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What Are You Reading? Part Deux. (pg. 3)
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| infinity HiGH |
Similar to 1984 except it's set on a space station that acts as a human colony. |
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| Dj Nacht |
michael veal - Dub: Soundscapes and Shattered Songs in Jamaican Reggae
NEFARDEC! Is that book any good? Ive been staring at it for months now. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
Last week I finished Howard Bloom's The Lucifer Principle, Nabokov's Invitation To A Beheading, Georges Bataille's Erotism: Death & Sensuality and just within the last few days finished Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
I am in the middle of reading Huysman's Against Nature and just today bought Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment as well as Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray to hopefully start and finish next week. |
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| Lebezniatnikov |
| quote: | Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On
and just within the last few days finished Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
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I'd be very interested in hearing your opinion of that one. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
I adored it.
There's really not much I can say about it that the book itself could not say far more eloquently, and I think we both know this.
I love each and every character in it and devoured it in about a day.
The way that Kundera writes about how the Czech people could take hundreds of years to truly recover from the past is remarkably insightful, I felt. It's as though he is saying that peace - as we know - is an extremely delicate thing, and that once it has been breached, recovering from its shock is a process that can take generations, if not leave a permanent mark upon a country. It's interesting to think about all of the war and violence going on today and consider that even if every person on the face of the planet threw down their arms and began truly understanding one another as well as the intricacies and randomness of our existence, we would never, ever truly recover from what we have done to ourselves. Really makes every act of misunderstanding, every ignoble and base act of violence or ignorance, that much more important.
Writers like Kundera seem to be of the same rare breed as Nabokov in that they know what it is that makes people different and equal in the knowledge and ability to make us see what is the same. It's writers and artists such as these that give tragedy and meaning to our fragile little existence. |
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| chach |
| quote: | Originally posted by Sunsnail
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:stongue: how do you come up with this stuff |
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| Lebezniatnikov |
| quote: | Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On
I adored it.
There's really not much I can say about it that the book itself could not say far more eloquently, and I think we both know this.
I love each and every character in it and devoured it in about a day.
The way that Kundera writes about how the Czech people could take hundreds of years to truly recover from the past is remarkably insightful, I felt. |
I have a friend writing her thesis on exactly this topic. I thought it was brilliant of Kundera to point out that national consciousness is forged not through victory, but through insufferable defeat.
| quote: | It's as though he is saying that peace - as we know - is an extremely delicate thing, and that once it has been breached, recovering from its shock is a process that can take generations, if not leave a permanent mark upon a country. It's interesting to think about all of the war and violence going on today and consider that even if every person on the face of the planet threw down their arms and began truly understanding one another as well as the intricacies and randomness of our existence, we would never, ever truly recover from what we have done to ourselves. Really makes every act of misunderstanding, every ignoble and base act of violence or ignorance, that much more important.
Writers like Kundera seem to be of the same rare breed as Nabokov in that they know what it is that makes people different and equal in the knowledge and ability to make us see what is the same. It's writers and artists such as these that give tragedy and meaning to our fragile little existence. |
You really need to read City of God (the book in the first post) as well - it hits on exactly the same thing Kundera did (the eternal consequences of violence), but looks at it in a theological light. Namely, Doctorow postulates that the Church as an organization never dealt with the legacy of violence perpetrated in its name (much less instances of outright evil like the Holocaust) - therein lies the crux of the novel - would an omnimpotent God create a world wherein human beings perpetrated such awful things in his name? And can God really exist in a world where violence and evil leave such lasting legacies on generations of offspring?
In any case, I'm glad to see you appreciated Kundera. I despised Tomas, but with a little distance between me and the read, I find it to be one of those books on which I constantly think back and reflect. It's interesting that you say you loved the characters - I suppose this is what Kundera was aiming at, but I couldn't get past the incredible weakness of each. But then, I took it as a symbol that perhaps humanity really is weak, and we are all at the mercy of those around us with whom we choose to cultivate relationships. Power over fate is really an illusion - in the end the efficacy one aserts over his own life meaningless - we exist in a "light" state of being where our actions carry no meaning and will not be remembered outside the lifespan of those around us. Furthermore, the actions of others have as big an impact on our own lives as we ourselves do. Not only are we powerless to change the course of a nation's history; we're also powerless to change the course of our own.
It's interesting to me because I feel that Doctorow and Kundera write on the same subject, but for one it leads to a new understanding of God and for the other a complete rejection of Him.
Kundera really deserves a thread all of his own. I feel the need to regroup and try another of his novels sometime in the near future. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
| quote: | Originally posted by Lebezniatnikov
You really need to read City of God (the book in the first post) as well - it hits on exactly the same thing Kundera did (the eternal consequences of violence), but looks at it in a theological light. Namely, Doctorow postulates that the Church as an organization never dealt with the legacy of violence perpetrated in its name (much less instances of outright evil like the Holocaust) - therein lies the crux of the novel - would an omnimpotent God create a world wherein human beings perpetrated such awful things in his name? And can God really exist in a world where violence and evil leave such lasting legacies on generations of offspring? |
It is now in my cart.
| quote: | | In any case, I'm glad to see you appreciated Kundera. I despised Tomas, but with a little distance between me and the read, I find it to be one of those books on which I constantly think back and reflect. It's interesting that you say you loved the characters - I suppose this is what Kundera was aiming at, but I couldn't get past the incredible weakness of each. |
Then how very interesting it is that I was most interested in their weaknesses and found them to be exactly what characterized each individual. Or at least what I imagine the traits you mean when you speak of weakness. But I didn't necessarily see the work as some exposition of 'this makes him strong' or 'this makes her weak' in some sense of defining the characters... I saw their traits merely for what I felt that they were - habits and marks upon each person, the results of their pleasures and pains, but part of what made them who they were in the first place. If there was strength, it was only there in hindsight because of the choices people had made; likewise, if there was weakness, it was out the very same thing which determined strength.
I adored the character of Tomas - I could most relate to him. He was stubborn in a very stoic sense, not truly abashed by the things that many perceive to be of negative moral fibre, yet still in touch with the most important things of his life, those which brought his sensibilities the greatest amount of satisfaction. He was very real, to me at least.
I loved to read about Tereza because his writing was so fluid and sensuous around her - that is to say, he described her in exactly the same way that I would assume a woman such as Tereza would walk: with a brilliant sort of bounce which denotes a certain clumsiness that is altogether human, but with a grace that still persists. I thought she was interesting insofar as her conventionality in staying with Tomas. You could say that she was boring or plain or pedestrian in that she was a woman who refused to put her foot down at her husband's open and frequent philandering, but it was as though she regarded him with an almost inhuman understanding - not repression or anger, but compassion that she knew would transcend those socially-infused sensibilities of matrimony. Her affair with the, uh, Engineer, was only a way for her to become closer to Tomas. I suppose you could see this as a weakness, as a faltering, but in the end, her relationship with Tomas turned out to be a very enriching thing - maybe the most important thing ever. It turned out to be 'strength'.
Franz... I barely saw as a primary character. He was merely there to juxtapose Sabina, it would seem. Though his demise was of interest... and that his wife was the bearer of his memory, practically the caretaker of the temporary immortality which proceeds death.
Sabina, to me, seemed the 'weakest' of the characters in that her lifelong hang-ups ensured her a lonely death. Her betrayals, as some sort of expression of autonomy or individualism, did not serve her. The seemingly random and wanton sexual freedom of the character was drained by her inability to cease being an island. It was as though her refusal to establish any strong relationships with others was what ended up making her a weak person in the end, her life seemingly far less fulfilling because she refused to accept that she needed others to help 'lighten' her existence, as it would be - she died encumbered with the desolation of somebody standing alone, it would seem. I think we have all known somebody like this before.
But when we speak of strength and weakness, I use these terms entirely subjectively. The novel was of course not this black and white, nor could it actually be reduced to such, but I think that to label any character as weak or strong, we must consider the unanticipated outcome of our existence and, more importantly, the particular end of these characters.
| quote: | | But then, I took it as a symbol that perhaps humanity really is weak, and we are all at the mercy of those around us with whom we choose to cultivate relationships. |
Humanity is not weak, as we saw humanity prevailing throughout the novel, the comedy being that Tomas' son can do nothing but perpetuate his own humanity long after the novel has finished. As for being at the mercy of relationships... perhaps this is all too true. But at the same time, we control others in a sense, no? It seems to me that Sabina was the character who tried to force her fate the most - her endless string of betrayals being some exertion over the forces of the world to keep her from the pain of succumbing to her nemesis - kitsch. Did I mention how much I adored the bitterness of her tale?
| quote: | | Power over fate is really an illusion - in the end the efficacy one aserts over his own life meaningless - we exist in a "light" state of being where our actions carry no meaning and will not be remembered outside the lifespan of those around us. Furthermore, the actions of others have as big an impact on our own lives as we ourselves do. Not only are we powerless to change the course of a nation's history; we're also powerless to change the course of our own. |
But is that such a horrible thing? I think Kundera has made a beautiful piece of work not because he can describe the intricacies of the psyche, but because he has made a work that says "look, no matter how possessed a person is with themselves, no matter how insightful or introspective or how horrible the rest of the world is to such delicacies, life is but a gossamer little dream, and we are all its dreamers." Or something like that - slightly less homosexual - but something like that. |
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| Lebezniatnikov |
| quote: | Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On
Franz... I barely saw as a primary character. He was merely there to juxtapose Sabina, it would seem. Though his demise was of interest... and that his wife was the bearer of his memory, practically the caretaker of the temporary immortality which proceeds death. |
Franz I actually found to be most interesting. His relationship with Sabina was always carried out with the utmost consideration of his wife, for whom he seemed to care little. Though he was unhappy at home, he failed to commit himself to his affair until doing so clumsily enough that he drove Sabina, who, as you say, betrayed Franz and ensured her own loneliness.
Franz then took to living a bachelor's life - finally free to conduct his own affairs as he had always wanted, and convincing himself that this newfound freedom outweighed the cost of losing the two most meaningful relationships he had ever had. Sure, he took up with some student, but it was never much more than a fulfillment of physical need.
Then, his experience in Cambodia really resonated with me. As somewhat of an idealist who admires those that devote their life to a cause, Kundera mocks the idea. Franz and his idealistic colleagues (mostly ditzy celebrities) go to Cambodia believing they can change the course of history, and inevitably run up against their own inability to affect change. Franz comes back weak and disillusioned, and doesn't last much longer.
| quote: | | But is that such a horrible thing? I think Kundera has made a beautiful piece of work not because he can describe the intricacies of the psyche, but because he has made a work that says "look, no matter how possessed a person is with themselves, no matter how insightful or introspective or how horrible the rest of the world is to such delicacies, life is but a gossamer little dream, and we are all its dreamers." Or something like that - slightly less homosexual - but something like that. |
I think that's an excellent summation of the book. I have a slightly different answer to your question, which may have tinged my read of the book with a hint of distaste, but Kundera's prose and his ability to ask questions about human existence is unsurpassed. Like I said, it's a book that you can't help thinking about weeks after having read it - which is the mark of a truly fantastic work of art. |
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| wotyzoid |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
| quote: | Originally posted by Lebezniatnikov
Franz I actually found to be most interesting. His relationship with Sabina was always carried out with the utmost consideration of his wife, for whom he seemed to care little. Though he was unhappy at home, he failed to commit himself to his affair until doing so clumsily enough that he drove Sabina, who, as you say, betrayed Franz and ensured her own loneliness.
Franz then took to living a bachelor's life - finally free to conduct his own affairs as he had always wanted, and convincing himself that this newfound freedom outweighed the cost of losing the two most meaningful relationships he had ever had. Sure, he took up with some student, but it was never much more than a fulfillment of physical need. |
Though I did enjoy Franz's little liberation, I thought it was another minor comment towards the lightness of our being. Franz became free in a sense, he became lighter once he began to live for himself. Just as Sabina, his life was heading towards the lightest possible outcome, but was this a good thing?
The incident in Cambodia was, just as you said, indicative of our inability to forcefully change the world, change history; we cannot intentionally bring about our sense of order through utterly peaceful means, bring about the dominion of an ideal. Just the same, The Russian aspect of the novel was quite analogous to the Cambodian crusade in the sense that an organization, be it government or a coalition of Doctors and entertainers, sought to bring about the dominion of an ideal - be it nationalist or magnanimity - through force. Both sides could be regarded as forces who marched against a border with notions and ideals they wanted to impart upon their destination - the difference being that the Russians obviously used violence and deception to do so, but the result was the same: forcing fate may cause direct change or it may cause no change whatsoever on a macro-scale, but in the end, the change that must occur is rarely, if ever, the same that you wish to incite. Czechoslovakia, though it incurred occupation and a slight paradigm shift, refused to be unalterably changed by the advent of an ideal - just as Cambodia did. |
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| R.j. |
| The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain aka Samuel L. Clemens. |
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