This occasionally veers off course and gets a little weird (a few times really weird), but the good parts are so good and worthwhile that 4 stars wasThis occasionally veers off course and gets a little weird (a few times really weird), but the good parts are so good and worthwhile that 4 stars was never really in question. ...more
I liked some of these, especially "Chekhov for children," which was my favorite, and "Suicide of a teacher," which was very powerful. Others I liked wI liked some of these, especially "Chekhov for children," which was my favorite, and "Suicide of a teacher," which was very powerful. Others I liked were "Never live above your landlord," "Modern friendships," "Upstairs neighbors," and "Reflections on subletting." I didn't find any of the others all that interesting, at least not that I recall now looking back over the table of contents at their titles. (There are 19 essays in here.)
One thing that kept striking me as strange while I was reading these was that two out of the five back-cover blurb suppliers chose the same phrase to praise the book, namely "a joy to read." That struck me as kind of an odd way to describe the experience of reading these essays. The very best ones, I thought, were at least a little bit depressing to read, if not downright disturbing or even painful sometimes. There's nothing wrong with that in my book (which is why those are probably my favorite essays in here), but these essays were almost never exactly a "joy" to read, at least for me, and describing them that way seemed to me like a strange reaction to them. The good ones were good because they were insightful and well written and often moving....more
This is, overall, a very fine essay, I thought. And enjoyable to read, too. It's an us-versus-them-style polemic in support of melancholics and againsThis is, overall, a very fine essay, I thought. And enjoyable to read, too. It's an us-versus-them-style polemic in support of melancholics and against "happy types." The central premise here (that sadness and depression and grief make us more acutely aware of and appreciative of beauty, and more contemplative and broader minded in general) is probably not that profound, but the author weaves lots of other interesting arguments in along the way, too, and lots of well- presented case studies of famous melancholics in history, like Beethoven and Keats and Mark Rothko, for example.
When he writes about "happy types," which he sees as a cause and a symptom and a scourge of modern-day American life, it's mostly with vitriol and disgust. These parts will offend some readers, I guess (especially you happy types, perhaps!). When he writes about melancholics and melancholia, it's with the utmost kindness and sympathy and respect. Empathy, also, I guess, inasmuch as the author declares himself to be a lifelong melancholic and sometime depressive.
This is mostly a very cogent and interesting and convincing essay. I strongly recommend it to melancholics and anyone else who cares to think about the human condition in modern-day America and think they might find this spin on it interesting. For my money, this is as well argued and presented, and as relevant to its times, as any Ralph Waldo Emerson essay was in its times.
Here's a couple of paragraphs that I especially appreciated. He's talking here about what he calls "romantic irony," a side effect of being sad or having a gloomy outlook on life:
"Though it often organizes literary expression, Romantic irony is basically an attitude, a disposition, a way of being. It is a method for making sense of the world without being dogmatic, for remaining open-minded in the face of inevitable indeterminacy, for being able to remain in an interpretive limbo, aware of the fact that no one perspective on the world is ever finally true. The person who is ironic in this way ultimately takes life seriously and not seriously at the same time. He knows that his experience of the world is dynamic, vital, fascinating. But he also realizes that this same experience is utterly inadequate, incomplete, banal. He has his world and leaves it, too.
"Romantic irony and melancholia are inseparable. To be melancholy is to live in perpetual doubt, persistent confusion. Such vague bewilderment, properly seen, is not a failure of knowledge. It is rather an honest willingness to accept the fact that we can never know anything once and for all, that we are inevitably ignorant of the whole truth. Accepting this, we must often endure a gloomy limbo. But we are also open to the brisk interplay between life's oppositions and the possibility of understanding, however briefly, the nature of the interplay. Such openness is necessarily ironic, for it never grasps wholeheartedly at one interpretation or another, at one antinomy or another. This open stance is indeed playful, bordering on innocence, fully attuned to possibility, the irreducible ambiguity of experience, the uncertain and bumbling murmurings of time."...more