Who Could See Beyond this Surface/ Who Will Love Me As I Am

Veronika Decides to Die is not an easy book to read. I've said before that all books are in essence about exploring the meaning of being human. Some are more clearly existential than others, though, and this one definitely falls near that end of the spectrum. Its central concerns are about finding meaning in existence and about problematizing the meaning of sanity/insanity.

The novel about a young woman who attempts suicide; though she survives, she wakes up in an insane asylum and is informed that she's damaged her heart and will soon die. At first she still wants to die, but as she forms relationships with others in the asylum she begins to find meaning in her life, even as she waits to die.

Though I seriously overuse the word "brutal" to describe books, it's quite accurate for this one. It's not an easy read, since it so unflinchingly - at times even viciously - cuts into you. As the reader, you are taken through Veronika's own journey, which goes to an incredibly dark place before there is any light.

Overall, I loved this one. You should assess your own mental state before reading it, though. I do not think it glamorizes self-harm per se, but it's a tricky line to walk and sometimes it almost crosses it. That's my only criticism. Well, that and it isn't as tightly crafted as my real favorite favorites. When it is on it is so incisive, but there is some filler.

Some sample quotes:

Each person knows the extent of their own suffering or the total absence of meaning in their lives.

When I took the pills, I wanted to kill someone I hated. I didn't know that other Veronikas existed inside me, Veronikas I could love.

There are people who spend their entire lives searching for a moment like the one you had last night, but they never achieve it. That's why, if you die now, you would die with your heart full of love.

[T]hank you for giving meaning to my life. I came into this world in order to go through everything I've gone through. . . That is the only reason I came into the world, to make you go back to the path you strayed from.

I pray I might/ Know why God has tempered judgment/ Not with mercy/ But with sorrow

I did not expect to like The Marble Faun by Hawthorne. I mean, The Scarlet Letter, The House of the Seven Gables: not promising introductions to his oeuvre. That said, I sort of loved this one. It's a bit hard to explain why, though, since it really is not the sort of book that I should like. Despite that, I found it strangely captivating, almost bewitching even. It also had an unexpected intersection with part of my life.

The novel is set in a sort of fantastical imagining of Italy in the mid 19th century, exploring the relationships of four friends, Donatello, Kenyon, Miriam, and Hilda. The story is mainly about the effects of the murder committed by one of the friends, how it impacts the friendships, and general questions about justice, mercy, and morality. Art also plays a main role, and each character represents a way of thought or an archetype. Kenyon, for example, represents rational humanism.

I used to think that concept novels/allegorical novels didn't really work for me, but I actually love many of them, like this one. While I could take issue with the Hilda/Miriam sort of virgin/whore thing, I actually did not overall (only part I sort of had trouble with, but Hilda worked more than I would have expected her to). 

One could teach a very interesting thematic course looking at guilt, criminality, justice, mercy, forgiveness etc. in literature, with this one, The Secret History, The Reader, Light of Day, and of course Crime and Punishment. It would be fascinating.

For whatever reason, this book did what I want most stories to do: it made me want to write and dive back into my own fiction. It also made me yearn for Europe. Seriously.

I'm only gonna break your heart

An interesting piece about Rushdie, particularly if you adore Rushdie like I do.

Reading pieces like this always makes me think about what I was doing during the time. I think mostly because it helps place it in context for me, though it can also serve to make the situation in the article seem even more removed. For example, for me 1989 was a seriously great year. I had an excellent time. I think I was a pretty happy toddler generally, though.

We Found Love in a Hopeless Place

Right. Yep. So, I read Fear and Trembling. It may not be what you are imaging exactly, but I bet you can surmise the general way a book with a title like that will leave you feeling. It's a ruthless, brutal little book; it's masterful at bringing you into the harrowing world of the narrator.

Exemplary passage that I find both beautiful and chilling:

Do not dare hope for anything beautiful. Do not expect to feel any sort of pleasure, because it will destroy you. Do not hope for love, because you're not worthy of it. Those who love will love you for the illusion of you, not for the real you. Do not hope that you will get anything out of life, because each passing year will take something from you. Do not even hope for something as simple as a peaceful life, because you don't have a single reason to be at peace. . . [Y]ou should not be so foolish as to suppose that anyone could want you for yourself.

If you had the choice would you do it again, knowing how much it would hurt in the end?

The thing about this project is that it is such a long process, that I don't really think of it as a terminable project. It's like laundry or eating: I feel like I'll to doing this forever and never really get anywhere. This is a bit of a strange perception, given that I can clearly see progress and there is a goal I come ever closer to attaining. Still, it's way too far off to really think about.

That said, I think the reason I'm still at it is because it feels so unattainable. By virtue of being such a lengthy endeavor, I've almost completely focused on the journey. I actually only think about the end when I'm either talking to someone, because people always ask, or when I'm blogging. Interesting.

That said, sometimes it can feel a bit much. Right now, for example, I've been on a serious non-fiction kick (New Yorker, of course, does not help, but I did read this absolutely fascinating piece about drug informants that I'd really like to discuss in-depth with someone).

Recently made cake pops again. May I just say that humidity is not the friend of cake pops?

She still has my monkey?

All right! Kafka on the Shore. I have incredibly mixed feelings about this one. It was so fascinating and so finely crafted, and there were many wrenchingly beautiful, haunting passages. It's a hard one to recommend, though, since I feel like before you could you'd have to ask the very awkward question "how do you feel about incest?" There are few questions as awkward, even questions about breakfast preferences.

It also could be triggering, and has a piece related to SA with which I took serious issue. That said, it is still compelling and thought provoking. Some illustrative quotes:

"People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues [italics in original]"

"I was afraid someday I'd lose this person. So I had to let go myself. If he was going to be stolen away from me, or I was going to lose him by accident, I decided it was better to discard him myself."

Fake it till you make it

So, I just read Uncle Tom's Cabin. No, really. I really did. Now, I don't think I'll talk too much about it. It's actually a rather uncomfortable book to read, for obvious reasons. There's lots to unpack here, of course, but I can't really do that effort justice. Rather than digging out my critical race theory books, let's go in another direction.

UTC is one of those books that you simply can't read without having pre-associations. Let's talk about my three:

1) Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown. Such a great book, of course. This is the last of the childhood ones before the high school ones, and you already start to feel some of the tonal shifts. The girls are growing up, and you start to really see their ambitions and dreams in this book. Why is that relevant? Because they go see a play version of UTC as part of the first story arc, which will then have implications later in the book. I love the illustration of the friends sitting in the box watching the play. This book was probably my first encounter with UTC.

2) Shirley Temple film version. Now, I never actually sat through this. I'm not sure I've ever actually watched an entire Shirley Temple film (because, gnat-like attention span); I just get too bored. Now, she went on to be an amazing adult and defy all the stereotypes of child stars, and her films aren't really her fault, but some are so problematic.

3) The King and I. Of course. As a child, I really only cared about the beginning. Because, so many children! Children everywhere! I loved stories with lots of children. For some reason, I thought I wanted to be part of a super large family. I'm not sure why I thought that. I was obsessed with books like Cheaper By the Dozen. I rarely made it all the way to their production of UTC, but man is it memorable. Come, let's all sing Poor Eliza together now!

Prize for the first person to understand the title!