“As for others…he never ceased his heroic and earnest endeavour to love them, to be just to them, to do them no harm, for the love of his neighbour was as strongly forced upon him as the hatred of himself, and so his whole life was an example that love of one‘s neughbour is not possible without love of oneself, and that self-hate really is the same thing as sheer egoism, and…breeds the same cruel isolation and despair.”
“Instead of destroying his personality, [teachers and parents] succeeded only in teaching him to hate himself. It was against himself that…he directed during his entire life the whole wealth of his fancy, the whole of his thought;…every barbed criticism, every anger and hate he could command, he was, in spite of all, a real Christian and a real martyr.”
“A wolf of the Steppes that had lost its way and strayed into the towns and the life of the herd, a more striking image could not be found for his shy loneliness, his savagery, his restlessness, his homesickness, his homelessness.”
“When my aunt had any little occasion to talk to him, to draw his attention perhaps to some mending of his linen or to warn him of a button hanging loose on his coat, he listened to her with an air of great attention and consequence…as though it were only with an extre and desperate effort that he could force his way through any crack into our little peaceful world and be at home there if only for an hour”
pickThe sun sets on the Morisaki Bookshop, wrapping it up with a sheet of golden light, warming my heart with the comfort and feeling of home hidden in each page. Such a comfort book - to be read over and over again.
“All of a sudden, my uncle‘s face lit up-just like a kid who had gotten a wonderful birthday present…it thrilled me even if it was just with someone like my uncle - no, it thrilled me wven more because it was someone like him.” The fact that all of this is on them discussing a book is so… - the smile it put on my face and the warmth it made me feel in my chest
pickBrilliant writing. The exploration of so many relationships (women and cooking, women and social norms, friendships, parenthood and raising children) done alongside such a subtle character development. Flows so smooth like ‘butter‘ (im sorry). Amazing at the way the perspective from which the book is written engrosses the reader. Let me know what you thought as I really want to talk to someone about this book!
On Rika (and women in general) loving herself: “All you need to do is to eat as much of whatever it is you most desire at any given point. Listen carefully to your body. Never eat anyhting you don‘t want to. When you take the decision to live that way, both your mind and your body will commence their transformation.”
About Kafka‘s work: “Many express remoteness, hopelessness, the impossibility of access to sources of authority or certainty, or what in German is termed Ausweglosigkeit: the impossibility of escape or release from a labryinth of false trails and frustrated hopes.”
pickI love how Kafka explores heart wrenching themes and changes Gregor goes through (excluding the PHYSICAL metamorphosis) with such an absurd premise. Almost gives the impression that it is the sort of thing your next door neighbour could be going through, and you would never know.
“…he seized in his right hand the stick the clerk had left on a chair … with his left hand took a large newspaper from the table, and began to drive Gregor back into his room by waving the stick and the newspaper at him and stamping his feet. No pleading from Gregor helped, and no one understood him; however meekly he turned his head, his father only stamped his feet harder.” tragedy of Kafka and a Father even of his own creation
“Patrick Wolfe described the settler‘s attitude towards the native as ‘the logic of elimination‘…Classical colonialists saw themselves as bringing modernity to the savages. Settler colonialists saw themselves as modernising the land, not the people.”
“…a pro-Zionist lobby…pious Christians who believed in the ‘return of the Jews‘ to Palestine as fulfilment of God‘s will, antisemites who wanted Jews out of Britain, and Anglo-Jewish aristocrats who would have been loath to immigrate to Palestine themselves, but saw it as a suitable destination for working-class East European Jews…communist troublemakers…the only thing these people had in common was wanting to establish a Jewish state.”
pickThe plotline and its progression are phenomenal… i don‘t know what else to say without spoiling it…
“O, ömrü boyunca hep “acele etmiş”tir; bu yüzden de hrp “geç kalmış”tır. Sürekli bir panik vardır hayatında: Bir kitap okur, bir komedi seyreder, yorulur. Birileriyle birlikte olur, derdini anlatamaz, telaşlanır ve incinir. Küçük dertler, bir yerlere ödenmesi gereken paralar, bazı şeylerin tamir masrafı hiç eksik olmaz ve bu panik duygusuna katkıda bulunurlar. Ve hep acele edilir.” Önsöz, 11. sayfa.
“I replied that you could never change your life, that in any case one life was as good as another and that I wasn‘t at all dissatisfied with mine here. He looked upset and told me that I always evaded the question and that I had no ambition, which was disastrous in the business world. So I went back to work.” For me; an example of how Mersault perceives matters important to the rest of Us as almost light breezes in the air, just passing him by.
“I felt like telling her that [mother‘s death] wasn‘t my fault, but I stopped myself because I remembered that it wasn‘t my fault, but I stopped myself because I remembered that I‘d already said that to my boss. It didn‘t mean anything. In any case, you‘re always partly to blame.”
“I remember a few other scenes from that day as well: for instance, Pérez‘s face when he caught up with us for the last time just outside the village. Great tears of frustration and anguish were streaming down his cheeks. But because of all the wrinkles, they didn‘t run off. They just spread out and ran toggether again, forming a watery glaze over his battered old face. Then there was the church and the villagers in the street, the red geraniums..
“Nesnelerin insana dokunmaması gerekir çünkü onlar canlı değildir. Aralarında yaşar, onları kullanır, sonra yerlerine koyarız: Yararlıdırlar, işte o kadar. Oysa bana dokunuyorlar. Çekilmez bir durum bu. Onlara bağlantı kurmak korkutuyor beni. Sanki hepsi birer canlı hayvan gibi…Bu duygunun çakıltaşından geldiğinden, ellerime ondan geçtiğinden kuşkum yok…ellerde duyulan bir tür bulantı bu.”
pickThe plot flowed so subtly; something so horrible hiding itself behind the the façade of a child being a mere child. The spectrum of glory, on which stood one 13 year old and one 30-something year old, mirroring one another, was beautifully done. The exploration of masculinity, obsession and more, through seemingly two different lenses was so beautifully done. I would love to read a book just on each and every single one of the characters on here.
Fusako on Ryuji (ie the prototype of masculinity according to both himself and Noboru): “…what a simple man he was!… First he had misled her with his pensive look ubfi expectibg profound observations or even a passionate declaration, and then he had begun a monologue on shreds of green leaf, and pratted about his personal history, and finally, horribly entangled in his own story, burst into the refrain of a popular song!”
pickThe character development, the maintenance of the flow despite the time jumps…I am once again in love with LeGuin‘s ability to note the intricacies of that period, and I absolutely loved it. It reminded me of how 1984 was apparently banned in both the US and the USSR for spreading counter ideologies. This is definitely a book to be read over and over again and find new details, nuanced you probably missed the previous read.
“He could not force himself to understand how banks functionaled and so forth, because all the operations of capitalism were as meaningless to him as the rites of a primitive religion, as barbaric, as elaboratr, and as unnecessary. In a human sacrifice to deity there might be at least a mistskrn and terrible beauty; in the rites of moneychangers, where greed, laziness and envy were assumed to move all men‘s acts, even the terrible became banal.”
“The rest of us keep pretending we‘re happy or else just go numb. We suffer, but not enough. And so we suffer for nothing.”
pickOne of the best world-building I read in a long time; the intricate detailing of Le Guin does not suffocate; it is as fresh as Winter itself. Same goes for character building. The use of stark contrasting - between countries, between landscapes, between characters - was done so smoothly that I both felt like I was going back and forth yet within the given world of Gethen still - nothing felt detached.
“How does one hate a country, or love one? I know people…I know how the sun at subse tin autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where ghe name ceases to apply? What is love of one‘s country; is it that of one‘s uncountry?…that sort of love does not have boundary-line of hate.”
A biologically androgynous society (p 93-94): “Room is made for sex, plenty of room; but a room, as it were, apart…Anyone can turn his hand to anything. This sounds very simple but its psychological effects are incalculable. The fact that everyone between [17] and [35] or so is liable to be…”tied down to childbearing” implies that no one is quite so thoroughly “tied down” here as women, elsewhere, are likely to be - psychologically or physically.”
“The unknown…that is what life is based on. Ignorance is the ground of thought. Unproof is the ground of action… Tell me, Genry, what is known…the one certain thing you know concerning your future, and mine?” “That we shall die.” “Yes. There‘s really only one question that can be answered Genry, and we already know the answer… the only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next.”
pickThe characters‘ struggle with permanence, even as adults, broke my heart - it‘s almost like they use the idea of nothing ever being permanent in video games as a protective lens in experiencing life. The progression from the childish denial to the gradual acceptance of all BUT one thing in life not being temporary - death - will stay with me for some time.
“What is a game?” Marx said. “It‘s tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. It‘s the possibility of infinite rebirth, infinite redemption. The idea that if you keep playing, you could win. No loss is permanent, because nothing is permanent, ever.”
I remembered the cadavers and Doreen and the story of the fig-tree and Marco's diamond and the sailor on the Common and Doctor Gordon's wall-eyed nurse and the broken thermometers and the negro with his two kinds of beans and the twenty pounds I gained on insulin and the rock that bulged between sky and sea like a grey skull.Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, should numb and cover them.But they were part of me. They were my landscape.
“I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.”
“I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more. This made me sad and tired. Then I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I shouldn't, the way Doreen did, and this made me even sadder and more tired.”
pickThis books makes me feel tired. Tired of repressing every self-doubting thought, packed in a little pocket of worries in my brain, about the future, myself, and how I allow others‘ opinions on these to shape my own life. I feel like I almost betray Plath with the way I lead my life (as if she would care) - setting a bell jar around my own life, with my own hands. This book paints my Bell Jar bright red, right in my face, and I hate that.
“What is a game?” Marx said. “It‘s tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. It‘s the possibility of infinite rebirth, infinite redemption. The idea that if you keep playing, you could win. No loss is permanent, because nothing is permanent, ever.”
pickFrom the ‘small‘ ways in which the Last Front was edited to be more ‘accessible‘, to June‘s attempts to be more authentic by going to Chinatown and trying to talk to the first Chinese person she sees… The way privilege is concealed under ‘simple ignorance‘ re conversations regarding ethnicity etc and how it resurfaces to be intentional blindness as we realise that June‘s learnt literally nOTHING at the end of the book…Cannot recommend it enough!
pickThe lover of the protagonist who is a ‘little bit crazy‘ with doing and being anything and everything for the protagonist, and the protagonist whose feelings mainly revolve around lust for a body and desire for connection to escape war.the idea of these characters being in love for me was absurd. I read the story with fascination mainly with Catherine Barkley whom Hemingway did his best in not depicting as interesting but ‘typically hysterical‘.
“If people bring so much courage to this world, the world has to kill them yo break them, so of course it kills them…It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impairtially. If you are nonr of these you cab be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” Also one of the most gut wrenching war/death scenes written for me personally around p 47.
so-soVery easy read however I am not sure if I would recommend it to anyone
so-soWas an easy read, quite predictable in my personal opinion, with an expected message at the end so it was okay, however I also wouldn‘t really recommend it to anyone.
panFirstly, the ending was so frustrating that I actually threw this book away (onto grass so all is well). I really enjoyed the way Gogol breaks the 4th wall and adds his own personality onto the descriptions, yet the ending of this book is full of incomplete sentences and an entirely missing section which is where the chaos built up was supposed to unfold. I‘m upset right now - maybe I‘ll think differently when I‘m a bit calmer. What do you think?
so-soBeatrice, who was so reluctant to be away from her husband, physically and mentally distances herself by the end, fianlly choosing her own opportunity to reunite with her son in death over a broken life with Axl. Axl who consistently tried to hold onto Beatrice throughout the book tries to help them get over his betrayal yet ends up moving on to a life of loneliness until the boatman (death) comes back for him as he said he would.
so-soI definitely felt dizzy and confused, as if I had been affected by the Mist myself; it felt like a fever-dream until the end, and I cannot remember spending this much time to try and finish a book. Shame as it was due to, for me, the writing style and too much descriptive detailing. The characters all exited the storyline in a very swift and meaningful way, and I would‘ve liked to have known more about them beyond the last 100 pages…
pickWould I have continued to live if I, too, knew the ending of my life to be like this? How would it feel to know that even the action of ending my own life would not alter the ending to my existence; that I would remain to be a donor, implying that my life had no meaning? Could I ever miss something, like the ability to divert from a set pathway, I never knew? Then again, having this ability now myself, how much of it have I exercised anyway?
pickWhat a beautiful way of exploring loneliness and despair. I have not related to a character as much as I have to Mikage. The writing is so eloquent in its structural simplicity; the ability to convey such extreme emotions through the eyes of a girl who is not-so-extreme herself has really touched me. I wish I could reread this book for the first time.
“As I grow older, much older, I will experience many things, and I will hit rock bottom again and again. Again and again I will suffer, again and again I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated. I won‘t let my spirit be destroyed.”
“Why is it we have so little choice? We live like the lowliest worms. Always defeated - defeated we make dinner, we eat, we sleep. Everyone we love is dying. Still, to cease living is unacceptable.”
“When was it I realised that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love, I was always lonely. Someday, without fail everyone will disappear, scattered into the blackness of time. I‘ve alwayd lived with that knowledge rooted in my being.”
