godsgayearth's reviews
1625 reviews

I only gave it three stars because the epistolary format threw me off and moderately diminished my enjoyment of it.

Some messy thoughts:

The decisive passion of Agatha for Saint-Almont. Religion and gender play, my two favourite topics. Interesting to see how Agatha exists as a product of her times, both religious and into the crossdressing “deviancy” popular in France during the 18th century. The historical background of the Introduction attests to that.

I am basically Sylvain Maréchal. A classics-loving atheist. It is perhaps to discredit him by saying, “he wrote such a pious character!” Agatha’s complex character and conditions for love breaks the boundaries of patriarchy by situating herself within it, and that’s what I liked the most. Maybe it’s some way of breaking it down, in a minute way?

The terms with which she fell for Saint-Almont more so. Pity, a small step, and then love. I wonder if this is true? Or if so, how true is it?

The descension of Agatha’s moral character reflected a form of toxicity in unrequited love. The fervour of her affection seemed to mutate into something unholy despite her near-constant reassurances to Zoé that no, this is the purest, most edifying love! But near the end, it showed far from it. Maybe it was the constancy of her nearness to him that made her greedy. But how pure can it be? This is not equating romantic notions with carnality, but the lack of boundary Agatha possesses, her sado-masochistic ways of dealing with her feelings, perhaps is what propelled her to the end of the novella.

Breakfast at Tiffany's is the first novel where I watched the film first prior to reading it. I used to be so stiff about reading books first before watching films because I was afraid of the liberties directors take when making novels into film. I thought it would inform my reception of the text too much, and it does. But not in a bad way. If anything, seeing the scenes omitted from the film in the text makes me wonder and critique it instead.

All in all, the novel interests me far more than the film does. The oblique references to not-Fred/Buster/Paul Varjak's possible non-heterosexuality makes it more compelling than the film's direct hetero-ness. The discrepancies in the ending also made the novel infinitely better for me. It may be the 1960s, but dear Hollywood, not every film needs to end with a damn kiss.

As an aside, the film's implication that Paul has a sugar mommy confuses me. Is it possibly to parallel Holly and her stream of sugar daddies? At this point, who knows. But that would be interesting to explore at a later date.

—I love you, I whispered to all, to none.
—Love not lightly, I heard him say.

A synthesis of Just Kids and Woolgathering, M Train echoes the life and constant journey of the artist-writer paired with Patti Smith's introspection, mythical language, and spiritual imagination. The importance she places on artifacts, the books she read, the malaise of the writer that is all too familiar to me. Like Just Kids, Smith mourns more of her losses, and I sympathize, if only for the imminence of my loss, yet to come.

I lost myself in the purview of her language. I believed the existence of everything she wrote about. In some moments, I wanted to dream like Smith does, but instantly regretted it. I love how I dream. I will never relinquish the image of the love of my life, in a print dress spattered with yellow flowers, bursting into my room to tell me, in my delirious, sleeping state, that it is snowing outside. Not even for a prophetic cowpoke.

Amazing how a book I read about on a passing article from The Guardian can ensconce me in a reading state, only a few steps away from the bevelled edge of the pit of reader's block. The novel narrates a summer of misspent youth, the indelicate manner of questioning sexuality (and its criminalization) and characters that exist, but then didn't. This particular plot point, vague and crammed in, just so Art can frame his growth, his coming of age into not needing the people he had known in the single summer of his life, felt unsatisfying.

As a whole, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh engages the reader with its descriptions, the pacing, not too wrought nor is it too slow. The pretentiousness I read about in relation to the novel does not stand out far too much. But rather, the references to things (mostly towards literature) strained a little. The influence of On the Road and The Catcher in the Rye are present, without a doubt, what with Art's doubted sexuality and the throwing around of the word 'bisexual' but having it mean nothing, but in terms of aesthetics and parallels, The Great Gatsby is also there.

The impression of this book fluctuates between enjoyment and apprehension. My capacity to view self-destruction could only go so far, and Anna crossed it ten times over. For someone so passive, or someone who considers herself as a passive character, the events that happened with her as the centre of said events speak otherwise.

The framing device of Anna's therapy sessions are brilliant. I enjoyed those bits. But when Anna is on her own, taking action of her own fate (despite her belief that she's not in charge of anything), I worry about her. It's intense, her desire for self-harm. So much so that I couldn't keep reading past a certain point. Also hence the low-ish rating. It's not particularly a flaw of the novel itself, but rather my lack of patience in dealing with people who just don't seem to care.