Never Let Me Go

Currently in a strange but not-too-unfamiliar funk after finishing reading Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go: reflective, melancholy, a little bit restless and feeling as if my perspective and the boundaries of my life could do with some stretching and expanding.


The book (Spoilers in this section!)

The book is great, an absorbing read but very subtle and restrained. Events unfold with wistful inevitability, and the reveal of the central science fiction element (the characters are clones created to be organ donors) is gradual and done quite straightforwardly and without fanfare, as the focus is instead on the characters dealing the best they can with their situation, trying to live their lives the best way they know how.

The inherent tragedy of their existence only serves to deepen the already-significant pathos of the strange interdependent love triangle between the main characters. Following their stories from being sheltered at the boarding-school-like Hailsham through to their eventual fates was delightfully bittersweet.

I also liked Kathy's narration. The adjective "impassive" pops up in my head but I'm not really sure that's the right way to describe it. Straightforward, matter-of-fact. Or perhaps the word I'm looking for is just how natural and easy it seemed to get inside her head.


The funk

Although I do find myself getting into a quiet, reflective mood upon finishing a good book, melancholy ones such as this induce such a mood much more easily and intensely. I'm still reeling a little even now, almost two hours after.

The first feeling I remember was one of narrow-mindedness or lack of perspective. I suppose this is something common to most good books and literature -- they do tend to (are supposed to?) show things in new lights and induce new ways of thinking about the same (important) things. In this particular case, I felt distinctly unknowledgeable in the matter of friendships and relationships and dealing with people. And to think that I don't have any tragic fate to contend with!

The next was a momentary feeling of loneliness and inevitability, but thankfully it quickly passed into this final urge to finally fully think about and do something about my own life, which is much less complicated or fraught. Perhaps "thinking fully" about my life is an unrealistic pipe dream, but I do feel as if there's a threshold I've been afraid to or too lazy to cross. I haven't been pushing myself hard enough to be honest and unafraid, to confront the truth. (And now I get a flashforward to that future time when I finally do so only to realize that I've been afraid of stupidly pathetic realizations all this time.)

In any case, planning to try my best to make this mood useful and actually get some thinking done, but I think I may be too tired (and still a little hungover) from carousing last night. (Oh, my tragic tragic life.)

Storytelling

Confession time: I'm a terrible storyteller, lacking in both experience at the telling and experience to tell of. On the rare occasions I'm called upon to do so, it's usually to people close enough to me that they don't need much explaining, and don't mind the artless back and forth before I finish or get to the point, either. 


The difference between the story in my head and the story as I am able to get it out into the world is simply too big. It helps to select a receptive, similarly-tuned audience who can fill in many of the gaps themselves, but that feels too much like cheating, and besides, I can only impose on friends' patiences so much, and even they would appreciate better-wrought anecdotes.


Of course, that doesn't preclude me from appreciating a well-told tale (and in fact, admiration can easily turn into envy and frustration, as every would-be writer knows all too well). The most recently encountered example for me would be Gemmell's Troy trilogy¹, which strikes me as a more earnest and straightforward relative of the A Song of Ice and Fire series².


(Digression: the compellingness (for lack of a better term) of a narrative seems to lie along its own axis, quite orthogonal from its literariness or originality or even overall likability, giving rise to so many guilty pleasures.)


There's nothing to be done except to continue reading and writing and perhaps begin telling more stories about myself. While I do have the introvert's aversion to even remotely approach oversharing it's up to me to develop the skill to be able to artfully mask my own self-absorption, or at least make it seem less blatant and offensive, isn't it?


The hope is to get the snowball in motion (says the guy who's never seen snow in his life), and then to just roll with it as it gathers material and momentum and turns eventually into a natural phenomenon I never knew I had in me to make real.




[1] A retelling of the fall of Troy in an ancient Greece where the warriors are doughty, the heroes magnificently mortal, and the gods exist only in men's minds.


[2] Are we friends? Have you not heard of or read this series? Consider this a firm recommendation to do so. Though technically an epic or high fantasy series, it has more of a historical, medieval atmosphere to it, and the focus is more on the characters struggling variously for power, love, or just to survive, rather than an overarching good versus evil confrontation (although that exists as well). Each book in the series is a hefty doorstop, but you'll find yourself blowing through them in no time and joining the rest of us in the impatient wait for the next. 

The Pleasures of Philosophy (Will Durant)

"This book is an attempt at a consistent philosophy of life. It tries... to make [the problems of philosophy] intelligible by transparent speech, and to vitalize them by contemporary application."

Of course, it has been many decades since this book has been contemporary - The Mansions of Philosophy, of which this book is a revised edition, came out in 1929. Nevertheless, his clear, enthusiastic prose, peppered with unexpected humor, earned enough of my goodwill to offset his occasional sentimentality or dated, short-sighted viewpoint.

He conceives of philosophy as the noble attempt to transmute ever-increasing knowledge into wisdom. He believed that (to paraphrase) philosophy without science is blind, while science without philosophy is barbarism. I think this is very true, and becoming a generalist (as opposed to a specialist) is something worthwhile to aspire for. Attaining real understanding through a total perspective is a goal in its own, and would also make further action and change much easier and more sensible.

The section on the Philosophy of History contained Durant's musings on creating a composite history: a cross-section of the timeline, as it were, instead of the usual longitudinal narratives. I enjoyed this exposition of his philosophy of history especially because I'd already begun (listening to) his Story of Civilization. This holistic view, of course, is a logical extension of his synthetic conception of philosophy.

I think I am attracted to this sort of synthetic, pluralistic endeavor because I personally enjoy learning about diverse subjects. Durant (conveniently for me) articulates a convincing rationale for this tendency of mine. Of course, of course, I doubt he is talking about amateur dilettantism. But at least he's giving me something to shoot for.

Perhaps, like they say about a liberal education, I should strive to know everything about something, but also something about everything.

Isn't it good?

I finished re-reading Norwegian Wood today. I am still feeling the familiar ache and sense of loss at having to leave Murakami's story, at having to go back to continuing to slap together my own personal narrative.

Norwegian Wood is perhaps one of the simplest of his novels. It's essentially a coming-of-age love story, set in Tokyo in the late sixties. Of course it's by no means "just" a love story - his typical humor, penchant for the metaphysical, and cool, smooth style are all still there.

(I am reading Murakami again as research for an essay about him I'm working on for a local newspaper contest. Not much to say about it, except that I'm now wondering how to fit a substantial review of his work in just over a thousand words.

I found myself re-reading with greater awareness, paying greater attention to my experience. Of course, since I am trying to put into my own words why I've fallen in love with Murakami's work.)

He's a natural storyteller, with an impeccable grasp of rhythm and timing.

His protagonists are admirably self-aware, articulate, and empathetic. Much more so than I am or have ever been, although, I hope, not too much more than I can hope to be. This is what makes them so compelling and likeable, to my mind.

I am at a loss as to expressing the emotional affect the book (and Murakami in general) has on me. I am beginning to have the suspicion that this is exactly what I need to focus on for that essay. Hrm.

But to take a stab at it, it's a combination of how strongly I identify with his pensive, solitary first person narrator, the lulling "natural-ness" of the prose/ stream of consciousness or its quality of being "in rhythm", and the melancholy permeating the fabric and every thread of the story.

On the other hand, perhaps because of the subtle humor throughout, I came away from Norwegian Wood, as from most of Murakami's other novels and stories, with a not-insignificant feeling of, I don't know if this is the exact word, hope.

Battle of Corrin

More of the same, or, well, actually, worse. Bleh. Having read the first two books of the trilogy, I sort of felt obligated to read this last one, if only to bring it to an end. And, well, to see how they managed to put the pieces of the prequel puzzle together.

Answer: horribly. Paper-thin characterization (with no realistic character changes of any sort to speak of), parallel plots that also fail to hold together enough (take the entire Arrakis series and the Ginaz swordmasters arc, for instance), and a poor handling of the prequel premise. Why do all of the important events in history and the founding of the influential social groups and institutions (the Guild, House Corrino, the Bene Gesserit, the Swordmasters of Ginaz, the Fremen, the Suk doctors, and so on) happen within a span of a hundred years?

I could go on and on. Plot holes abound. You do not actually get to care about any single character, except maybe Erasmus, a bit, but even then not really. Horrible writing (I feel like I could've done better, even, although of course it's harder to write well than it is to recognize bad writing, those are different things entirely).

Brian Herbert should be ashamed of this clumsy attempt at imagining the history of his father's wonderful Dune universe. Or, rather, I should be ashamed of having been fooled not once, not twice, but thrice!

On a positive note, it is done! Time to go for better reads. Really looking forward to re-reading the original series.

The Machine Crusade

See previous post. More of the same, although things are starting to pick up. Being the second book in a trilogy, The Machine Crusade basically just set things up for the concluding book in the series.

I'm definitely going to read the last book to find out how everything ends up. (Then afterwards I think I'm going to reread the original series, just to reassure myself that these particular excursions to the Dune universe could indeed have been much better.)

The Butlerian Jihad

Just finished Butlerian Jihad. Mildly entertaining, if more than a bit disappointing. Makes me want to reread the original Dune series instead. Much better, those books. Actually made history quite interesting, and made for very stimulating reading. This book (and from what I hear, all the other B. Herbert and Anderson "Dune" books), not so. Reviews are right: they are made for today's TV audiences. Cymeks? Come on! Haha.