#books 2011

What struck me about this, in our final faculty study group discussing this book, was not the occasionally blatantly obvious thought, but how my very actions have exemplified this. The original mission of The Worst Writer Ever (TWWE) was to, well, not so much be about the very worst things of myself and be an egotistical prick, but be about who I would be ten years from now if certain things didn’t happen the way they did happen in my reality. On the surface level, you know, saying enough is enough and being the asshole I always held inside and never let out. Letting the things in my younger days get to me, which turned me into this alternate version of myself. Like I said, Earth-2 Dave.

However, what is very wisely put by Nehamas here is the idea that in order to find oneself you have to write about your own internal motivations and shortcomings, so I like to think that (TWWE) has been worth it as an exercise in that spirit.

Also, this sentiment kind of predicts bloggers. The life-blogging that people do might bring a smile to Nietzsche’s face now even though a lot of it is downright revolting and shallow. I’m definitely as guilty as any other blogger. (I mean just look at this fucking post; Jesus). This book made me consider the idea that even though some of the ideas expressed come off extremely obvious to me, I don’t think it’s because these ideas are essential and nothing special. Even though I never read Nehamas and Nietzsche before this study group, I now think the concepts discussed have been sewn into the fabric of basically every aspect of my reality so as a result they come off obvious and that speaks to the power of these ideas. Their writing has become a part of the lives of people who have never read them, so when one does discover them, people are un-shocked by some of the ideas expressed and find a way of understanding themselves, but also to stop writing about writing and just write about life.

From Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. The image of the cigarette lighter in the dark room creates this extremely insightful thought on what it means to be at the end of a relationship. It does feel like this: where you’re wandering around in a dark room that is your relationship and trying to figure out who this person is that you’ve been spending your life with. What triggers this? This is probably the moment when you know things won’t be working out. You’re just clinging to the last straw of the happiness that you once had by stumbling around in the dark trying to see where it went. This sad note continues:

Would I ever see the rest? Or would I grow old and die without really knowing her? If that was all that lay in store for me, then what was the point of this married life I was leading? What was the point of my life at all if I was spending it bed with an unknown companion?

I felt quite a bit like this for most of September to June last year, but what I find most beautiful about this is how simple, in such an so easy-going way, Murakami communicates this feeling of loss. It’s as if he knows everything is going to be okay, but he’s just taking you along on this imaginative and weird story of discovery and realization. 

From Matthew Gallaway’s The Metropolis Case. I finished this last night when I woke up with a seething case of heartburn and could not go back to sleep. It’s really refreshing to read a piece of fiction that I’m actually interested in.

This passage is by far my favorite and let’s be honest here: anyone who can deliver a description of a person calling them a emu has talents beyond mere mortals.