sin, or a golden path you need to follow for salvation. Reality is often just too messy for those concepts to work. And, no, this isn’t the moral of the story, this is the story. War and peace famously started as a novel about a war criminal coming home after twelve years in a work camp in Siberia, but, to explain what was going on, the political situation, the family, all that, Tolstoy started several hundred years earlier, and ended up writing more words than are in the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, never even featuring the original story, only the complexity of emotions that lead up to it. That’s, I guess, why Tolstoy is worth reading. Yes, he is quite wordy, and tends to describe a meal or someone’s cloths in great detail, but all of that is to paint a picture of humanity that is more accurate than anything else I’ve read. It’s a bird’s eye view of life. And, it’s beautiful. The stuff you said about videogames made me think about what is one of my favourite games of all time, Pathologic, a game which I recently described like this: Victory is impossible, suffering inevitable. You’re not dying for love, or for freedom. You’re just dying, again and again, each time with more dread, more pain, and another gaze into the existential abyss. You’re going to have to live with your mistakes. Things will go wrong, often outside your control. You might want to try to be the hero, but, please, let’s focus on staying alive. Being heroic is only possible when you’ve got the means to be heroic, right now, that’s not within your reach. Your most valuable possessions are your organs, and you won’t be worth them, trust me. Making it to the other side is only possible though an act of rebellion against the absurdity existence. With the position you’re in, it would be foolish to endeavour helping anyone, foolish to go out another day and attempt to save someone, foolish to even try. You’d be like Sisyphus, pushing up the boulder, again and again, only to watch it roll down, and force you to start over. Only a fool would subject themselves to that. But, hey, wanna be that fool? It’s a lot less like Tolstoy and a lot more like Dostoyevsky, another Russian author, but is has some of the same themes. Quite like Tolstoy it is often too life-like to be actually enjoyable, but the asymmetrical storytelling, and general understanding of its characters and setting makes it really interesting. Pathologic kind of is like if life was a video game, life in extreme poverty in the midst of a terrible plague, that is. Sure, in Pathologic, metaphor and reality often blend together in what is some of the most actively absurd world building I think I have ever seen, but that’s not why it’s engaging. It’s engaging because it’s a first-person shooter in which you probably sell your first and only gun to be able to buy a loaf of bread. It’s a look directly into the existential abyss. It’s awfully human, and I cannot recommend it enough.
I've been reading Uzumaki over the past two days. It's a manga written and illustrated by Junji Ito, a legendary Japanese horror mangaka. I just finished it. Uzumaki is, pretty much, a collection of short stories told through the eyes of Kirie Goshima, a teenage girl who lives in a fictional Japanese town called Kurôzu-cho ('Black Vortex Town'). After her boyfriend starts going to school into another town and returns home, he realises that there is something weird about the town and his dad promptly becomes obsessed with spirals. The first chapter follows his dad as his dad's obsession moves from collecting and looking at spirals, to attempting to turn himself into a spiral - beginning with him moving his eyeballs in circles independently of eachother, and ending in him forming a spiral inside a barrel with his body (which he... obviously doesn't survive). I'm currently at Chapter 13 and it just gets more and more horrific than the start was. The characters are fairly bland, being nothing more than vehicles for the reader to witness these supernatural events from; and as the stories get more and more horrific they also become more and more ridiculous. I quickly learned that I'm not reading it for the characters, and that the ridiculousness is part of the charm. I'm reading it for the fantastic illustrations that Ito has crafted; whether that be a girl whose forehead scar has turned into a giant vortex that is consuming her body, or a peaceful scene of a meadow in the opening pages of the book... in which the grass is curling into spirals, unbeknownst to Kirie. On that note, Ito is great at crafting an overwhelming sense of dread. You worry about what horrific creation his hands have drawn next, knowing that at some point some cringeworthy perversion of someone's body involving spirals is going to stare back at you on a two page spread. The more familiar you get with the book, the more you realise you HAVE to look at the art; I started noticing that spirals are everywhere. There was one panel where the characters are talking to eachother, with big speech bubbles being the main focus of the panel, but when you pay attention... you notice that the sky behind them is made of spirals. It's also helpful to look at it with some context on Japanese culture: spirals are viewed as a positive shape in Japan. When a character has rosy cheeks or has their cheeks go red in animations, you'll notice that there's a spiral amongst the colour. In one chapter, Ito twists the Japanese idea of the 'perfect woman' ('yamato nadeshiko' - similar to the 'English Rose' ideal that England has) into something horrific if you're familiar with what that idea is. It's really quite a beautiful book, in a messed up way. I love it. If you like H.P Lovecraft this is the closest you'll get to something replicating his work, in its own unique way, without reading H.P Lovecraft.
I've been reading Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations. I'm trying to follow all points he's making, but sometimes I'm really not sure with all the dashes and quotes and no headings or other clear indication of topic. Then again, if I'm not mistaken there are scholarly discussions about the intention of some passages, so I guess it's not so bad if there's a few I cannot follow. There is interesting stuff in there, though, for those intrigued by... well, what really? Well, according to Wikipedia: the fields of semantics, logic, philosophy of mathematics, philosophy of psychology, philosophy of action, and philosophy of mind.
Wittgenstein is great indeed. I have mainly read about him, instead of his original work, but I still find his ideas quite intriguing. I will say, though, that I like the deconstructivist Lyotard and Derrida better (Wow, I sure type a lot less when I'm on my phone, entering every word letter for letter. )
I've noticed that I don't cry while reading books, while I do cry when watching films or musicals. Does anyone recognise this? I wonder what's the difference. Is it just the missing visuals? I would doubt that to make such a difference. Maybe it is that I read the book at my own speed, rather than it being thrown at me?
I don’t connect with books like I do with movies/TV shows and comics, personally. I think it’s the lack of visuals. I don’t cry at anything ever, really, though. I get a kind of welling just below my cheeks and in my chest, though. A recent example is when I was reading Tokyo Ghoul. I recently read the entirety of the Tokyo Ghoul manga/comic whatever. There’s an entire arc that kept doing it to me lol. At the end of Volume 14, Kaneki (the main character) is battle-weary and has been literally ripped open and his powers aren’t healing him anymore; while in this state he is forced to fight the most powerful opponent he’s ever faced, and gets stabbed through the head and has a monologue about how he’s sad he ‘couldn’t save everyone’ and can feel his memories spilling out of his head. He then spends around 8 volumes as an amnesiac alternate personality who doesn’t remember his friends or the first 20 years of his life at all, but becomes friends with ‘the opponent’ - getting a father figure in him - and other people who were the bad guys in the first 14 volumes. When he gets his memory back, he saves his friends from the same opponent and has an internal monologue about how he’s going to die there because he doesn’t want to kill anyone he loves or get them killed... he also starts regaining memories he suppressed from the first 20 years of his life. The opponent’s death was sad as well. The situations were sad, it’s heartbreaking to see a character you like who is usually an all powerful superhero become powerless, I related to the monologues, blahblahblah. If these events were written down in a novel, I would not have had the same reaction at all. I don’t know why - I can only assume it’s because the characters are drawn, I can see what’s happening to them, and also a lot of the time when I read a novel I have no idea what’s happening because writers often use bigger and more pretentious words than they need to do, or their sentence structure is whack af Doesn’t explain why I literally never care about the characters in books though lol
That makes sense! Maybe that could be part of it for me too. Not sure. Also, I have an advert for a Tolstoy book now.
I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon. Finally. I saw the first half of a theatrical adaption in which a friend played the lead role three years ago, and screamed at the end of it; I didn't see the second half. I had had the book for a few years too, I think. I just hadn't got to reading it, but when the libraries were closed for a week or to I decided it was a good time to start. But it is as good as it has been made up to be! As someone with autism myself, it very rarely happened that something seemed unrealistic to me. It is very well-written, in such a way that it really makes you believe that it was written by an autist. Which is remarkable, considering the quote that I just read: It is quite a sad book, but it is not long, and I would recommend it to anyone. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe someone else who has read it can explain. Oh, one thing that I found interesting: two of the five review blurbs on the cover use the word 'funny'. And there were very few (maybe two or three) parts that I found funny. How did others experience this?
Started reading YOU. Rated R, but definitely a great book if you've watched the Netflix series. A guy gets obsessed with a woman and will do anything to be with her. You see the world from his perspective and I recommend it.
I reread Pride and Prejudice. This was an interesting experience because it is the first time I read a novel that I had already read as an adult. In fact, I had very recently seen the 1995 BBC series, so I had the plot fresh in mind. So I knew what was coming, most of the time! What I noticed is that I empathised with Elizabeth a lot less than the first time I read it. I recall that when I read the book for the first time, I truly disliked Mr Darcy for a long time, but at the end was almost in love with him. This time, already knowing the developments his and Lizzy's character would undergo, I did not have a strong reaction to these changes. On the other hand, I was able to pick up on a lot more little points of irony. For instance, I enjoyed seeing Lizzy remark that Charlotte was so kind to her as to even put up with Mr Collins' company, after Elizabeth's rejecting him. Knowing that they would be married soon, this observation took on a different meaning. Knowing the characters better, I was also able to more appreciate the little accents that completed their definition, but that I overlooked when having just got introduced to them. Overall, it was a nice experience! Reading the novel now was not nearly as magical or exciting as the first time, but I was able to appreciate a lot more of Austen's genius, and that was great! I do also have a remark to make about the 1995 BBC series. I loved the series; I thought it was a very strong portrayal. However, there is now one thing that I am not a fan of. Try to convince me otherwise, if you can. The most famous scene of the 1995 BBC series is the one where Mr Darcy meets Elizabeth on the grounds of Pemberley, just after he has taken a swim in the lake, wet and all. This is a very awkward scene, and is supposed to be so. However, I think that the fact that Mr Darcy is in a state so physically unfit to meet Elizabeth actually takes away from the meaning of the awkwardness. Because in the original novel, there is no remark at all about his appearance. Yet the scene is just as awkward. Why? Because it is extremely awkward that they should have this chance meeting at all. When you can attribute even some of the awkwardness to the wet state of Mr Darcy, I think that does not allow you to fully appreciate the pain already inflicted on the characters from their meeting at all. Oh, I just remembered, I have another thing I wanted to talk about with regards to the novel! I was struck by the frequent occurrence of scenes that were described to last minutes. And I think this is something people can weigh into whether they've read the novel or not. I got some examples by Ctrl + F'ing for 'minutes' in the Gutenberg Pride and Prejudice copy: (without context, I think these are unlikely to be spoilers) Now, to be honest, all of these examples seem very unlikely to me. Have you ever counted out minutes? They take very long, in these situations! An unaccounted for silence of a dozen seconds already feels very awkward, I dare say. And looking at a painting for several minutes? What must the others have been thinking? I wonder if somehow life passed more slowly two centuries ago, or if Austen was mistaken (this seems unlikely ), or if it was a deliberate choice. Of course, feel free to introduce a fourth option.
I just finished Les Miserables a few days ago... HOLY CRAP. Longer than the Bible... a decent read though. But would only recommend if you reallllly like reading. Probably spent 3 full days reading it.
I have not yet read the book. I found it on Google Books and will watch for the passages you noted as I read it. Generally though, I view the phrase, "after some minutes", as quite similar to modern terms using minutes, seconds, or moments. They note some short period of time has passed that is measurable, but the actual amount is unimportant. Moments may be terrifying, a wait might be excruciating, hours sometimes plod, or we may say we "will be back in a few", or "wait a second". In these cases we are referring to time subjectively rather than how much time has actually passed. I think it is pretty common to have quirks and pet phrases in both our writing and speech but it is usually not so noticeable because we actively refine our language to avoid repetition. Robert Jordan is known for his characters' braid tugging and skirt smoothing, for example. The first time I came across it was when I read Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan and John Carter series as a teen: He often used the phrase, "not unlike", which I considered very strange when I first encountered it. Once I worked out what he meant, I started mentally replacing "not unlike" with "like" when I came across it afterwards. Regarding your examples, they all seem similar to experiences and conversations I have had, given the way I interpret the phrasing. For example, my wife and I have been cleaning and reorganizing our office this weekend. I no longer work from home as often and we would like to use the room more for our hobbies. While we discussed how we would like to use the room, what to do with different items, and so forth, we also have been having a longer conversation about our families before we met that we keep returning to. We will go "some minutes" then think of some new insight to share. Depending on how we define conversation, I feel I have ongoing conversations with some people on topics that have lasted years because we return to them.
I read Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens. I would not recommend it to people who weren't already intending to read it anyway, to be honest. It is heavy in two senses: it is almost 1000 pages long, and most of the story is dark and unhappy. It is well-written though: Dickens' craftmanship is definitely apparent. But if you want to admire it and haven't read David Copperfield yet, I'd recommend that instead. It is as well-written and also very long, but a lot more fun and exciting to read, in my experience.
I have recently read the original The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, in expectation of attending the musical, which I did last weekend. I liked it more this time: the characters were pretty nice, and I liked some of the irony. I still don't get why this book is such a big classic, though. Also, I read the modern afterword, and it said nothing about it being an allegory. I did find your theory on Wikipedia, though. I'm curious now about whether Baum had something like this in mind! In any case he was dead long before this theory started taking shape.
I don't get it either tbh. Even when I was a kid it always came across to me as a simplified, played-more-safe Alice In Wonderland rip-off with none of the charm.
