Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Nietzsche

What is it about Nietzsche?

Often, I'm on the New York subway with a book in hand. No one ever so much as glanced at what I am carrying (at least none I noticed). I am the indiscreet idiot who steals repeated glances at the covers and spines of the books that people are holding. All that changed when I started the book, When Nietzsche Wept by Irvin Yalom. Combine the catchy title with the key word, "Nietzsche", and everyone was shamelessly staring at the cover. One evening, I handed out the book thrice saying, "here, take a look, it's a good book." And two of them, produced a pen and wrote down the title.

When Nietzsche Wept isn't a great book as literature goes. It's too linear, repetitive and has a warm fuzzy ending. But it's a fantastic introduction to Nietzsche, Breuer (the father of psychology and Freud's mentor) and Yalom (the author).

A friend of Nietzsche visits Dr. Breuer, the famous physician in Vienna. She tells him how her friend Nietzsche, who is destined to be a great philosopher, suffers from deadly migraines and suicidal depression. Nietzsche consults Breuer for his migraines but is too proud to admit his mental troubles, and he refuses to stay for treatment because he can't afford it. Not knowing how to make him stay, Breuer brings up his existential crisis. And the men come to an agreement – Breuer will work with Nietzsche's migraine, while Nietzsche helps Breuer overcome his crisis.

The two men play the therapist on one another. Only psychotherapy doesn't exist at that time. Dr. Breuer has worked with a couple of patients suffering from paranoia, that is it. Through their discussions and nightly thoughts, they struggle to counter each other's existential crisis. A young Freud, prudish but brilliant, appears at Breuer's dinner table – always full of ideas and optimism.

In real life, the two men never met. But they lived in the same time. The author, a psycho-therapist himself, has done extensive research into lives of Nietzsche and Breuer. What's in the book just might have happened if the two did meet. All the writings quoted in the book are verbatim, and the supporting characters, including Freud, are real and fairly accurate.

On a side note: You know how you go about repeating some phrase/sentence for years, and your tongue is so used to it that you assume the words are as old as the language itself. Then you learn who said it, and suddenly that phrasing has an origin, before which it never ever existed. Freaky. One such bizarre experience was when I learned, it was Nietzsche who said, "What doesn't kill me, makes me stronger."

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Stefan Zweig

Stefan Zweig is an Austrian writer from the first half of the twentieth century. He was a pacifist who advocated for a pan-Europe. And to that effect, he focused a lot of his writings on biographies and translations. Most of his fiction are short stories and an occasional novella.

In his stories (The Royal Game, Invisible Collection, Buchmendel) Zweig demonstrates a great flair for language and keen insights into human characters. In its literary quality, Zweig's writing is second to none. It's sad that in the English speaking world, Zweig is entirely forgotten.

To me, what make Zweig so special is his sensitivity and optimism. When I read stories exclaiming how wonderful life is, the cynic in me scorns. It sure is easy to be positive when one cares about very little. The suffering of the world is a burden for the sensitive person to bear. Like Woody Allen says in Annie Hall, "I can't be happy when someone's starving in Cambodia."

Personally and in my readings, I have witnessed many passionate and sensitive people throw up their hands and give up, because it's all too much to take. And I can't blame them.

The lines from the Modest Mouse song The View haunts me,
If life's not beautiful without the pain,
well I'd just rather never ever even see beauty again.

While beauty is the most important thing to me, can I say that I would never give up on beauty no matter the pain? I don't think so.

But when a writer like Zweig presents his characters with so much sensitivity for their pain and yet provides optimism through human compassion, I can't help being moved. How can such a sensitive man like Zweig see so much suffering through war and loss of ideals and still be able to write like this?

Another author who moved me with his sensitivity and optimism is Kurt Vonnegut. A Man Without A Country is so beautiful.

While his characters stood tall, Zweig himself wearied. At the onset of world war 2, he left Austria for England and then moved to the US. In 1942, he committed suicide despairing at the future of Europe and its culture. He wrote, "I think it better to conclude in good time and in erect bearing a life in which intellectual labor meant the purest joy and personal freedom the highest good on Earth."

Is that the fate of sensitive authors? Provide transfusion to their characters at their own cost. While Mrs.Dalloway lives on, Virginia Woolf falls.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

What is this about..

One wintry evening, I walked out of the movies and stood on the empty sidewalk, breathing out visible puffs of air and waited for the trembling to subside. I had watched the last hour of Capote in total stillness, my hands clasped tight.

Over dinner, I couldn't hold my excitement. "The movie was amazing," I said to friends who hadn't seen it, "Two men shoot down a family in a small town in Kansas. Truman Capote travels there to understand the psyche of the scarred town and the killers, and writes a book."

"I didn't think you would be interested in that," came the reply. And it was true. The book Capote wrote, In Cold Blood or the movie they made out of it doesn't interest me at all. I just don't find the psyche of the townsmen or the killers intriguing the way Truman Capote did. But this movie is about that intrigue of Capote. Which I find immensely interesting.

I am fascinated by Capote's fascination.

Another time, I was reading Matthew Pearl's novel The Dante Club and raving about it. It's about a few Boston poets (Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell) translating Dante during the eighteen fifties and how they deal with crazy events that happen in the city exactly as described in Dante's book.

A friend said, "I can't believe you read The Dante Club and not Dante." No disrespect intended, but I just can't get into Dante. Yet I couldn't put down The Dante Club – though I am not a fan of mystery novels – because of the poets' fascination of Dante. I was fascinated by their fascination.

This theme began to recur over and over again. In Movies – Shawshank Redemption, Lives of Others, Almost Famous. In Books – Flaubert's Parrot, The Great Gatsby, Old School.

I want to explore my fascination for the theme of fascination by critiquing and talking about these works one at a time. Also, when does fascination become an obsession?