so i suck at posting

sorry! i just moved to canberra and the week has been a little disorienting, living out of a suitcase gets a little tiring as well. but i mean to respond to both of your posts! i just don't have internet anywhere except at work, and i'm in the same office as my boss...

i hope you guys are both doing well!

So this is what posting feels like

I've nearly forgotten.

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...

All right people. It's time.

And by people, obviously, I mean John.

I finished the Kundera a while ago, but I keep avoiding the post because I'm really, really lazy. So here goes:

I really loved it, despite my early reservations about how Tomas is disgustingly selfish and misogynistic and about how the early philosophizing on how lives are meaningless unless they are repeated contributed to an obsessive, meditative fear of death I was experiencing at the time. I thought Kundera's writing, albeit translated, was beautiful and deeply affecting.

The aspect of the book I ended up appreciating the most was an aspect that initially bothered me. Kundera's narration does not always maintain a strict barrier between the reality in which we are reading the book and the fiction in which the book is actually happening. At times he begins to speak of Tomas and Teresa as the fictional characters that they are, explaining why he did not manipulate his or her fate in a certain way. This threw me greatly, as I've always wanted my belief to stay suspended and the characters to stay as real as possible. A reason, perhaps, that I have never cottoned as greatly to philosophy (though this is not why I didn't like the damn "N") is that reading for me is really just a way of accessing stories. Generally a more fulfilling and complex way than others, but otherwise quite the same. I was never as interested in literary theory as I was in discussing how the characters interacted within the fictional world. This is something you may have noticed me struggling with in academia, since I have an aversion to being one of those "I thought Tomas was hott" type English majors. I can now handle analyzing a novel from a theoretical standpoint, but having the author do so is a bit disconcerting.

However, I think it was brilliant. What it really illuminated for me was the overwhelming theme of dissection, of cutting away the surface to reveal the raw truth beneath. Sabina attempted to do this through her art; Tomas attempted it through his surgery and through his conquests of women; Kundera does it through his analysis of his own art, his own story. He makes us aware that his story is just a cobwebby veil for a solid truth, forcing us to consider the novel as something beyond just an amusing narrative. As he persuades us to consider the depths of his writing process, he also teaches us to look beyond the easy answers of "kitsch" and propaganda - and it's all so gracefully done that one never feel he is preaching.


On another note: has anyone started Invisible Man? I know you guys are still on Nietzsche. This is just as well, because I'm finding Invisible Man positively harrowing, and I imagine it will go quite slowly.

Hmm

I've been making a lot of typos lately.  Please don't judge me for them.  Thanks.

So guys: the Nietzsche

I have to say I'm a little bit shocked that neither of you mentioned that this book is basically just anti-Semitic hate speech veiled as philosophy. Please tell me I'm judging too quickly and it's not really like that, or I'm moving on the next book.

It's not that I don't understand what he's saying, I just think the insidious hatred it's spreading isn't worth spending time on.

Sorry, really annoyed right now.

A few orders of busness

First, I want to know where you all are.  I, for one, have finished the Nietzsche and not the Kundera.  Claire, I know, is the opposite of me.  Dana is an utter mystery to me as usual.  Nice, Dana.

Second, I am bringing my peer pressure to the public forum.  It would give me a great deal of utility if Jason were to read the Nietzsche and talk about it with us.  I know you're reading this Jason.  I think it would be fun for us all to come together in Nietzsche.  To unite the disciplines and give us all practice and fulfillment in the exploration of truth.  Is that not what we have come to Princeton to pursue?  I rest my case.

Third, I just wanna say that I'm really liking the Kundera (about halfway through).  I've done so much reading about adultery this summer.  Incidentally, it's all been the product of eastern European writers... apparently they can't just keep it in their pants (and in the marriage) over there.  Those are my two cents for now.  I hope this post finds you all well.

So the self-frickafracklization of the meta-yittayattanism and the...

I know, I know... I promised that I'd write a long, scholarly rant about the Hemingway.  And I will if I ever muster up the effort.  This post just asks: have you guys started the Nietzsche, and if so, what do you think?  I've been reading it during my downtime at work, and I just finished the first two essays.  I've never read anything by him in great detail or depth, and I must say that I'm surprised in a couple ways.  A) It's more readable than I remembered/expected and B) It's more interesting than I remembered/expected.  I find myself going about my day and thinking about master and slave morality, and ressentiment (can't forget about ressentiment).  I don't know, I just find it to be the first piece of philosophy that I've actually read with zeal.  Needless to say, Kant and Hobbes and Hume didn't foster much zeal in me...

Please lemme know what you guys think when you get a chance.  Hope things are going well.