"I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself, forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."
It would be unfair to give this anything less than four stars, even though at times it felt like a three-star read. But that would be my own fault, since Camus pretty much assumes you know a good amount of many philosophers before him. Does this mean the book is not worth reading? I certainly don’t think so. I just knew that I needed to have my phone at the ready to get a quick history lesson in case Camus name-dropped someone nonchalantly.
As far as content, though, it really does an excellent job of getting to the point (eventually). By that, I mean I would find myself reading a few pages, wondering where things were heading, only for it to all click at a later point in time. The first section and the last section were probably my favorite, with being a little drier in the middle. Overall though, a great read to get to the core of Camus’ ideas, and the best way (other than maybe reading The Stranger) to understand absurdism at its core.
It seems odd to review The Stranger only now, since I finished this book months ago. But this review has been sitting in a word document on my desktop this whole time, and all this time has helped me compile and organize my thoughts. In my review of Kafka’s The Trial, I mentioned how the absurdity lies mainly within the relationship between the main character and the elusive governing body that is accusing him. In The Stranger, it seems like the absurdity now exists between the main character, Meursault, and a plethora of social norms, all portrayed by different characters. Death (his mother), marriage (Marie), friendships (Raymond, Salamano, Masson), and religion (the pastor) are all life experiences that Meursault is confronted with. And what I saw a lot of in The Stranger was Meursault’s conflict with a society who viewed him as someone who did not abide by these norms.
But I even hesitate to call this a conflict, because Meursault seems at peace with himself throughout the book. Maybe it’s one sided? He may be scared or upset sometimes, but he never doubts what he believes. And this (to me) is the main theme of the book and Camus’s philosophy – Meursault is ‘free’ in this sense, and by accepting that these different experiences are meaningless to him, he is not bound to any sort of ground truth (by religion or other means) and is free to create his own meaning in his life.
This sounds great, but this line of thinking doesn’t come without conflict. The other characters do not share his views, and the conversations between Meursault and the pastor (one of the best dialogues I’ve read) perfectly exemplifies this. The pastor seems to be saying what everyone around him was thinking when presented with Meursault’s odd way of life.
This was one of my favorite books this year, and I would recommend to anyone wanting to either step more into the philosophical side of fiction or just read a modern(ish?) classic without being intimidated by a large page count.
This is one of the first fantasy books I’ve ever read (I again apologize to Rachel for having never read Harry Potter – I promise I’ll get to it), and I think it did a great job at some things, and an okay job at others.
I’ll start by saying that this book absolutely ruined circuses for me, due to Morgenstern's incredible scene-setting talent. If I go to a circus and it’s not as she describes it in this book, then I don’t even want to go. The scenery and backdrop was set perfectly. The descriptions as the characters were walking through the circus touched upon all five senses, from the extravagant visuals to the wafting smells of circus fare that the characters would eat. Not to mention, the whole process of setting up the circus in the first part of the book was fascinating.
But while Morgenstern’s writing provided an excellent background for a story to take place, the plot’s timing felt a bit off. The beginning was extremely gradual, which might have been okay, but then the end felt a bit rushed. That being said, don’t let this review deter you from picking up this absolutely charming novel.
I’m still collecting my thoughts on one of my favorite books this year, Albert Camus’ The Stranger (and hopefully I’ll post them sometime next week), but in the meantime, it might be appropriate to comment on The Trial by Franz Kafka – one of the earliest pieces of absurdist literature. And this book certainly fit the bill – there was no shortage of odd and sometimes creepy situations for the main character, Joseph K. (referred to as K. throughout the book).
While The Trial does hold its rightful place in absurdist fiction, I argue it’s also a great authoritarian novel as well. George Orwell’s 1984 may be the quintessential work of that genre, but The Trial tends to focus less so on the large-scale dystopian/totalitarian society in 1984, and places more emphasis on the asymmetric/authoritarian relationship between K. and the Court that is accusing him. And it’s this Court that he is consistently trying to understand.
Even though this book is certainly dense in some parts (I’m suddenly reminded that K. goes on a 16-page internal tirade against his accusers and the systems that allow it), the ending chapter seems to occur fairly abruptly. The main plot cedes, but there are some loose ends. Throughout the book, K. has riveting conversations with other characters such as his lawyer, a whipper, a painter, a tradesman, and lastly a preacher (side note: a great parallel to The Stranger), but there really seems to be no convergence or closure of these side character plot lines.
However, these issues are likely there because Kafka never actually finished this book, and it wasn’t even published until after his death. It certainly doesn’t ruin the experience, just leaves you wanting a bit more. But even though we will never have the full book, The Trial is 100% worth the read.
a collection of short stories from The New York Times (2020)
This was definitely an interesting idea put forth by The New York Times. These stories were written during the height of the pandemic, but that doesn't mean that COVID-19 was the main conflict. In fact, in most of these stories, COVID-19 took a back seat to the plot, and each story focused more so on how the pandemic affected the characters and settings.
I struggled between 3 stars and 4 stars for this one – it's tough to rate a whole collection of short stories with just one number. The quality of the stories varied – some of them were really entertaining and thought-provoking, some were just average, and some of them didn't grab my attention at all. But I'll highlight my top ten favorites (in no particular order):
“Recognition” by Victor LaValle
“The Rock” by Leïla Slimani
“Outside” by Etgar Keret
“Keepsakes” by Andrew O'Hagan
“The Girl With The Big Red Suitcase” by Rachel Kushner (probably my favorite)
“If Wishes Was Horses” by David Mitchell
“The Perfect Travel Buddy” by Paolo Giordano
“The Cellar” by Dina Nayeri
“Origin Story” by Matthew Baker
“Barcelona: Open City” by John Wray
These particular stories were great, and made the whole collection worth reading. Would recommend to anyone who wants to read a variety of 1-2 short stories at a time to fill up some gaps in the day.
“Similarly, at exactly the time when it has become clear that global warming is in every sense a collective predicament, humanity finds itself in the thrall of a dominant culture in which the idea of the collective has been exiled from politics, economics, and literature alike.”
As a quick overview, this book is divided into three sections: literature, history, and politics. Each section explores the relationship between that section’s theme, and (mainly) anthropogenic climate change. My thoughts on each section below:
From what I’ve seen, a lot of people enjoyed the first section, ‘Stories,’ which discusses how and why climate change is portrayed poorly in fiction. Personally, this section did not really capture my attention as well as the other two, but I will say that the connection Ghosh makes between the limitation of timescales in fiction and climate change is interesting; it just takes a bit long to get to that point (this is also the longest section in the book).
The second part, ‘History,’ is probably my favorite section, and one of the most interesting takes on climate change that I have ever read – Ghosh argues in great detail how imperialism (alongside capitalism) should be at the center stage in the rise of anthropogenic climate change in the 19th and 20th centuries. What cemented my love for this section was the well-thought-out argument of how the relationship between Asia and western countries (such as Britain and the US) perpetuated climate change into the 21st century.
The final section, ‘Politics,’ continues discussing imperialism as hidden driver of climate change, while simultaneously expanding on two well-known culprits, capitalism and denialism. This section concludes with another personal highlight, a comparison between the Paris Agreement of 2016 and Laudato si’, Pope Francis’ second encyclical, released in 2015.
I recommend this book to anyone who not only wants to take a deeper dive into human history and climate change, but to hear some intriguing takes on humanity’s relationship with the climate and each other.
“The Last Theorem is at the heart of an intriguing saga of courage, skulduggery, cunning, and tragedy, involving all the greatest heroes of mathematics.”
This books chronicles the history of Fermat’s Last Theorem, beginning with the teachings of Pythagoras in 6th century BC, leading into Fermat’s claim that he had the proof figured out in the 17th century, all the way to the final proof of the theorem in the mid-1990s. Mathematicians throughout history tried to prove this particular problem, and as more and more failed the more it essentially became a race. I mean, imagine being able to say you proved what past mathematicians such as Euler, Cauchy, and Gauss could not.
From the viewpoint of someone who works more with applied math, this book made me appreciate those who work in pure math, specifically number theorists. This is math most people, including myself, will never use, as they work on the types of problems that takes years to understand. It's also probably why Fermat’s Last Theorem has been a topic in popular culture, since the problem was at least easy to understand.
One of the best parts of this book is the heartbreaking section on Goro Shimura and Yutaka Taniyama, who together posited the Taniyama–Shimura conjecture in the mid-1950s and acted as a major missing link to prove the theorem. Unfortunately, Taniyama committed suicide and was unable to see his conjecture and the Last Theorem proved in the 1990s. I appreciated how section of the book highlighted their contributions and wished that they had more recognition for their work.
"Classical science has no use for the concrete - it is equated with the trivial in neurology and psychiatry. It needs a 'romantic' science to pay it its full due - to appreciate its extraordinary powers...and dangers…"
What Oliver Sacks has attempted to do in this collection of essays is not only present some of the oddest neurological cases he's seen in his lifetime, but also convey his patients' hidden skills and talents, prior adversity and trauma, and ultimately, their perseverance (if applicable). As alluded to in the quote above, many require more than just a medical exam, IQ test, or prescription to truly understand their disorders and their pain.
As someone with no background in medicine at all, I was able to enjoy and appreciate most of the stories, without knowing the corresponding neurological jargon. However, while those with the proper background might recognize and appreciate his frequent (yet sudden) references to publications/people I've personally never heard of, to me it came off a bit jarring. Despite this, though, I was intrigued throughout, and walked away with a slightly better idea of the inner workings of the human psyche.
“All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber.”
Being my first book by Kurt Vonnegut, I really had no idea what to expect going in, other than hearing that this was ‘some sort of anti-war book’ (what an understatement), and that Vonnegut was one of the most popular satirists in the postmodern era. Regarding the many themes in this book, I don't really think this review will add anything that hasn't already been said by someone else somewhere, but I would like to at least emphasize my favorite theme in this book: time.
Instead of following the life of the main character Billy Pilgrim in chronological order, we are taken back and forth through different times in his life – his adolescence, time at war, and career/family life. His life events are also intertwined with his time in outer space with the Tralfamadorians, an alien species that lives in four dimensions, meaning they can move through time.
To me, the Tralfamadorians teach Billy one of the most comforting thoughts in the whole book: that time always is, and past, present, and future all occur at once. To me this is a comforting thought: with the bad there is always good, and those who seem like they only exist in the past, currently exist, and will always exist. This idea is then taken and toyed with throughout, in the context of Vonnegut’s own experience in war.
