We'll just go slow

I think I've commented before that all novels are ultimately about exploring what it means to be human or what makes life worth living; I suppose you could argue those are sort of two manifestations of the same thing, actually. Anyway, I stand by that argument, and the further I go with the list project the more I am convinced that it is correct.

It's always interesting to encounter ones that seem ambivalent about whether life ultimately is worth it. Coetzee is always so aggressively bleak, so I suppose it should come as no surprise that he would be one who sometimes seems to almost come down on the side of "it isn't, actually." The Life & Times of Michael K is fascinating in that it is about the value of life in many ways, and is sort of a testament to the intrinsic worth of life, while still leaving this question of "is it worth it" open to interpretation. Not, I should say, because of Michael K himself, but because of the horrific ways we interact with each other.

All this bleakness can certainly start to get to you. We do such horrifying, cruel, violent, and degrading things to each other and ourselves. And yet. . .