To address Claire's points of discussion:
Claire, as I go about reading novels, I tend to search for a balance, albeit an uneasy one, between your preferred method (trying to assimilate my own thoughts and feelings into the fictional world and explore it as much as I can) simply because its interesting and, er--exciting (compared to most things that I do) and the Nunokawan "Helen Burns educated Jane in the channelling of erotic desire"-esque militantly analytical approach. Both are quite rewarding, I'd say, but in very different ways. Additionally, I find that unless both of these things happen to me, I won't enjoy the novel fully. Indeed, the two approaches, while quite different in terms of what my mind is actually doing, are extremely codependent. For instance, while reading Middlemarch, I quickly became taken in by Dorothea's sobbing on the floor after losing Ladislaw or Bulstrode weeping in front of his wife. Both of those things can (and did) give me chills, at least in the right mood. However, the English major inside of me uses precisely these moments to look at what, exactly, George Eliot is up to that makes it so profound.
And so, I viewed Unbearable Lightness of Being as a novel that was written for people who not only enjoy reading stories, but enjoy thinking about stories. I say stories for the sake of being purposefully vague, because Kundera was admittedly "telling a story," but for that very reason, he proposed, what he was saying was incredibly close to real life.
Probably more than anything, I loved how Kundera emphasized repeatedly that real life is much like a novel precisely because humans are subconsciously creating it that way. I especially liked the part about Anna Karenina, and how she might not have even realized that throwing herself in front of a train would be a perfect literary ending to her life, but human forces within her could sense this desire to create art from life (kitsch, is it called?) and she acted accordingly.
I also realize that I can't explicitly discuss like 80% of the philosophical and literary significance of this novel, mostly because it was good enough for me to just sit back and absorb. One can sort of tell that it was written at the end of the twentieth century. The overall tone, and the ideas Kundera talks about (like kitsch, infidelity, fate ("es muss sein"), etc.) are often introduced and interpreted through the lens of previous works of art that have shaped our current ideas. In that way, the novel seems like a sort of culmination of so much that I've been thinking about in and out of my classes this past year, and for that I'm truly appreciative.
So... Invisible Man, I have not started, nor am I in possession of it. I'll read it soon enough. Currently, I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov by myself (which is really really really good if any one cares to receive another recommendation), so when I've read all 800 pages (I'm currently around page 300) I will begin Mr. Ellison's novel. Also, after much deliberation, I've come to the sort of steady conclusion that I... don't think I'm going to read Oliver Twist. The thing is that Victorian novels are huge and really distinctive to me, and after ENG 331 I can only read one every once in a while without ODing, so I think I'm either going to read Daniel Deronda or Barchester Towers (by Anthony Trollope), both of which have, according to a certain well-loved Victorianist who will remain nameless, "more friction." Do you hate me? I encourage you guys to join me if you want to either add to or replace Oliver. My only problem is my looming English major guilt that comes from my utter lack of a Dickens repertoire. I just have never really... gotten into him. We'll see.
Okay, I had a strong cup of coffee scandalously late in the day, so I think I'm going to ride the caffeine wave into the Russian soul for a while, and then watch some TV, and then go to bed, because that's what my life consists of (but somehow I'm still more content with it than I am at school?) I hope you are doing well, Claire. Dana, I also hope you are doing well.
Alright, later...
2 comments:
Also, "Claire," please "tell" Jason that I "said" "Hi!"
Update: I just purchased Invisible Man, at which point I read roughly twenty pages of it. It looks really good... I haven't read any African-American literature since high school other than Beloved, which I was pretty vanilla about. It actually reminded me off the bat of Notes from Underground, a little piece of existentialist brilliance by Dostoevsky. The famous first line is "I am a sick man, I am a wicked man." (Surprisingly similar to Ellison's "I am an invisible man.") Also, in both books, the first person narrator has no name (In Notes from Underground, everyone just refers to him as "Underground Man" in discussion... sort of like... Invisible Man. I think I've sufficiently hammered in the point.)
But yes, I'm excited about reading this book not only because it is like Notes from Underground, but also, because it's almost four times as long. AND it's about African-American history, which is a topic that I haven't thought about in a long time and am eager to start thinking about now. Just figured I'd drop a brief line confirming my enthusiasm, hoping that it riles everyone up and creates a literary ecstasy for us to bask in for a few precious moments.
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