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nhborg's reviews
436 reviews
Is-slottet by Tarjei Vesaas
3.0
Andre lesning (29.01.2025)
3.25⭐️
«Med vi står fell snøen tettare. Kåpearmen din blir kvit. Kåpearmen min blir kvit. Dei går mellom oss som nedsnødde bruer.
Men nedsnødde bruer er frosne. Inni her er det levande varmt. Varm under snøen er armen din ei sæl vekt på min.
Det snør og snør på stille bruer. Bruer ingen veit om.»
Jeg leste denne for første gang ila. VGS, da jeg hadde pløyd meg gjennom en god del av Carl Frode Tillers repertoar og hadde fått litt selvtillit ift. å lese nynorsk. Vel, den selvtilliten forsvant raskt. Jeg husker at dette var en intens form for nynorsk å lese, og til den dag i dag kan jeg ikke huske å ha lest noe som er nynorsk TIL DE GRADER som denne er; i mitt hode har boka fått en slags ikon-status som en final boss i nynorskens verden. Jeg var pysete og lite fristet til å returnere til slitet, men denne gangen valgte jeg å plukke opp lydboka - det gjorde susen!
Nå leste jeg den i sammenheng med bokklubbens tema «Nordisk vinter», og jeg må innrømme at jeg i utgangspunktet ikke var overlykkelig over å skulle gå gjennom denne igjen. Det ble imidlertid en koselig opplevelse å høre på lydboka mens jeg trasket gjennom vinterlandskapet innimellom livets gjøremål.
Tematisk sett følte jeg at flere hjertestrenger ble rørt ved denne lesningen enn den forrige. Den uforklarlige forståelsen som oppstår mellom Siss og Unn, like overfladisk som den er dyptgående, er skjønn og lar meg føle på en flertydig lengselsfølelse. Videre ble jeg truffet av forholdet til disse jentene i møte med omverdenen, og andre personers kontrasterende mangel på forståelse for hva de to har mellom seg; de voksne vil rasjonalisere, oppklare, og komprimere forholdet mellom Siss og Unn, mens jentene selv kun ønsker å utforske det, boltre seg i den mellommenneskelige mystikken og la den naturlige tilbøyeligheten snakke for seg selv.
Jeg må si meg enig i at språket er vakkert, men det blir en smule for poetisk for min personlige smak. Det står i stil til tematikken ved å være kryptisk og et slags forstørrelsesglass rettet mot ubeskrivelige følelser. Det er også et stort metaforisk tolkerom her. Totalt sett minner romanen om et langstrakt dikt.
Likevel er det noe ved historien som ikke treffer meg helt. Jeg liker begynnelsen veldig godt, men føler at jeg mister taket på den etter hvert og begynner å svinne hen fra innlevelsen og vente på at den skal bli ferdig. Selv om jeg anerkjenner det analytiske og følelsesmessige potensialet i boka så opplever jeg det rett og slett ikke som spesielt spennende å gå inn i, og der har vi bristen mellom meg og boka.
Første lesning (2018)
3⭐️
3.25⭐️
«Med vi står fell snøen tettare. Kåpearmen din blir kvit. Kåpearmen min blir kvit. Dei går mellom oss som nedsnødde bruer.
Men nedsnødde bruer er frosne. Inni her er det levande varmt. Varm under snøen er armen din ei sæl vekt på min.
Det snør og snør på stille bruer. Bruer ingen veit om.»
Jeg leste denne for første gang ila. VGS, da jeg hadde pløyd meg gjennom en god del av Carl Frode Tillers repertoar og hadde fått litt selvtillit ift. å lese nynorsk. Vel, den selvtilliten forsvant raskt. Jeg husker at dette var en intens form for nynorsk å lese, og til den dag i dag kan jeg ikke huske å ha lest noe som er nynorsk TIL DE GRADER som denne er; i mitt hode har boka fått en slags ikon-status som en final boss i nynorskens verden. Jeg var pysete og lite fristet til å returnere til slitet, men denne gangen valgte jeg å plukke opp lydboka - det gjorde susen!
Nå leste jeg den i sammenheng med bokklubbens tema «Nordisk vinter», og jeg må innrømme at jeg i utgangspunktet ikke var overlykkelig over å skulle gå gjennom denne igjen. Det ble imidlertid en koselig opplevelse å høre på lydboka mens jeg trasket gjennom vinterlandskapet innimellom livets gjøremål.
Tematisk sett følte jeg at flere hjertestrenger ble rørt ved denne lesningen enn den forrige. Den uforklarlige forståelsen som oppstår mellom Siss og Unn, like overfladisk som den er dyptgående, er skjønn og lar meg føle på en flertydig lengselsfølelse. Videre ble jeg truffet av forholdet til disse jentene i møte med omverdenen, og andre personers kontrasterende mangel på forståelse for hva de to har mellom seg; de voksne vil rasjonalisere, oppklare, og komprimere forholdet mellom Siss og Unn, mens jentene selv kun ønsker å utforske det, boltre seg i den mellommenneskelige mystikken og la den naturlige tilbøyeligheten snakke for seg selv.
Jeg må si meg enig i at språket er vakkert, men det blir en smule for poetisk for min personlige smak. Det står i stil til tematikken ved å være kryptisk og et slags forstørrelsesglass rettet mot ubeskrivelige følelser. Det er også et stort metaforisk tolkerom her. Totalt sett minner romanen om et langstrakt dikt.
Likevel er det noe ved historien som ikke treffer meg helt. Jeg liker begynnelsen veldig godt, men føler at jeg mister taket på den etter hvert og begynner å svinne hen fra innlevelsen og vente på at den skal bli ferdig. Selv om jeg anerkjenner det analytiske og følelsesmessige potensialet i boka så opplever jeg det rett og slett ikke som spesielt spennende å gå inn i, og der har vi bristen mellom meg og boka.
Første lesning (2018)
3⭐️
Why Look at Animals? by John Berger
4.0
This was really depressing. I’m mostly referring to the title essay when I say this. The other essays varied in quality and impact, showing a large variation in style. But the 26 pages of «Why look at animals?» were powerful, inquisitive, confronting, and agonizing. I wasn’t convinced by every single train of thought, but many of the ideas are recognizable from the familiar and were easy to be impacted by with the right delivery. After reading this at 2 AM it was hard to go through the night and following day under the burdening conviction that our collective idea of animals is ruined. It took a toll on me.
I wanted to check out this work as a self-appointed supplement to a university course I’m currently enrolled in: «Course in Animal Research in Norway», giving theoretical and practical qualifications for performing experimental procedures with model animals and thorough ethical evaluation. I almost wrote a long and derailed account about the ambivalence I feel about this, but suffice to say that I find the topic interesting to learn about but hard to enter the conceptual standpoint of. Squished between the theoretical course load, the guilt and sorrow induced by «WLAA?», and a sprinkle of nausea served by Sartre (another current read), I could feel myself spiraling down an undesirable mental path.
At first I considered finally picking up «The Animal Therefore I Am» by Jacques Derrida to do a deep dive into the topic, but no. I feel a desperate need for a palate cleanser and will try to find something cozy or fun off my shelves.
On a lighter note, here’s a quote from the essay «Opening a gate». This was a much lighter and somewhat hopeful read, but still related to the topic.
«We live our daily lives in a constant exchange with the set of daily appearances surrounding us - often they are very familiar, sometimes they are unexpected and new, but they always confirm us in our lives . (…)
Yet it can happen, suddenly, unexpectedly, and most frequently in the half-light-of-glimpses, that we catch sight of another visible order which intersects with ours and has nothing to do with it. (…) We come upon a part of the visible which wasn’t destined for us. Perhaps it was destined for night-birds, reindeer, ferrets, eels, whales…»
It is easy to go about life as if the human world is the only one that is. Should I do laundry tomorrow or on Wednesday? Would this job position be a suitable stepping stone in my career? In what ways will the economy be affected by the current political climate?
We shouldn’t blame ourselves for this kind of egocentrism. As the quote says, nearly every impression we encounter in our daily lives will naturally confirm it. Still, it’s important to realize that our way of existence is only one out of many. Take a moment right now to imagine what it is like to be a puffin bird, perched on a shelf on the mountainside, overseeing the vast stretch of ocean while feeling the tug of the wind and light spray of salt water on its feathers. What about a resting shark gliding steadily through the dark, open sea. A termite depositing pieces of soil trying to construct the channels of a new mound. A bacterium in the act of dividing within the gastro-intestinal tract. Try to glimpse into another creature’s point of view and share their «umwelt», just for a moment.
I wanted to check out this work as a self-appointed supplement to a university course I’m currently enrolled in: «Course in Animal Research in Norway», giving theoretical and practical qualifications for performing experimental procedures with model animals and thorough ethical evaluation. I almost wrote a long and derailed account about the ambivalence I feel about this, but suffice to say that I find the topic interesting to learn about but hard to enter the conceptual standpoint of. Squished between the theoretical course load, the guilt and sorrow induced by «WLAA?», and a sprinkle of nausea served by Sartre (another current read), I could feel myself spiraling down an undesirable mental path.
At first I considered finally picking up «The Animal Therefore I Am» by Jacques Derrida to do a deep dive into the topic, but no. I feel a desperate need for a palate cleanser and will try to find something cozy or fun off my shelves.
On a lighter note, here’s a quote from the essay «Opening a gate». This was a much lighter and somewhat hopeful read, but still related to the topic.
«We live our daily lives in a constant exchange with the set of daily appearances surrounding us - often they are very familiar, sometimes they are unexpected and new, but they always confirm us in our lives . (…)
Yet it can happen, suddenly, unexpectedly, and most frequently in the half-light-of-glimpses, that we catch sight of another visible order which intersects with ours and has nothing to do with it. (…) We come upon a part of the visible which wasn’t destined for us. Perhaps it was destined for night-birds, reindeer, ferrets, eels, whales…»
It is easy to go about life as if the human world is the only one that is. Should I do laundry tomorrow or on Wednesday? Would this job position be a suitable stepping stone in my career? In what ways will the economy be affected by the current political climate?
We shouldn’t blame ourselves for this kind of egocentrism. As the quote says, nearly every impression we encounter in our daily lives will naturally confirm it. Still, it’s important to realize that our way of existence is only one out of many. Take a moment right now to imagine what it is like to be a puffin bird, perched on a shelf on the mountainside, overseeing the vast stretch of ocean while feeling the tug of the wind and light spray of salt water on its feathers. What about a resting shark gliding steadily through the dark, open sea. A termite depositing pieces of soil trying to construct the channels of a new mound. A bacterium in the act of dividing within the gastro-intestinal tract. Try to glimpse into another creature’s point of view and share their «umwelt», just for a moment.
Winter by Karl Ove Knausgård
4.0
3.75
Dette er det første verket jeg leser av Knausgård, og jeg føler nesten at jeg allerede er godt kjent med han.
«Om vinteren», i likhet med de andre bøkene i årstidsencyklopedien hans, er en ansamling av refleksjoner skrevet i form av brev adressert til Knausgård’s da ufødte datter. I dette usorterte leksikonet over livets små og store opplevelser, spørsmål, underverker, og vanskeligheter, forsøker han å forberede datteren sin på livet samtidig som han gir seg selv rom til å reflektere over hva det er et menneskeliv innebærer. Gjennom drømmende, sentimale og ærlige refleksjoner klarer han å rette blikket mot de mange sidene ved livet som ofte passerer under radaren uten nærmere ettertanke, og kumulativt sett fange tidsånden som den nye generasjonen vil tre inn inn i; ved å stykke opp livet til små ordbok-inspirerte innlegg oppfordrer han til å gi tanke og oppmerksomhet til hver ting i livet på deres egne premisser. Med unntak av brev/ordbok-oppsettet er strukturen løs, og han tar seg friheten til å la sine egne refleksjoner lede an, ofte tett tilknyttet hans personlige livserfaringer. Tilnærmingen minte meg mye om John Greens «The Anthropocene reviewed.»
Noen seksjoner ga mer gjenklang enn andre. Jeg satte pris på sårbarheten og de tidvis klumsete refleksjonene, men jeg kan ikke unngå å registrere det jeg oppfatter som en slags selvhøytidelighet i Knausgård. Det skal innrømmes at dette også er tilknyttet faktumet om at han har skrevet ikke mindre enn 6 tykke selvbiografiske bind kalt «Min kamp» (som jeg ikke har lest, sant skal sies). Siden jeg nå kun kan uttale meg om akkurat denne boka så kan jeg konkludere slik: Jeg setter pris på prosjektet og Knausgårds invitasjon inn i tankerekkene sine, men jeg synes at det først og fremst er premisset som er inspirerende heller enn refleksjonene i seg selv, som noen ganger føles enten grunne, oppblåste, eller i verste fall som vås. Totalt sett synes jeg likevel at det var mye fint, og jeg trivdes med å ha boka på øret for å fremkalle beundring og takknemlighet i møte med hverdagen.
Jeg har lest at Knausgård opprinnelig planla å skrive hele kvartetten i brevform, men at han endret framgangsmåte underveis og skrev de to siste bindene (vår og sommer) som selvbiografiske romaner. «Om våren» har fått merkverdig gode tilbakemeldinger, så jeg tror jeg kunne vært interessert i å prøve den ut en dag.
Til slutt, her er to passasjer jeg likte:
«Lengselen etter 70-tallet er ingenting annet enn lengselen etter framtiden. For den fantes da; alle visste alt alt ville forandre seg. Men den finnes ikke nå, når alt er forandret. Jeg tror at alle kulturens epoker er preget av disse to modiene, eksistensen av framtid og fraværet av framtid, og det merkelige er at det er som om kulturen streber mot framtidsfraværet, som om det er dens høyeste form, når lengselen er oppfylt, noe den ikke er, for da vender lengselen seg mot fortiden eller mot noe annet tapt eller ufullført»
«At vi likevel ikke murer oss inne, og lager innemiljøer som er så sterke at utemiljøet holdes ute, også for øyet, skyldes at vi selv tilhører ute. For ikke bare holder det liv i oss, med sitt vann og sine jordbundne planter, men vi er selv vann, vi er selv jordbundet, og vår streben etter det statiske, uforanderlige og nøytrale er en fornektelse av dette, noe alle innerst inne vet og føler. Slik at vinduenes åpning, som ikke bare er mot ute, men også mot ute inni oss, er en eksistensiell størrelse som vi ikke kan leve uten.»
Dette er det første verket jeg leser av Knausgård, og jeg føler nesten at jeg allerede er godt kjent med han.
«Om vinteren», i likhet med de andre bøkene i årstidsencyklopedien hans, er en ansamling av refleksjoner skrevet i form av brev adressert til Knausgård’s da ufødte datter. I dette usorterte leksikonet over livets små og store opplevelser, spørsmål, underverker, og vanskeligheter, forsøker han å forberede datteren sin på livet samtidig som han gir seg selv rom til å reflektere over hva det er et menneskeliv innebærer. Gjennom drømmende, sentimale og ærlige refleksjoner klarer han å rette blikket mot de mange sidene ved livet som ofte passerer under radaren uten nærmere ettertanke, og kumulativt sett fange tidsånden som den nye generasjonen vil tre inn inn i; ved å stykke opp livet til små ordbok-inspirerte innlegg oppfordrer han til å gi tanke og oppmerksomhet til hver ting i livet på deres egne premisser. Med unntak av brev/ordbok-oppsettet er strukturen løs, og han tar seg friheten til å la sine egne refleksjoner lede an, ofte tett tilknyttet hans personlige livserfaringer. Tilnærmingen minte meg mye om John Greens «The Anthropocene reviewed.»
Noen seksjoner ga mer gjenklang enn andre. Jeg satte pris på sårbarheten og de tidvis klumsete refleksjonene, men jeg kan ikke unngå å registrere det jeg oppfatter som en slags selvhøytidelighet i Knausgård. Det skal innrømmes at dette også er tilknyttet faktumet om at han har skrevet ikke mindre enn 6 tykke selvbiografiske bind kalt «Min kamp» (som jeg ikke har lest, sant skal sies). Siden jeg nå kun kan uttale meg om akkurat denne boka så kan jeg konkludere slik: Jeg setter pris på prosjektet og Knausgårds invitasjon inn i tankerekkene sine, men jeg synes at det først og fremst er premisset som er inspirerende heller enn refleksjonene i seg selv, som noen ganger føles enten grunne, oppblåste, eller i verste fall som vås. Totalt sett synes jeg likevel at det var mye fint, og jeg trivdes med å ha boka på øret for å fremkalle beundring og takknemlighet i møte med hverdagen.
Jeg har lest at Knausgård opprinnelig planla å skrive hele kvartetten i brevform, men at han endret framgangsmåte underveis og skrev de to siste bindene (vår og sommer) som selvbiografiske romaner. «Om våren» har fått merkverdig gode tilbakemeldinger, så jeg tror jeg kunne vært interessert i å prøve den ut en dag.
Til slutt, her er to passasjer jeg likte:
«Lengselen etter 70-tallet er ingenting annet enn lengselen etter framtiden. For den fantes da; alle visste alt alt ville forandre seg. Men den finnes ikke nå, når alt er forandret. Jeg tror at alle kulturens epoker er preget av disse to modiene, eksistensen av framtid og fraværet av framtid, og det merkelige er at det er som om kulturen streber mot framtidsfraværet, som om det er dens høyeste form, når lengselen er oppfylt, noe den ikke er, for da vender lengselen seg mot fortiden eller mot noe annet tapt eller ufullført»
«At vi likevel ikke murer oss inne, og lager innemiljøer som er så sterke at utemiljøet holdes ute, også for øyet, skyldes at vi selv tilhører ute. For ikke bare holder det liv i oss, med sitt vann og sine jordbundne planter, men vi er selv vann, vi er selv jordbundet, og vår streben etter det statiske, uforanderlige og nøytrale er en fornektelse av dette, noe alle innerst inne vet og føler. Slik at vinduenes åpning, som ikke bare er mot ute, men også mot ute inni oss, er en eksistensiell størrelse som vi ikke kan leve uten.»
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk
4.0
4.25
«It is at Dusk that the most interesting things occur, for that is when simple differences fade away. I could live in everlasting Dusk.»
Let’s acknowledge what must be one of the coolest book titles ever. And even better, the content inside lives up to the coolness.
I went in relatively blind but ready to enjoy an eccentric ride, and that I did. I was immediately captured by the writing; I didn’t always form clear interpretations of the ideas being seeded, but I loved the explorative space that we were allowed to wander through with such a curious writing style. There was also an impressive balance between humor and gravity, and there was always an interesting, out-of-the-box thought waiting right around the corner. Tokarczuk has such a unique literary voice that I would love to explore more of in her other works.
This story is set up as a murder mystery, but we dip into a variety of ethical, political and personal reflections and discussions on our way to the finish line. The novel transcends genres and tropes — it has something it wants to say and is not afraid to come forwards with it. A central theme is related to how we view animals and the surrounding hypocrisy and self-denial that is rooted in our culture. Other key topics are outsiderness/marginalization, morality versus societal law i.e. opposition to traditions and conventional attitudes, and the burdens of existence. The main character is also a devotee of astrology and has a worldview strongly shaped by it, giving even the stars themselves a role in the story. Speaking of, Janina Duszejko is one of the most intriguing characters I’ve encountered in fiction so far. She, with all her integrity, ambiguity and fierceness, carries the essence of the novel.
It’s obvious that Olga Tokarczuk is clever, bold and a little cheeky. There’s a lot to get from this novel, and I imagine that it’d be a treat to discuss with others. I know that there’s still a lot of depth that I could dig into, for example the inspiration from William Blake’s poetry and the socio-cultural context (i.e. Eastern European history & the relation between Poland and The Czech Republic). I can already see myself coming back to this in the future.
In conclusion: a powerful work that IMO is fully deserving of a Nobel Prize.
There are so many great passages and quotes, so I had to select a handful to showcase here:
«In a way, people like her, those who wield a pen, can be dangerous. At once a suspicion of fakery springs to mind - that such a Person is not him or herself, but an eye that’s constantly watching, and whatever it sees it changes into sentences; in the process it strips reality of its most essential quality - its inexpressibility.»
«Sorrow, I felt great sorrow, an endless sense of mourning for every dead Animal. One period of grief is followed by another, so I am in constant mourning. This is my natural state.»
«A large tree, crooked and full of holes, survives for centuries without being cut down, because nothing could possibly be made out of it. This example should raise the spirits of people like us. Everyone knows the profit to be reaped from the useful, but nobody knows the benefit to be gained from the useless.»
«We believe we are free, and that God will forgive us. Personally I think otherwise. Finally, transformed into tiny quivering photons, each of our deeds will set off into Outer Space, where the planets will keep watching it like a film until the end of the world.»
«It is at Dusk that the most interesting things occur, for that is when simple differences fade away. I could live in everlasting Dusk.»
Let’s acknowledge what must be one of the coolest book titles ever. And even better, the content inside lives up to the coolness.
I went in relatively blind but ready to enjoy an eccentric ride, and that I did. I was immediately captured by the writing; I didn’t always form clear interpretations of the ideas being seeded, but I loved the explorative space that we were allowed to wander through with such a curious writing style. There was also an impressive balance between humor and gravity, and there was always an interesting, out-of-the-box thought waiting right around the corner. Tokarczuk has such a unique literary voice that I would love to explore more of in her other works.
This story is set up as a murder mystery, but we dip into a variety of ethical, political and personal reflections and discussions on our way to the finish line. The novel transcends genres and tropes — it has something it wants to say and is not afraid to come forwards with it. A central theme is related to how we view animals and the surrounding hypocrisy and self-denial that is rooted in our culture. Other key topics are outsiderness/marginalization, morality versus societal law i.e. opposition to traditions and conventional attitudes, and the burdens of existence. The main character is also a devotee of astrology and has a worldview strongly shaped by it, giving even the stars themselves a role in the story. Speaking of, Janina Duszejko is one of the most intriguing characters I’ve encountered in fiction so far. She, with all her integrity, ambiguity and fierceness, carries the essence of the novel.
It’s obvious that Olga Tokarczuk is clever, bold and a little cheeky. There’s a lot to get from this novel, and I imagine that it’d be a treat to discuss with others. I know that there’s still a lot of depth that I could dig into, for example the inspiration from William Blake’s poetry and the socio-cultural context (i.e. Eastern European history & the relation between Poland and The Czech Republic). I can already see myself coming back to this in the future.
In conclusion: a powerful work that IMO is fully deserving of a Nobel Prize.
There are so many great passages and quotes, so I had to select a handful to showcase here:
«In a way, people like her, those who wield a pen, can be dangerous. At once a suspicion of fakery springs to mind - that such a Person is not him or herself, but an eye that’s constantly watching, and whatever it sees it changes into sentences; in the process it strips reality of its most essential quality - its inexpressibility.»
«Sorrow, I felt great sorrow, an endless sense of mourning for every dead Animal. One period of grief is followed by another, so I am in constant mourning. This is my natural state.»
«A large tree, crooked and full of holes, survives for centuries without being cut down, because nothing could possibly be made out of it. This example should raise the spirits of people like us. Everyone knows the profit to be reaped from the useful, but nobody knows the benefit to be gained from the useless.»
«We believe we are free, and that God will forgive us. Personally I think otherwise. Finally, transformed into tiny quivering photons, each of our deeds will set off into Outer Space, where the planets will keep watching it like a film until the end of the world.»
Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre
4.0
4.25
«Every existent is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance.»
That was … intense! This was really my type of literature, and I don’t think that’s something I’d mention on my résumé. I feel weirdly lucky to be able to rather blissfully consume this and feeling predominantly fascinated rather than personally affected by the anguish. However, it certainly is a heavy read, so please take note of the content warnings.
It feels like I could write on and on about «Nausea» (hence the endless review). I tried to limit the possible digressions and ensure that we wouldn’t be stuck here all day, but alas; I assume it will mostly be future me bothering to read it all anyway. I’m warning about some slight «spoilers» to discuss some things more in-depth, but I don’t think this is the sort of story that can get spoiled on beforehand. Additionally, I give a major rambling disclaimer. Let’s get to it:
We follow the 30-year old writer Antoine Roquentin who lives alone in Bouville. The novel is written as his journal entries (i.e. in retrospect), but it very much feels like we are experiencing the present events by his side. One of my earliest impressions of the book was that it was like seeing a guy on a mission to internally judge and fragmentize everyone, including himself. No mercy was applied in his stripping down of facades to reveal people’s vulnerability and self-consciousness. Not only people - everything he laid his eyes on was mentally attacked in a pure desperation to assert himself against his own vulnerability.
What starts as a small, seemingly unimportant occurrence (a «glitch in the matrix») spirals into an increasing sensitization and awareness, by which Roquentin develops a disgust - a nausea - towards the mere idea of existence. This is a horror story in which the horror is existence itself; here the objects in the world don’t have to do anything to frighten you, they simply have to be. In my head, I imagined his POV to be similar to what it would have been like to see all the individuals atoms making up the world; only seeing the ambiguous essences, not the concrete object aggregations - the facades - that we can categorize and somewhat distance ourselves from. He feels oppressed by all the existences around him and the awareness of his own - inescapable - existence.
«I think that I don’t want to think. I mustn’t think that I don’t want to think. Because it is still a thought. Will there never be an end to it?
My thought is me: that is why I can’t stop. I exist by what I think… and I can’t prevent myself from thinking (…) - if I exist, it is because I hate existing. It is I, it is I who pull myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: hatred and disgust for existence are just so many ways of making me exist, of thrusting me into existence.»
His motto should be «I think, therefore I am, therefore I suffer».
Much of the anguish that the MC experiences is derived from distressing paradoxes, most importantly related to freedom/entrapment and past & present moments’ shaping of the self, of which I’ll discuss the latter. Roquentin feels disconnected from his past and that he is stuck in his current self. He mentions a long list of different exotic places he has visited and adventures he has experienced, but neither he nor the reader feels the consensus between these supposed memories and his current person. «Never before have I felt as strongly as today that I was devoid of secret dimensions, limited to my body, to the airy thoughts which float up from it like bubbles. I build my memories with my present. I am rejected, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin in the past: I cannot escape myself.». Since he has no past, he rather attempts to cling to every present moment and discover his life’s meaning in these instead of the moments leading up to them. Here comes the paradox, however: the more attention he provides each passing moment, the more he is reminded that life is merely a continuous series of present moments. There are no internal structures, no defined adventure stories that together make up our lives. We’re told to find meaning in our lives by appreciating the small things and seizing the moment, but the MC has become trapped in the present and only notices the current workings of his senses. He seems to no longer have a sense of a self, no «I» in which to store a life narrative.
He discusses two mutually exclusive ways to live: To live or to recount. Roquentin, in his current state, is only able to live, dragged along by the senses from moment to moment without a plan or purpose, somewhat like an animal. On the other hand, many people create a persona to which they commit their life experiences; they go through life while unconsciously preparing for how it could be recounted and shared with others, hereby trying to trick the relentless flow of time by artificially sectioning it into distinct adventures personal to them. Roquentin despises these people and their illusions, continually pointing out all the deceptions that are involved when people live by tweaking their own character to be presentable; they end up lying to others, but mostly themselves, by believing that they have control over their own lives. In his view, Roquentin is unique in having unveiled the truth (demasked the world for its grotesque randomness) and wishes for a «change» to make people realize how wrong they are in thinking that they are in control. However, one might discuss what actual freedom lies in living with his conviction.
So this Antoine Roquentin - is he a likable guy? No, in fact, he’s rather problematic at times. Did I enjoy following his perspective? Yes, much like I enjoyed following Joseph K. in «The Trial» despite not feeling particularly favorable about their persons. The latter book was one of my top favorites from last year, and I was in many ways reminded of it as I read Sartre. However, «Nausea»’s weakness for me was a certain lack of subtlety; while «Nausea» can be seen as Sartre’s project to produce an existential novel, «The Trial» felt more authentic personal to Kafka, also due to the fact that he never planned for it to get published. So although I really enjoyed my time with «Nausea», the occasional «on the nose» advance sharpened my awareness of Sartre’s authorial distance to the story, giving a slightly gimmicky quality to it. All it all, there was less room for open interpretation and more directive by the author. However, gotta give him credit for this being his first novel.
Moving on to a couple more pieces I enjoyed (bullet point-style to revive the impression that this is a review rather than a completely haphazard essay):
• One of the key side side characters in the novel is a man whom the MC has nick-named the Autodidact. This is a guy who has doomed himself to be an eternal academic, with a plan of reading through the entire library’s selection of authors from A to Z (currently on L). Unsurprisingly, this reveals itself as another attempt of escaping oneself and the responsibility of hosting the «I». In his view, a thought gains authenticity based on the fact that it has already been thought of by someone more knowledgeable; unless it can be quoted, it is worthless. With that, it is obvious that he dares hold no opinion of his own and performs no critical evaluation of what he reads. He reads to read, force-feeding himself words written by people he deem smarter than himself, desperately clinging to their existence to exist himself - as the Autodidact. An Autodidact is all he is. He has lost everything that used to define uniquely him, instead succumbing to become a slave of others opinions as a type of disclaimer of liability and undermining of his own «self». Until his education is complete, neither he nor anyone else can have faith in him. His ebbing life has become a race to restore his self-reliance, but by the time he is finished, he will no longer know who he started out as.
• Finally: I loved the section describing the transition from Sunday morning to twilight and the accompanying atmospheric shift. From the energetic morning full of hope and potential, the people of the town start showing signs of anxiousness and disappointment as they feel the Sunday slipping through their fingers. Sunday is presented as a miniature midlife crisis; a desperation for achieving something worth relating before youth runs out. This is an example of what Roquentin considers entrapment in patterns and habits - illusions about hope and new beginnings resulting from (wrongfully) viewing life as a timeline of distinct, narrative-supporting moments. «I wondered for a moment if I were not going to love mankind. But, after all, it was their Sunday and not mine.»
To sum it up: This was a great read for the calendar’s limbo that is January, even matching up with the setting of the story. I’d recommend it to anyone who are into existential writing as long as they find themselves in a solid mental state ready to face some nihilistic arguments.
(Thank goodness that Goodreads reviews don’t have a character limit)
«Every existent is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance.»
That was … intense! This was really my type of literature, and I don’t think that’s something I’d mention on my résumé. I feel weirdly lucky to be able to rather blissfully consume this and feeling predominantly fascinated rather than personally affected by the anguish. However, it certainly is a heavy read, so please take note of the content warnings.
It feels like I could write on and on about «Nausea» (hence the endless review). I tried to limit the possible digressions and ensure that we wouldn’t be stuck here all day, but alas; I assume it will mostly be future me bothering to read it all anyway. I’m warning about some slight «spoilers» to discuss some things more in-depth, but I don’t think this is the sort of story that can get spoiled on beforehand. Additionally, I give a major rambling disclaimer. Let’s get to it:
We follow the 30-year old writer Antoine Roquentin who lives alone in Bouville. The novel is written as his journal entries (i.e. in retrospect), but it very much feels like we are experiencing the present events by his side. One of my earliest impressions of the book was that it was like seeing a guy on a mission to internally judge and fragmentize everyone, including himself. No mercy was applied in his stripping down of facades to reveal people’s vulnerability and self-consciousness. Not only people - everything he laid his eyes on was mentally attacked in a pure desperation to assert himself against his own vulnerability.
What starts as a small, seemingly unimportant occurrence (a «glitch in the matrix») spirals into an increasing sensitization and awareness, by which Roquentin develops a disgust - a nausea - towards the mere idea of existence. This is a horror story in which the horror is existence itself; here the objects in the world don’t have to do anything to frighten you, they simply have to be. In my head, I imagined his POV to be similar to what it would have been like to see all the individuals atoms making up the world; only seeing the ambiguous essences, not the concrete object aggregations - the facades - that we can categorize and somewhat distance ourselves from. He feels oppressed by all the existences around him and the awareness of his own - inescapable - existence.
«I think that I don’t want to think. I mustn’t think that I don’t want to think. Because it is still a thought. Will there never be an end to it?
My thought is me: that is why I can’t stop. I exist by what I think… and I can’t prevent myself from thinking (…) - if I exist, it is because I hate existing. It is I, it is I who pull myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: hatred and disgust for existence are just so many ways of making me exist, of thrusting me into existence.»
His motto should be «I think, therefore I am, therefore I suffer».
Much of the anguish that the MC experiences is derived from distressing paradoxes, most importantly related to freedom/entrapment and past & present moments’ shaping of the self, of which I’ll discuss the latter. Roquentin feels disconnected from his past and that he is stuck in his current self. He mentions a long list of different exotic places he has visited and adventures he has experienced, but neither he nor the reader feels the consensus between these supposed memories and his current person. «Never before have I felt as strongly as today that I was devoid of secret dimensions, limited to my body, to the airy thoughts which float up from it like bubbles. I build my memories with my present. I am rejected, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin in the past: I cannot escape myself.». Since he has no past, he rather attempts to cling to every present moment and discover his life’s meaning in these instead of the moments leading up to them. Here comes the paradox, however: the more attention he provides each passing moment, the more he is reminded that life is merely a continuous series of present moments. There are no internal structures, no defined adventure stories that together make up our lives. We’re told to find meaning in our lives by appreciating the small things and seizing the moment, but the MC has become trapped in the present and only notices the current workings of his senses. He seems to no longer have a sense of a self, no «I» in which to store a life narrative.
He discusses two mutually exclusive ways to live: To live or to recount. Roquentin, in his current state, is only able to live, dragged along by the senses from moment to moment without a plan or purpose, somewhat like an animal. On the other hand, many people create a persona to which they commit their life experiences; they go through life while unconsciously preparing for how it could be recounted and shared with others, hereby trying to trick the relentless flow of time by artificially sectioning it into distinct adventures personal to them. Roquentin despises these people and their illusions, continually pointing out all the deceptions that are involved when people live by tweaking their own character to be presentable; they end up lying to others, but mostly themselves, by believing that they have control over their own lives. In his view, Roquentin is unique in having unveiled the truth (demasked the world for its grotesque randomness) and wishes for a «change» to make people realize how wrong they are in thinking that they are in control. However, one might discuss what actual freedom lies in living with his conviction.
So this Antoine Roquentin - is he a likable guy? No, in fact, he’s rather problematic at times. Did I enjoy following his perspective? Yes, much like I enjoyed following Joseph K. in «The Trial» despite not feeling particularly favorable about their persons. The latter book was one of my top favorites from last year, and I was in many ways reminded of it as I read Sartre. However, «Nausea»’s weakness for me was a certain lack of subtlety; while «Nausea» can be seen as Sartre’s project to produce an existential novel, «The Trial» felt more authentic personal to Kafka, also due to the fact that he never planned for it to get published. So although I really enjoyed my time with «Nausea», the occasional «on the nose» advance sharpened my awareness of Sartre’s authorial distance to the story, giving a slightly gimmicky quality to it. All it all, there was less room for open interpretation and more directive by the author. However, gotta give him credit for this being his first novel.
Moving on to a couple more pieces I enjoyed (bullet point-style to revive the impression that this is a review rather than a completely haphazard essay):
• One of the key side side characters in the novel is a man whom the MC has nick-named the Autodidact. This is a guy who has doomed himself to be an eternal academic, with a plan of reading through the entire library’s selection of authors from A to Z (currently on L). Unsurprisingly, this reveals itself as another attempt of escaping oneself and the responsibility of hosting the «I». In his view, a thought gains authenticity based on the fact that it has already been thought of by someone more knowledgeable; unless it can be quoted, it is worthless. With that, it is obvious that he dares hold no opinion of his own and performs no critical evaluation of what he reads. He reads to read, force-feeding himself words written by people he deem smarter than himself, desperately clinging to their existence to exist himself - as the Autodidact. An Autodidact is all he is. He has lost everything that used to define uniquely him, instead succumbing to become a slave of others opinions as a type of disclaimer of liability and undermining of his own «self». Until his education is complete, neither he nor anyone else can have faith in him. His ebbing life has become a race to restore his self-reliance, but by the time he is finished, he will no longer know who he started out as.
• Finally: I loved the section describing the transition from Sunday morning to twilight and the accompanying atmospheric shift. From the energetic morning full of hope and potential, the people of the town start showing signs of anxiousness and disappointment as they feel the Sunday slipping through their fingers. Sunday is presented as a miniature midlife crisis; a desperation for achieving something worth relating before youth runs out. This is an example of what Roquentin considers entrapment in patterns and habits - illusions about hope and new beginnings resulting from (wrongfully) viewing life as a timeline of distinct, narrative-supporting moments. «I wondered for a moment if I were not going to love mankind. But, after all, it was their Sunday and not mine.»
To sum it up: This was a great read for the calendar’s limbo that is January, even matching up with the setting of the story. I’d recommend it to anyone who are into existential writing as long as they find themselves in a solid mental state ready to face some nihilistic arguments.
(Thank goodness that Goodreads reviews don’t have a character limit)
Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
4.0
3.75
I was long overdue reading this! It’s been a long time since I finished Words of Radiance (November 2022!!), and even a few months since I finished Oathbringer pt. 1 (July 2024). Well, here we are.
I gotta start by saying that I in general love this series. «The Way of Kings» and «Words of Radiance» are some of my all-time favorites, and I feel truly connected to the characters and the world. I think Brandon Sanderson must have had strokes of genius for some of his writing and world building. Unfortunately though, he’s kind of like Taravangian; he has his genius moments, but he also has his simple moments. He is the kind of author who in my experience ranges between 2 star to 5 star ratings, and Oathbringer is the first book where I’ve noticed this fluctuation in The Stormlight Archive. The rest of this review will point out some things I want to discuss about Oathbringer.
• First of all, how come Jasnah can return from the dead without anyone making a big deal out of it? I was shocked to hear how she was still alive, but it seemed like no one from the TSA universe were. It felt absurd that she just slipped right back into her daily habits when everything else in this series is given a dramatic moment.
• I’ve never before seen a depiction of dissociative identity disorder (DID) in a fiction book. I think it’s interesting how there are connections being made between fake appearances/masks, reality escape, and personality split - all explicitly enabled by Shallan’s Lightweaver abilities. However, it had a tendency of feeling overexplained and dragged out. I thought she would be healed by the end of this book, but seems like Veil and Radiant are here to stay. Despite the alluring idea of a DID character arc, it sucks to be stuck with 2 additional POVs of dull archetypes.
• There’s definitely no lack of identity crises in here. In Oathbringer, all of the main characters (and some side characters) experience nervous breakdowns of struggling to accept themselves. I usually love reading about existential crises, so how come I list this as a weak point? Well, the effect is diminished when almost every single POV communicates the same string of thoughts about their doubts and guilt. Although the point is to equalize them as haunted souls that are strong enough to endure and grow from their failures, the impact kept getting diluted for each time the same literary formula was used. I also honestly think Brandon Sanderson did a poor job writing about PTSD here; it feels too basic and not genuine enough get deeply invested. The characters started feeling more like plot devices rather than real human beings.
• I enjoyed the quadruple perspectives on the dawn of the invasion of Thaylen city (Urithuru, Thaylen City, the Fused + Odium, Shadesmar), but the finale quickly turned exhausting. The style involved jumping between a million different POVs and writing a short paragraph for each of them in turn, and frankly, none of them were particularly interesting. There were 100-150 pages near the end of the book that felt so incredibly dragged out despite the high tempo and epicness. I believe the whole finale could have been boiled down to 10-15 well-written pages and still express the same key plot points. I’m not a fan of epicness in itself being used to drive the story forwards; we need a more stable ground and deep-reaching build-up to truly feel the implications of what’s happening.
• Related to the former points, WE DON’T NEED THIS MANY POVS. Brandon Sanderson thinks that it’s necessary to glimpse into the brain of every single character to find them interesting, which couldn’t be further from the truth. It becomes overwhelming and annoying and reveals the limitations of his writing because everyone starts feeling like the same person. Take us back to Kaladin, Shallan and Dalinar + interludes for exploration.
• The whole thing with Szeth / The Assassin in White felt so awkward and improbable. Just like that, huh.
• Brandon Sanderson is a master of writing and publishing books at an incredible speed, but I wish he could sometimes slow down and prioritize quality over quantity. Oathbringer felt rushed and like a shell of what the series started out as. A lot of media nowadays starts out amazing and is gradually reduced to something unrecognizably bad, and I hope that’s not the case here.
It ends up at a whopping 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4. Overall, I still enjoyed my time, but I thread into the next books with caution (I’ve been told it doesn’t exactly go uphill from here). Oh, what I would give to be proven wrong!
I was long overdue reading this! It’s been a long time since I finished Words of Radiance (November 2022!!), and even a few months since I finished Oathbringer pt. 1 (July 2024). Well, here we are.
I gotta start by saying that I in general love this series. «The Way of Kings» and «Words of Radiance» are some of my all-time favorites, and I feel truly connected to the characters and the world. I think Brandon Sanderson must have had strokes of genius for some of his writing and world building. Unfortunately though, he’s kind of like Taravangian; he has his genius moments, but he also has his simple moments. He is the kind of author who in my experience ranges between 2 star to 5 star ratings, and Oathbringer is the first book where I’ve noticed this fluctuation in The Stormlight Archive. The rest of this review will point out some things I want to discuss about Oathbringer.
• First of all, how come Jasnah can return from the dead without anyone making a big deal out of it? I was shocked to hear how she was still alive, but it seemed like no one from the TSA universe were. It felt absurd that she just slipped right back into her daily habits when everything else in this series is given a dramatic moment.
• I’ve never before seen a depiction of dissociative identity disorder (DID) in a fiction book. I think it’s interesting how there are connections being made between fake appearances/masks, reality escape, and personality split - all explicitly enabled by Shallan’s Lightweaver abilities. However, it had a tendency of feeling overexplained and dragged out. I thought she would be healed by the end of this book, but seems like Veil and Radiant are here to stay. Despite the alluring idea of a DID character arc, it sucks to be stuck with 2 additional POVs of dull archetypes.
• There’s definitely no lack of identity crises in here. In Oathbringer, all of the main characters (and some side characters) experience nervous breakdowns of struggling to accept themselves. I usually love reading about existential crises, so how come I list this as a weak point? Well, the effect is diminished when almost every single POV communicates the same string of thoughts about their doubts and guilt. Although the point is to equalize them as haunted souls that are strong enough to endure and grow from their failures, the impact kept getting diluted for each time the same literary formula was used. I also honestly think Brandon Sanderson did a poor job writing about PTSD here; it feels too basic and not genuine enough get deeply invested. The characters started feeling more like plot devices rather than real human beings.
• I enjoyed the quadruple perspectives on the dawn of the invasion of Thaylen city (Urithuru, Thaylen City, the Fused + Odium, Shadesmar), but the finale quickly turned exhausting. The style involved jumping between a million different POVs and writing a short paragraph for each of them in turn, and frankly, none of them were particularly interesting. There were 100-150 pages near the end of the book that felt so incredibly dragged out despite the high tempo and epicness. I believe the whole finale could have been boiled down to 10-15 well-written pages and still express the same key plot points. I’m not a fan of epicness in itself being used to drive the story forwards; we need a more stable ground and deep-reaching build-up to truly feel the implications of what’s happening.
• Related to the former points, WE DON’T NEED THIS MANY POVS. Brandon Sanderson thinks that it’s necessary to glimpse into the brain of every single character to find them interesting, which couldn’t be further from the truth. It becomes overwhelming and annoying and reveals the limitations of his writing because everyone starts feeling like the same person. Take us back to Kaladin, Shallan and Dalinar + interludes for exploration.
• The whole thing with Szeth / The Assassin in White felt so awkward and improbable. Just like that, huh.
• Brandon Sanderson is a master of writing and publishing books at an incredible speed, but I wish he could sometimes slow down and prioritize quality over quantity. Oathbringer felt rushed and like a shell of what the series started out as. A lot of media nowadays starts out amazing and is gradually reduced to something unrecognizably bad, and I hope that’s not the case here.
It ends up at a whopping 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4. Overall, I still enjoyed my time, but I thread into the next books with caution (I’ve been told it doesn’t exactly go uphill from here). Oh, what I would give to be proven wrong!
If on a Winter's Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino
4.0
4.25
«I would like to be able to write a book that is only the incipit, that maintains for its whole duration the potentiality of the beginning, the expectation still not focused on an object.»
Such a unique read. I find it incredible and absurd that the content of this novel can be contained within these 250 pages. It only goes to show how remarkable of a medium books are.
—!— The following part of the review will spoil the setup of the novel, giving an impression of how the reading experience is like and which overall themes you can expect. If you’d like to head into it completely blind for all of the surprises, you should stop here. —!—
The book opens with a «You» protagonist sitting down to start reading the book «If on a winter’s night a traveler» by Italo Calvino. «You» read about 30 pages and become engaged in the story, before you realize that your book copy is corrupted and lack the continuation of the story. You go back to the book store from which you bought it to ask for a new, intact copy. Here you also meet another Reader in the same situation as you. You bring the new copy back home but realize that it is a completely different book, this one also missing everything apart from the opening. You contact the Other Reader and begin to hunt down the uninterrupted story together. This takes you on a journey through a myriad of different stories and genres, a transcending love story, a socio-political scheme, and a narrative in which you, the real you, is the protagonist.
This is a highly metafictive and experimental work. I was reminded of «Sophie’s world», «The Trial», and how I imagine «What you’re looking for is in the library» is like. It felt like the most unique fiction essay reflecting over the value of literature, the role of the reader and the writer, book censorship, fraud, free will vs. fate, and more. At times I got lost in the book and forgot everything about my own time and space. On one hand it could be exhausting and demanding to read, on the other hand gripping and continuously intriguing because of the new beginnings.
The reading experience was challenged and stimulated by the fact that every time you picked it back up it was almost literally a new book. Italo Calvino displays his impressive writing capacity and literary insight by juggling the genres and prompts, capturing their generic essence while adding his own uniqueness to them. I kept getting surprised by the complete style shifts from one story to another and how convincing the genre-specific writing style was. Each story offered its own reflection on the topic of reading, story-telling or narrative.
«I’m producing too many stories at once because what I want is for you to feel, around the story, the saturation of other stories that I could tell and maybe will tell or who knows may already have told on some other occasion, a space full of stories that perhaps is simply my lifetime»
At some point I even identified a representation of my usual favorite genre, and I was made aware of how easily I’m swayed by its usual narrative tricks. Nonetheless, I also obtained another formulation about what I like to read about: How an inner worldview is reflected in your relationship with other people or the world/nature around you; how your inner myths become visible in the symbolism you notice in everyday life.
Another discussion I found within the book was that of the book publishing industry and seemingly «fast fashion» writing - books that are produced to demand the reader’s attention all the way though instead of giving room for fluctuating thoughts as part of the reading process. In this sense it mirrors other modern media of which primary purpose is entertainment and the entrapment of our focus into continued consumerism. I personally still feel like reading books (of all kinds) is a far cry from scrolling short-form content, but it seems like Italo Calvino wanted to point out what he experienced as a gradual change in literary culture.
«Isn’t it like her to insist that now one can ask of the novel only to stir a depth of buried anguish, as the final condition of truth which will save it from being an assembly-line product, a destiny it can no longer escape?»
Perhaps more relevant is the thematization of book censorship, a topic which gained renewed attention due to recent shocking headlines. Reading is an invaluable way to cultivate and develop our mindset and personality, and the restriction of what people can read is a restriction of who they can be. The most brave and important works are often the most vulnerable.
«We can prevent reading: but in the decree that forbids reading there will be still read something of the truth that we would wish never to be read…»
Additionally, I was surprised to see «fake news» as a prominent topic even in this work from 1979. The novel introduces a web of fraud in which one falsehood counters another and reality and fiction are intertangled until they’re indistinguishable.
«We’re in a country where everything that can be falsified has been falsified: paintings in museums, gold ingots, bus tickets. The counterrevolution and the revolution fight with salvos of falsification: the result is that nobody can be sure what is true and what is false, the political police simulate revolutionary actions and the revolutionaries disguise themselves as policemen.»
Lastly, apart from the politics, I have to highlight the exploration of what it means to write and what it means to read; any person who is fond of any of these activities will feel seen by this novel. I won’t go into details because there’s simply too much that could have been discussed and because I believe it is best explored on one’s own. Here are some quotes that resonated with me:
«I say to myself that the result of the unnatural effort to which I subject myself, writing, must be the respiration of this reader, the operation of reading turned into a natural process, the current that brings the sentences to graze the filter of her attention, to stop for a moment before being absorbed by the circuits of her mind and disappearing, transformed into her interior ghosts into what in her is most personal and incommunicable»
«She was the winner, it was her always curious, always insatiable reading that managed to uncover truths hidden in the most barefaced fake, and falsity with no attenuating circumstances in words claiming to be the most truthful.»
So what are you waiting for? You mark «If on a winter’s night a traveler» by Italo Calvino as want-to-read on Goodreads and promise yourself to give it a try in the future.
Side note: I’ve read so many good books lately (wohoo), but the more well-written unique works I read in a row, the more I struggle to fit them into my star rating system. For something to be 5 stars it has to be exhilarating for me upon the first read or establish itself as a core part of me upon a re-read. 4.25 is a relatively vague rating that just indicates that it is definitely a good book (4) that had an obvious, extra spark (.25). It makes sense in my head, but it still feels weird to look at the rating of my recent reads. Anyway, just wanted to address my own confusion.
«I would like to be able to write a book that is only the incipit, that maintains for its whole duration the potentiality of the beginning, the expectation still not focused on an object.»
Such a unique read. I find it incredible and absurd that the content of this novel can be contained within these 250 pages. It only goes to show how remarkable of a medium books are.
—!— The following part of the review will spoil the setup of the novel, giving an impression of how the reading experience is like and which overall themes you can expect. If you’d like to head into it completely blind for all of the surprises, you should stop here. —!—
The book opens with a «You» protagonist sitting down to start reading the book «If on a winter’s night a traveler» by Italo Calvino. «You» read about 30 pages and become engaged in the story, before you realize that your book copy is corrupted and lack the continuation of the story. You go back to the book store from which you bought it to ask for a new, intact copy. Here you also meet another Reader in the same situation as you. You bring the new copy back home but realize that it is a completely different book, this one also missing everything apart from the opening. You contact the Other Reader and begin to hunt down the uninterrupted story together. This takes you on a journey through a myriad of different stories and genres, a transcending love story, a socio-political scheme, and a narrative in which you, the real you, is the protagonist.
This is a highly metafictive and experimental work. I was reminded of «Sophie’s world», «The Trial», and how I imagine «What you’re looking for is in the library» is like. It felt like the most unique fiction essay reflecting over the value of literature, the role of the reader and the writer, book censorship, fraud, free will vs. fate, and more. At times I got lost in the book and forgot everything about my own time and space. On one hand it could be exhausting and demanding to read, on the other hand gripping and continuously intriguing because of the new beginnings.
The reading experience was challenged and stimulated by the fact that every time you picked it back up it was almost literally a new book. Italo Calvino displays his impressive writing capacity and literary insight by juggling the genres and prompts, capturing their generic essence while adding his own uniqueness to them. I kept getting surprised by the complete style shifts from one story to another and how convincing the genre-specific writing style was. Each story offered its own reflection on the topic of reading, story-telling or narrative.
«I’m producing too many stories at once because what I want is for you to feel, around the story, the saturation of other stories that I could tell and maybe will tell or who knows may already have told on some other occasion, a space full of stories that perhaps is simply my lifetime»
At some point I even identified a representation of my usual favorite genre, and I was made aware of how easily I’m swayed by its usual narrative tricks. Nonetheless, I also obtained another formulation about what I like to read about: How an inner worldview is reflected in your relationship with other people or the world/nature around you; how your inner myths become visible in the symbolism you notice in everyday life.
Another discussion I found within the book was that of the book publishing industry and seemingly «fast fashion» writing - books that are produced to demand the reader’s attention all the way though instead of giving room for fluctuating thoughts as part of the reading process. In this sense it mirrors other modern media of which primary purpose is entertainment and the entrapment of our focus into continued consumerism. I personally still feel like reading books (of all kinds) is a far cry from scrolling short-form content, but it seems like Italo Calvino wanted to point out what he experienced as a gradual change in literary culture.
«Isn’t it like her to insist that now one can ask of the novel only to stir a depth of buried anguish, as the final condition of truth which will save it from being an assembly-line product, a destiny it can no longer escape?»
Perhaps more relevant is the thematization of book censorship, a topic which gained renewed attention due to recent shocking headlines. Reading is an invaluable way to cultivate and develop our mindset and personality, and the restriction of what people can read is a restriction of who they can be. The most brave and important works are often the most vulnerable.
«We can prevent reading: but in the decree that forbids reading there will be still read something of the truth that we would wish never to be read…»
Additionally, I was surprised to see «fake news» as a prominent topic even in this work from 1979. The novel introduces a web of fraud in which one falsehood counters another and reality and fiction are intertangled until they’re indistinguishable.
«We’re in a country where everything that can be falsified has been falsified: paintings in museums, gold ingots, bus tickets. The counterrevolution and the revolution fight with salvos of falsification: the result is that nobody can be sure what is true and what is false, the political police simulate revolutionary actions and the revolutionaries disguise themselves as policemen.»
Lastly, apart from the politics, I have to highlight the exploration of what it means to write and what it means to read; any person who is fond of any of these activities will feel seen by this novel. I won’t go into details because there’s simply too much that could have been discussed and because I believe it is best explored on one’s own. Here are some quotes that resonated with me:
«I say to myself that the result of the unnatural effort to which I subject myself, writing, must be the respiration of this reader, the operation of reading turned into a natural process, the current that brings the sentences to graze the filter of her attention, to stop for a moment before being absorbed by the circuits of her mind and disappearing, transformed into her interior ghosts into what in her is most personal and incommunicable»
«She was the winner, it was her always curious, always insatiable reading that managed to uncover truths hidden in the most barefaced fake, and falsity with no attenuating circumstances in words claiming to be the most truthful.»
So what are you waiting for? You mark «If on a winter’s night a traveler» by Italo Calvino as want-to-read on Goodreads and promise yourself to give it a try in the future.
Side note: I’ve read so many good books lately (wohoo), but the more well-written unique works I read in a row, the more I struggle to fit them into my star rating system. For something to be 5 stars it has to be exhilarating for me upon the first read or establish itself as a core part of me upon a re-read. 4.25 is a relatively vague rating that just indicates that it is definitely a good book (4) that had an obvious, extra spark (.25). It makes sense in my head, but it still feels weird to look at the rating of my recent reads. Anyway, just wanted to address my own confusion.
40 uker, en menneskegraviditet og 81 andre måter å få barn på by Anna Blix, Frøydis Sollid Simonsen
4.0
Koste meg med denne! Likte godt konseptet om å følge andre skapningers graviditeter sammen med sitt eget (menneskelige) svangerskap, med både parallellisering og kontrastering som drivkraft. Jeg kan tenke meg at det kunne bidra til at forfatteren følte seg litt mindre alene oppi det hele ved å plassere seg selv i en slik evolusjonær kontekst. Det er en del antropomorfisme her, som hun også påpeker selv, men narrativene funker effektivt for denne typen populærvitenskap. Mange av eksemplene lød kjent fra biovitenskapstudiet, spesielt diverse evolusjonskurs, og det var gøy å høre dem i en mer «levende» utgave etter å ha fått lagt noe av teorien som et bakteppe.
Om det er noe å utsette ved boka så er det at den kunne være litt rotete. Det var enkelte seksjoner der det var veldig mye hopping fra art til art, menneske til dyr, dyr til dyr. Det ble litt vanskelig å følge med på hvilken art det faktisk var snakk om, spesielt ettersom jeg hørte på lydboka og ikke kunne se avsnittsinndelingen. Jeg husker spesielt at det gikk litt rundt for meg da det var snakk om både ærfugler, kenguruer, skrukketroll, bjørner, mennesker og nebbdyr i samme, korte kapittel; litt vanskelig å holde tunga rett i munnen og skjønne hvem «hun» var i hvert øyeblikk.
Jeg hørte på lydboka, men vil også nevne at illustrasjonene i den fysiske utgaven er veldig pene!
Om det er noe å utsette ved boka så er det at den kunne være litt rotete. Det var enkelte seksjoner der det var veldig mye hopping fra art til art, menneske til dyr, dyr til dyr. Det ble litt vanskelig å følge med på hvilken art det faktisk var snakk om, spesielt ettersom jeg hørte på lydboka og ikke kunne se avsnittsinndelingen. Jeg husker spesielt at det gikk litt rundt for meg da det var snakk om både ærfugler, kenguruer, skrukketroll, bjørner, mennesker og nebbdyr i samme, korte kapittel; litt vanskelig å holde tunga rett i munnen og skjønne hvem «hun» var i hvert øyeblikk.
Jeg hørte på lydboka, men vil også nevne at illustrasjonene i den fysiske utgaven er veldig pene!