foggyreads

by Durian Sukegawa (2013)

2023 reads, 3/12:

“‘All experience adds up to a life lived as only you could. I feel sure the day will come when you can say: this is my life.’”

A really wonderful slice-of-life read. I originally saw this book in an article titled 10 Books That Feel Like Wes Anderson Movies and honestly it hit the mark pretty well. For a novel like this, it was the perfect mix of both dialogue and internal musings from the main character, and general descriptive passages of the world surrounding him. Most of the novel takes place at the small dorayaki shop where the main character works.

Without spoiling, this book also handled really well how a certain group of people were treated unfairly in Japan, and the aftermath of the resulting government intervention. This was something I had never known about before, and even prompted me to do future research on the topic. Follow this link to learn more and possibly be spoiled.

Despite the hardships of all three of the characters, however, this was a bittersweet-yet heartwarming story. While this book will certainly give you mixed emotions, the writing and story are very well done – an absolute pleasure to read.

#readingyear2023 #feelgood #physicallyowned

by Jean-Paul Sartre (1946)

2023 reads, 2/12:

“My purpose here is to offer a defence of existentialism against several reproaches that have been laid against it.”

This book was really a lecture that Sartre gave on October 28, 1945, in Paris, in order to defend the philosophy of existentialism, and describe it to a general audience (this book was published a year later). He emphasizes the underlying creed – that existence precedes essence – and spends the rest of the lecture giving examples and further clarifying his thoughts.

This was more so a utility read for me, to further understand Sartre’s thoughts on what existentialism was. It wasn’t as dry as I was expecting, but the short length helped with that. Regardless, it was great seeing how Sartre had expanded on and refined his ideas since [book:Nausea|298275], a book seemingly overwhelmed with despair. Not sure if there’s any historical accuracy to this, but I could see that book being one of the reasons he felt the need to defend existentialism. I overall enjoyed this, and would classify it as an essential to anyone who wants to further understand existentialism (and how it differs from absurdism), and the general French philosophy at the time.

“This relation of transcendence as constitutive of man (not in the sense that God is transcendent, but in the sense of self-surpassing) with subjectivity (in such a sense that man is not shut up in himself but forever present in a human universe) – it is this that we call existential humanism”

#readingyear2023 #philosophy

by Italo Calvino (1972)

2023 reads, 1/12:

“I shall begin by asking you about a city of stairs, exposed to the sirocco, on a half-moon bay. Now I shall list some of the wonders it contains: a glass tank high as a cathedral so people can follow the swimming and flying of the swallow fish and draw auguries from them; a palm tree which plays the harp with its fronds in the wind; a square with a horseshoe marble table around it, a marble tablecloth, set with foods and beverages also of marble.”

Magical realism abounds in this 1972 novel (collection?) from Italo Calvino, an author that has been on my radar for a long time. These are not short stories, but rather a collection of descriptions of imaginary cities that explorer Marco Polo is describing to the emperor Kublai Khan. Although they do not speak the same language, this is a nonissue, because Marco Polo uses dances, objects, and visualizations to describe the cities to Khan. Their relationship (which we learn more about during the interludes) is one based off of understanding one another with unspoken words.

But to us readers, however, Calvino utilizes the perfect mix of vivid imagery (to describe the physical features of cities) and storytelling of the people, spirits, and culture that make up these cities. To me, this is a master craft on visualization, and I cannot recommend it enough – 2023 is starting off strong.

“Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.”

BONUS: some of my favorite cities include (and this list does not give any justice to the descriptions in the book):

• Zaira (Cities and Memory 3), a city that does not measure physical space, but “relationships between the measurements of its space and the events of its past”
• Despina (Cities and Desire 3), a city which can be reached by either ocean or desert, and depending on where you enter, you always desire the other side (a perfect metaphor for ‘the grass is always greener’)
• Euphemia (Trading Cities 1), a city which sets up a trading bazaar to not only trade wares, but memories of each other’s lives
• Adelma (Cities and The Dead 2), a city where everyone you meet resembles someone that you knew before they died

#readingyear2023 #fantasy #favorites #italian

by Clarice Lispector (1977)

2022 reads, 20/20:

“Who was she asking? God? She didn’t think about God, God didn’t think about her. God belongs to those who manage to get him.”

Clarice Lispector’s The Hour of the Star is a short but intense read about Macabéa, a poor girl who grew up living in the slums of Brazil. She is now a typist, living with four other roommates, and the most basic of human needs (including sadness and having a future) are “luxuries” to her. Paradoxically, however, since she has never experienced true happiness, she thus does not know she is unhappy. This novella explores her life, upbringing, and relationships with her aunt, roommates, and boyfriend Olímpico.

But Lispector takes this story to a whole new level of meta by playing with narrative in a groundbreaking way. Another character, Rodrigo S.M. (introducing himself by claiming he is one of the more important characters), constantly breaks from his narration to comment, lament, or flat-out complain about how he feels about the story, about writing in general, or about Macabéa. Flavors of existentialism and identity crises are interspersed, and through the introspective and dream-like writing style, the story shifts focus from Macabéa to the relationship between Rodrigo and Macabéa (could Rodrigo be doing this on purpose?).

This sort of narrative creates multiple layers of story, a third-person tale inside of a first-person novella – and I’d say that we could even extend the layers to include me, the reader of the story, and Lispector, the author of the narrator of the story (this becomes even more complicated when you realize Macabéa was based off Lispector’s childhood).

“…I substitute the act of death for a symbol of it. A symbol that can be summed up in a deep kiss but not on a rough wall but mouth-to-mouth in the agony of pleasure that is death. I, who symbolically die several times just to experience the resurrection.”

It’s short enough such that I’d recommend it to anyone, especially those who want to explore a new writing style, and what it means to narrate a story.

2022 Epilogue: This was a great year for reading. I’ve read so many books that have been on my radar for a while, as well as some unexpected finds. My top three books this year would probably be The Crying of Lot 49, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and The Hour of the Star – but by no means does this discount every amazing read I’ve had this year. Excited for 2023 (and to finally finish the Harry Potter series…)!

#readingyear2022 #physicallyowned #lispector

by Douglas R. Hofstadter (1979)

2022 reads, 19/20:

“This is axiom”

The above quote is not from this book, but instead, the final lyric in the final song off Bon Iver’s 2011 album, Bon Iver, Bon Iver. These three words encapsulate everything that Justin Vernon was trying to say not only in that whole song, but the whole album: we are here, and in this place, we are self-evident. In math, an axiom is the strongest statement you can make, something that cannot be proved because of its self-evidence (for example the first equality axiom, which states $x = x$, i.e. a number equals itself). And much like I am comparing this foundational mathematical term to music, Hofstadter does the same in his book Gödel, Escher, and Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid.

Hofstadter masterfully weaves Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem, Bach’s fugues, and Escher’s drawings together to create a map between the neurological structure of the brain and the rise of artificial intelligence. His starting point is defining a ‘strange loop,’ a type of self-reference which leads you back to the original statement, and works from there. If you hold on for the whole ride, his final chapters provide an interesting and original take on minds and machines. In between these chapters lie dialogues between a slew of characters such as the tortoise and Achilles, which are not just entertaining, but also excellent at priming you for the ideas about to be introduced in the next chapter. Some did not enjoy the dialogues, but I thought they were some of the best parts of the book.

At times, this does read like a textbook, but it’s not dry or boring at all; Hofstadter is inviting us to try to get to the point before he gets there, which makes reading GEB almost conversational. I started to lose a bit of interest in the latter half of the Part II, solely because I am not super interested in genetics; to me, Hofstadter is at his best when he is writing about logic, paradoxes, and writing dialogues with hidden meanings. Others would disagree, however, as some really enjoy the neurological aspects, and don’t see the point of the math. And as I mentioned, you don’t really get to the crux of what Hofstadter wants to convey in this book until the final three chapters, which could turn off some people.

Anyone who has an interest in math, puzzles, computer science, neurology, genetics, or even art would at least moderately be interested in what Hofstadter is saying. By no means is a formal background in math required, you just need interest. The reason it took me so long to finish this was not because it was boring, in fact the opposite – his ideas need time to marinate before you go on. In this book, the journey was much better than the destination.

#readingyear2022 #math #science #physicallyowned

by Mary Shelley (1818)

2022 reads, 18/20:

I fittingly finished this novel on Halloween night (as you can see, I’m behind on reviews), and overall enjoyed it much more than I thought I would. As my friend Corey said, the first thing that stuck out to me was the fact that the creation of the monster happens very early on, and there’s no real theatrical “Hollywood” moment as it happens – it just happens. And the rest of the book is all about the aftermath of that fateful night. We follow Victor to see what happens afterward, learn about the tragic downfall of the monster, and how this translates to the terror that Victor experiences. Make no mistake though; I believe that Victor is the true monster. He knows this too, but at times almost cannot bring himself to face what he’s done. This, of course, has drastic consequences.

“But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.”

What a line. I also really enjoyed the parallels between Victor and the monster. Isolation, vengeance, and the creation/destruction of life are all traits that are present in both of these characters. Another unexpected pleasure I had from reading this was all of the natural descriptions of the European landscape as the characters traveled around. To me, this “sublime nature” of the book was a perfect foil to the human horror that we are constantly inundated with in the main story.

“The weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as Omnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of another race of beings.”

I definitely enjoyed this classic much more than I thought I would, and highly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t read it yet.

#readingyear2022 #british #spooky #gothic

by Albert Camus (1947)

“I'm in a bad way”

As the title suggests, The Plague is about just that – a four-part novel about a sickness afflicting the French-Algerian town of Oran, and the resulting lockdown that takes place (sound familiar?). Part I was a bit slow, but it’s needed, because Parts II-IV really ramp up in both story and overall tone. Part III was probably my favorite – there were some beautifully written passages, and it is here that I really started to sympathize with the characters in what they were going through.

An interesting note on tone: while the town goes through the horrors of the plague, the unknown narrator takes on quite a calm voice, an interesting choice by Camus. But I think it helped to understand the narrator better – for example, in the absolute depths of the plague, when the town had to burn bodies instead of hosting funerals (due to the sheer volume of deaths each day), the narrator essentially keep their cool when in the depths of it all – but it stuck out to me as more of a defense mechanism than indifference:

“True, one could always refuse to face this disagreeable fact, shut one's eyes to it, or thrust it out of mind, but there is a terrible cogency in the self-evident; ultimately it breaks down all defenses.”

It's a dense book, and while it may seem like there is a lot of filler in the novel, it is necessary to understand each of the characters, as this book is just as much of a character analysis as it is a novel. As such, the plot will take a backseat at times to go in detail of what characters are thinking, feeling, and how they are reacting to the events unfurling around them – something that I did not appreciate until I finished the novel.

#readingyear2022 #absurdism #physicallyowned

by Kurt Vonnegut (1968)

2022 reads, 16/20:

A must-read for any Vonnegut fan – I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would, as I’m normally not a short story person (maybe because the last collection I read was The Decameron Project: 29 New Stories from the Pandemic, which just didn’t really do it for me). But while those stories varied immensely in style and prose, this seemingly diverse set of stories are all connected together by Vonnegut’s signature social commentary via black humor.

Written and published anywhere from 1950-1968, they span a range of genres, including sci-fi shorts (“The Euphio Question”, “EPICAC”, “Report on the Barnhouse Effect”), dystopian futures (“Harrison Bergeron”, “Welcome to the Monkey House”, “Unready to Wear”), suburban dramas (“The Hyannis Port Story”, “Next Door”, “The Foster Portfolio”), and even purely heartwarming/emotional stories (“Long Walk to Forever”, “More Stately Mansions”, “The Manned Missiles”).

These stories are held together by the thread of critiquing the society and politics of the American dream in the 1950s. Many seem to have allusions of specific events in the early to mid-20th century, such as the development of the atomic bomb, the space race, or the Great Depression. A good number of stories also commented on the post-war American workforce, and those reminded me very much of Vonnegut’s first novel, Player Piano.

Most of these were excellent reads, and all are worth reading, but here are my personal standouts:

• “Harrison Bergeron” (1960)
• “All The King’s Horses” (1951): had me on the edge of my seat!
• “The Euphio Question” (1951)
• “Deer in the Works” (1955): such a profound statement said in such a simple story
• “EPICAC” (1950)

#readingyear2022 #physicallyowned #shortstories #scifi

by William Gibson (1984)

2022 reads, 15/20:

“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”

Everyone quotes that opening line, and for good reason – it’s extremely well-written, it evokes this constant mood of despair, and it sets the tone perfectly for the whole rest of the novel. Henry Case, a data thief, gets called upon to do a job for an unknown boss, undergoing surgery to get his ability to upload into cyberspace back after a previous employer crippled him.

“Cyberspace. A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts . . . A graphic representation of data abstracted from the banks of every computer in the human system. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light ranged in the nonspace of the mind, clusters and constellations of data. Like city lights, receding. . .”

Many criticize Gibson’s writing style, though I quite enjoyed it, and don’t think it’s as jarring as others make it out to be. Gibson works in short bursts, quickly switching from one scene to another (which makes sense sometimes, as this is how Case experiences things). But it’s not action-packed all of the time, as there are many atmospheric passages that describe both the real and virtual world that Case finds himself in.

That mood of despair I mentioned is an integral part of the cyberpunk genre. I find that many love to explore the ‘cyber,’ but the ‘punk’ usually gets left behind. Not in this novel – images of the grimy underworld and streets, contrasted with the uncomfortable endlessness of ‘the matrix,’ perfectly capture this dichotomy in cyberpunk.

“Cold steel odor. Ice caressed his spine. Lost, so small amid that dark, hands grown cold, body image fading down corridors of television sky. Voices. Then black fire found the branching tributaries of the nerves, pain beyond anything to which the name pain is given.”

If The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet was the sci-fi book I wanted, then Neuromancer was the sci-fi book I needed, as it was probably one of my favorites this year. This seminal novel paved the way for other cyberpunk works – highly recommended.

#readingyear2022 #dystopia #favorites #physicallyowned #scifi

by Rainer Maria Rilke (1923)

2022 reads, 14/20:

The Duino Elegies are a collection of ten deeply religious and spiritual poems written by Rainer Maria Rilke from 1912 to 1922, taking various breaks in between. They cover heavy (and even overwhelming) themes such as religion, life, and death.

This in the first lines of the first elegy, Rilke makes a call out to ‘the Angels,’ but quickly realizes that biblically-accurate angels would be too powerful for a human to comprehend, thus concluding ‘every Angel is terror.’ The elegies continue in this manner, further exploring themes of childhood, parenthood, and even love, with some beautiful lines weaving their way throughout the deeply existentialist stanzas.

“You see, we don’t love like flowers, the work of just one year; sap from time immemorial mounts in our arms when we love.”

The theme of death makes its way front and center in the final three elegies – Rilke expresses his anger towards death, acceptance of death, and finally imagines what death would be like. To me, these were the heaviest of the ten, but the most powerful.

I don’t read much poetry, so I’m not adept to take a deep dive into these poems and what Rilke might have been feeling at the time, I could only really enjoy the ride as I read. But don't be fooled: each elegy may only be 3-4 pages, but you really have to step back and take in what Rilke is saying.

#readingyear2022 #poetry