This book has everything. The ease of moral judgements when you'd never be faced with them and the impossibility of following through once you do getThis book has everything. The ease of moral judgements when you'd never be faced with them and the impossibility of following through once you do get the power to make them outside a late-night talk with your buddies. Every time you see a blade of grass there is a chance that it has destroyed everything that came before it so it can grow. Lots of little distractions cloud your judgement, the big picture deceives you. You might hate the noise, but you put your efforts into building your insignificant model houses anyway, because you have to. And then you stomp your foot over them, but you lodge them even more into yourself. You do it all over again, you repeat and repeat because you desperately need to procrastinate into yet another reincarnation. And the book itself follows this pattern on the road trip. It gives you hope. That something less controversially good can be done for the world; That however bad the past has been, you can still build your dysfunctional family and have a life in the "now". And then it makes you wonder why you love them... And then it lets them destroy you. But not quite... Towards the end I was torn between holding it to my chest or throwing it to the other side of the room, but in any case: "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."...more
I finally got around to reading a full-length book by comrade Saramago, that beautiful human being. So now I feel like hunting for clues to solveWow.
I finally got around to reading a full-length book by comrade Saramago, that beautiful human being. So now I feel like hunting for clues to solve the mystery of what I was supposed to learn from Blindness... Perhaps an unfruitful approach, but it's been interesting, and that's what counts, I guess.
"Disturbing" is a word that describes the book very well in my opinion, better than a whole review probably. So with the description done, I'll go into some spoilery questions, as this is the kind of book that asks and asks and then asks some more, to leave you all alone searching for the answers, to haunt you for years to come.
(view spoiler)[Are we all blind or are we just pretending to be blind? Are we convinced, completely, that we're blind, when we simply aren't? What blinds us, then, is it fear? If that is it, if the red light and the thought of going blind and the look in a horse's eye is fear, then why was sight found in a woman so worried about what would happen if she did something more than she's doing right now, is that not fear? And did she go blind in the end where she felt the sudden fear and looked down, 'cause the city might have still been there even if she couldn't see it... And how do we get to grips with this scary notion that the less we're seen, the less we're able to see? What is the white blindness, happiness, or a god, or vague hope, or just a blank slate to build upon? How do we fix this world if anarchy and oligarchy and even communism (surprise!) does not work to get us out of our own shit? How is it so easy to imagine that a world like Saramago's world could be conceived in a matter of weeks or even days, is that not scary as hell, and how then do we keep our fear out of our sight? And if we decide that we're not blind, do we do something about the atrocities we see? And how much do we do? Do we cause the death of the people in the supermarket with the cruelty of not telling them there's food in the basement or with the kindness of leaving the door open for them to stampede over each other down the stairs? And why did that guy up there, the writer I mean of course, give us a chance to rebuild our world? Why did we get our sight back at the end, was it because god can no longer see us and we can live our life free of our fear for him?? 'Cause the madhouse taught us, quite disgustingly, that we're not worth very much when we know nobody can see us, and that is a worrying fact indeed. (hide spoiler)]