The Sense of an Ending

I was recommended to read Julian Barnes' The sense of an Ending by my sister, I think because it had a few mathematical references in it - in particular a diary entry with the equation

b = s - v +x a

or something like that. I think I really appreciated 75% of this book. There are some nice literary references - I particularly like the references to Camus.

I do find it difficult to deal with suicide in books, and I guess part of what this book is about is making sense of a full stop like suicide, but it also is about making sense of the ending to any type of relationship - to young romances where we wondered whether we were in love in the first place, to marriages that drift apart, to friendships that we don't invest enough time into, and to the death of loved ones.

We yearn for that clarity of reflection, and mementos like Diaries, old notes, only really brew up a sense of complexity such that we start to question what began in the first place. I would hate to think of what people reading my diaries would do to their memory of me. I will endeavour to write at least once "this is not me" in each diary - because it's not.

And at the same time everything is.

I think the power of this book could have come by keeping to the unknowable, I found that the way things fall into place at the end made the story a little less ordinary and therefore a little less universal in the emotions that one goes through in reading it. So perhaps it's closer to 85% or even 90% that I liked. The ending is okay, I guess some people need the satisfaction of a wrap-up, but I think there was the potential here to leave things a little more hung.

Whenever there's "maths" in a book it usually captures my scrutiny - I wouldn't really call the equations in this book "maths", but I can relate to trying to represent relationships between people with letters and symbols - not because maths will solve it, just to clarify the thinking process.

hmm...

A pillar collapses on Harry Potter

After I read The Da Vinci Code in order to steel myself against the "you can't criticise something you haven't read" argument, I decided that I wouldn't waste my time again. After I read The Slap, I'd decided I was not going to read books that caused me to argue with myself about why I didn't like something and whether I had reasonable opinions or not. None-the-less, after a few such Harry Potter conversations in a row, I decided I may as well read it. I think I've never really thought it would be terrible, just as I found the Da Vinci Code exciting enough as a read. My main opposition to it has been the craze with which people revere it, and my impression of JKR from interviews. It always seems to me that she felt herself more original and intelligent than I believe her to be - but of course, again, I'm just going around projecting, right?

Anyway, so I read it. The story has all the classical elements that my dad would talk about - main character, disturbance, goal, complications, potential disaster, wisdom figures, time-out, failure and recovery etc. I've often felt that the family situation of Harry was pretty reminiscent of Roald Dahl's Matilda, and the English country-side and school-boy interactions similar to Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - but it was pointed out to me that the idea of a magic school was reasonably original. In terms of fantastical aesthetic, I do prefer something more like X-Men, with different characters and different powers, which makes there less of a need to indulge in stereotypes like the goody-school-girl Hermione - although I do quite like her as a character.

The thing that Rowling does very sensibly is include plenty of nonsense. I think this is key to Children's fiction and it's something we easily forget as adults. Perhaps my favourite description in the book is that of the Uncle every now and again looking up from his paper only to say "you need a haircut".

So I am not inclined to read the rest - I can probably continue to say that I don't really like Harry Potter, but can probably more clearly say now that, although it's reasonably enjoyable, it just doesn't quite have the depth and complexity that I like (yes, x-men does have this level of complexity, because they have 30 years of storyline!)- and this is merely due to it being YA which caters to a bracket in which I do not fit. I don't think I've ever held it against people to like this? or have I? My whole family always liked it so how could I hold it against anyone?

But oh well, it seems i'm less anti-the-world now.

Battle Royale is better than The Slap!

I've only been reading Battle Royale by Koushun Takami for a few days, but i'm already half-way through and my love of great literature has been revitalised.

In particular, and I don't know why I keep coming back to this (an internal argument constantly going on in my mind), this is a book that stimulates ideas and could be talked about.

Having spent most of the last 10 years concentrating my reading efforts on relatively old books, with only Murakami and a few others bringing me back to modern literature, I sometimes feel a bit neglectful of the here and now, and try to read a book that will supposedly one day become a classic - get informed about who the good authors are etc. I read the Slap on such assumptions, that this was a book by a supposedly intelligent person that people felt the need to talk about and were challenged by (and indeed, I've felt the need to talk about it - but would probably not have bothered if other people weren't raving about it).

Of course, it seems ridiculous to compare Battle Royale and The Slap - but having an interest in maths and keeping in mind that people often describe algebraic rules in terms of now being able to compare apples and oranges... or add apples and oranges? and how misleading this idea is, i'll say that if the conversation is whether books are worthy of attention or not, it's a free-for-all. so here it is:

It's a valid artistic endeavour to explore the dark-side of human nature, to challenge our perceptions that, at heart, everyone is basically good. It's valid to look at societal problems and identify the cultural mindset that leads to such problems, and wonder at how things go wrong when humans try to organise themselves together.

The Slap attempts to explore some of these issues by looking at extraordinary people in an ordinary situation - i.e. ethnic-age-and-status stereotypes at an Australian Christmas barbecue where someone oversteps their supervisory role. Tsiolkas' main vehicle for doing this is the ego dialogue. My main concern with him using this to explore human nature is that peripheral thoughts (e.g. for some reason I'm angry enough to hit that person, or that young girl is attractive) are treated as dominating thoughts, but because people can identify with both types, they are insensitive to the important difference and walk away from this book saying "I know people like that", "this is the truth".

On the other hand, Takami looks at ordinary people in an extraordinary situation - japanese school kids (albeit with an over-representation of athletic and pretty ones) getting tossed into a game of kill or be-killed. The idea is ridiculous and cliche - I don't know how many times it's been done before. The plot is reasonably predictable - people don't want to play the game but fear and distrust take over - BUT, I am constantly awe-struck at the insights into the human psyche that can be expressed in such an arena. Human weaknesses are accepted and pushed, however the yearning of humans for love and trust is also given a voice. There are beautiful moments of friendship, tragic moments of weakness, and the humans without either are chilling - and one should be chilled in the face of such things.

Here's hoping I never put myself through a "slap" in the future in an attempt to be up with "what's good".

On the threshold of meaning and purpose

When it comes to understanding my own identity - the illusion of its permanence and the intuitive notion that something endures, the yearning for transcendence, how I should be relating to people and why it is that I seem different to others - the order of things I like to read is: philosophical literature (i.e. good fiction), literature-inspired-philosophy (i.e. colourful philosophy), something else, mathematics, something else and lastly, probably, self-help books.

I definitely have an aversion to the Dr.Phil, Tony Robins type of self-help that perpetuates that harboured idea that lands us in all this trouble in the first place: that you will be something important. We are nurtured (at least in western society) from birth being told that we are something special and that we can "make something" of our lives, when the truth is actually that most people live mediocre lives (by definition) and that, on the whole, most people deal with that pretty well. It's confronting the idea that all we've been lead to believe regarding how special we are and fated our lives are that can cause a real personal crisis.

However, as beautiful as philosophy can be, there is a certain inaccessibility to the ideas. It helps us ponder things and try to overlay some coherency and authenticity in the way we live our lives, but it is poetry-based morality at best and, for the majority of people, needlessly complex.

It makes sense then, that after decades as an educator, in love with ideas and determined that these should be used by people to enrich their lives, that my Dad would begin a curriculum for whole living series - a series that attempts to find that common ground of living one's life and thinking about one's life. Yes - it is essentially a step-by-step self-help series - a self-help series that I've probably participated in more than any other since I was in one of my Dad's classes in Year 8 that comprised part of its foundation. However, the book is more philosophical (and literature-inclined philosophical at that) as well as psychologically-interested than most self-help books (I dare to presume - the closest thing to a self-help book I've read is eats, shoots and leaves... i think).

This first book takes the reader through a series of big questions and draws attention to certain aspects of identity in order that she can better understand herself and articulate this understanding. The reader is encouraged to keep a journal in parallel and complete exercises that help wade through those distracting features we too easily confuse with our identities.

I particularly enjoyed reading about the various theories of the self, of happiness, of questions, of wholeness. I didn't do any of the book's activities (although I have in the past), but they are the sort of activities I wouldn't mind doing if I wanted to structure my quest for wholeness more formally. To many I gave a nod that this is the sort of thing I either consciously think about or keep journal entries regarding, anyhow. It is the activities that allow the gap to be bridged between the search for meaning, and the way we live our lives and understand ourselves. I believe better understanding ourselves, beyond the cliches, is something that's necessary, and something where many would benefit from a guided approach.

Of course, I also particularly enjoyed reading about the personal thoughts and histories that allow me to know my father better - I would probably prefer to read an autobiography and his own personal philosophy book - but realize that I am a small audience for a 5-year endeavour.