On deciding for the title of this novel, writer Jerzy Kosinki was inspired by the symbolic use of birds in literature which "allowed certain people toOn deciding for the title of this novel, writer Jerzy Kosinki was inspired by the symbolic use of birds in literature which "allowed certain people to deal with actual events and characters without the restrictions which the writing of history imposes". He states that there was a certain peasant custom he witnessed as a child before in which he describes it as follows:
"One of the villagers' favorite entertainment was trapping birds, painting their feathers, and then releasing them in the air to rejoin their flock. As these brightly colored creatures sought the safety of their fellows, the other birds, seeing them as threatening aliens, attacked and tore at the outcasts until they killed them."
Due to the controversial nature and content of this book, I was surprised that I even stumbled upon a copy about a year ago while once again casually flipping through the general section of a bookstore. I've only known about the book months prior to acquiring it, and I was so excited to start reading it on a scheduled time. Some months later, I did just that and for two days I was immersed in witnessing the ugliest and most vile horrors I have ever read in fiction that were loosely based from real-life accounts of people who lived through the second World War. There was nothing about this book I enjoyed, to be honest. It was psychologically painful and slightly numbing to peruse through, especially with each chapter dealing with deprived deviant acts of the social and sexual kind.
That being said, this is a spectacular novel that examines the darker and sickening aspects of human nature, and it was successful in its depiction because I don't think any decent person would enjoy the varying degrees of cruelty and degradation that Kosinski have shared in The Painted Bird.
The Painted Bird follows the travels of a six-year-old Jewish boy in Central Europe, and whose parents have sent him away in beliefs that he would fare better away from the heart of the warfare and Nazism at the time.
What happens mainly instead over the course of the book is that the boy was forced to grow up very quickly, robbed of another option, as he stays in one village after another, more often discriminated against, beaten up and rarely cared for. As a book that deals with the Holocaust, Kosinski managed to stay away from events surrounding the actual prison or labor camps where the Jews were gassed or incinerated. We all know that's where the real horror lies but Kosinski challenged this idea and revealed to us that in times of warfare, even the most modest of places such as rural villages can be sources of the most potent evil human beings are capable of.
This book delved deeply on the shocking ways that antisemitic sentiment, religious persecution and barbaric superstitions could turn people into hateful creatures; that even the simple folk back then can and will ruefully participate in terrible acts, often justifying their malicious intentions as divine interventions, against the boy himself, and any Jewish or Gypsy person of the same ilk who would pass their way. I don't think it's worth specifying these truly disgusting and abhorrent events here in my review, mostly because I'm still sick to my stomach just thinking about them. Even the subtlest ways of these people when it comes to their maltreatment of the boy just because he has black hair and dark eyes (and therefore an abomination to God) were chilling in retrospect.
So, yes, I did not enjoy reading this book but I was fully hypnotized into trudging along each chapter anyway.
I could then claim that this was a great exercise on moral conscience and inherent human compassion on the end of the readers such as myself who have developed a certain keen sense of cynicism over the years regarding the world at large. I am not shocked easily by gory details but I have to admit that this book made me feel bad every time I try to insert some humor in my initial thoughts in ŷ for the reading updates while reading. It doesn't feel like a subject to be made light of, personally, but it was also the only way I can endure reading the chapters--I had to find some sort of morbid amusement and detachment just so I don't get thoroughly disheartened.
What was so moving about this novel, however, was the main character of the boy who remains unnamed throughout, but whose iron will and resilient youth had made it possible for him to come out on the other side alive, though fragmented and forever changed. Children are tougher than we give them credit for, and I was comforted with the fact that he was resourceful in adapting to multiple situations where his own life and innocence are fully at stake. This book features tons of examples of mob mentality (the likes of which are awfully symbolized by the painted-birds analogy Kosinski has utilized), as well as separate incidents of incest and bestiality, and a rather disconcerting abundance of gang rapes at the later part of the book where a whole chapter is devoted describing the entire thing in painstakingly gross detail. This is not a book meant for enjoyment so if you happen to decide you want to read it, please remember what I just said in this review.
The Painted Bird also operates on the wisdom that there are no happy lives, just happy moments, and about fifty pages near the end, the readers are allowed to view snapshots of the boy's life in the aftermath of the fall of the Third Reich and though there was nothing immediately uplifting about it, it's the best happy ending he could make out of from the traumatic experiences that have shaped him, and malformed him somehow.
Personally, I didn't expect that there's going to be a healing message by the end of this tragic tale anyway. I think the ambiguity of the resolution for The Painted Bird accomplishes what it was set out to do in the first place: to remind readers that the darkness hovering in our lives is real and it could seep through the cracks, whether or not we allow it.
But the real test of courage and spiritual enlightenment is on how we cope and deal with the poison that corrodes our systems, and I would like to believe against hope that we can rise above our own base impulses towards hatred, ignorance and persecution. There is corruption and sickness in the world, yes, but we all should strive to be the balm on its infected pores.
The Painted Bird, after showing me so much inhumane and malicious acts that people do to each other, has also reminded me of my humanity and the blessings and burdens of ensuring I don't give in to the call of moral decay and disintegration of values, no matter how easy (and even remotely tempting) it is to act like lesser beings.
I can hardly believe that this is John Layman's LAST ISSUE for Detective Comics as well as his last story arc.
I'm quite destroyed about this.
I didn'I can hardly believe that this is John Layman's LAST ISSUE for Detective Comics as well as his last story arc.
I'm quite destroyed about this.
I didn't want him to go just yet let alone let him end with a serviceable arc like Gothopia which just pales in comparison next to his other three arcs (Emperor Penguin, Wrath, Man-Bat). I've expressed the problems I had in the last issue where it was revealed that Scarecrow was able to put Gotham City under a mass delusion by inflicting them with an airborne substance otherwise known as the "Contentment Serum".
As much as I thought that the concept of Gothopia was interesting, the execution had its problems particularly when you apply common sense in the small details of this convoluted big picture. But I don't want to talk about that again. Truth for the matter, the issue, in spite such flaws, can still be forgivable. There was enough action and substance to it that kept me turning the page. There were also pretty cool fear sequences in some later panels. As for Scarecrow's motivation and goal, I thought they were justifiable. He believed that if a person is only subjected with optimism and serenity for a long time, and then suddenly expose them to a fear stimulus, it would produce the rawest form of such terrors so Scarecrow collects this to create more potent fear toxins. Like I said, it wasn't a bad plan or a motivation for a well-known Bat-villain who is prone to such grandeur experiments. It's the other details that if you notice long enough would have completely undone the story.
Like the underused 'co-conspirators' Merrymaker, Harley Quinn, Mr. Freeze and Professor Pyg who may as well be props in the background. They contributed nothing but only serve as henchmen which led me to believe they may be under Scarecrow's spell too; but there was no indication of that in the narrative whatsoever. The Bat-Family was also under Scarecrow's command and it was really only Batman who found a way to resist because he conveniently created an antidote to counter the effects.
God, I feel exhausted talking about this so I won't. What you need to know is that this is a nice story with an okay enough resolution. If this was still Daniel, I'd just wrung my hands and let out a string of quite curses to myself. But this is freaking John Layman and THIS IS HIS LAST ISSUE FOR THE SERIES. Maybe I'm just expecting more and Layman has proved time and time again that he can offer more so Gothopia just didn't get me the way his previous arcs did. It's also a disappointment that Jason Fabok did not illustrate this! It would have been a perfect way to end their run: together. It's a real miss that they didn't collaborate here for old times' sake.
In any case, I am going to miss you, John Layman. Thank you for the stories. I will always keep you close to my heart and remember that you were the writer who saved Detective Comics when it was almost ruined for New 52. Now I simply don't want this to be the last issue of John Layman I will review for this title so I'll follow this up tomorrow with a more positive and praiseworthy review of his fourth volume: Wrath which I immensely enjoyed.
This novel has kept appearing in every list of controversial books I've researched online a few years back, and when I finally got my hands on a copy,This novel has kept appearing in every list of controversial books I've researched online a few years back, and when I finally got my hands on a copy, I should have been more excited to immediately dive in. Alas, I had too many books I wanted to prioritize first, so I decided to come back to this on a later date. And so here I am, two months into the new year, and a couple of other things also occurred in my life that affected the frequency in which I read and consumed books. 'Book Diets' was a trend I started for myself since 2014, which coincided with the time I first joined ŷ community as well. I remember being equal parts insatiable and ravenous to read and read and write about what I've read through the reviews which I've collected in four separate book blogs.
I can pinpoint to the moment I started to read less and that was midway through 2017 when my interests have been inevitably pulled to writing for Twitter roleplay, which meant there was less time for me to indulge in consuming literature. Still, I wanted to get back on track again because I'm a believer that a well-balanced schedule consisting of work, hobbies and passions should keep someone of my temperament sane and sociable. Hence my decision of picking up after slacking off for so long.
And what better way to open the Book Diet for 2019 than Iain Bank's intriguing box of horrors and epiphanies entitled The Wasp Factory�?
Before I begin reading this book, I had to browse through a few reviews from mutual friends at GR and found that the reception was a mixed bag. Let me state here foremost before we go through the rest of the review that I absolutely thought that this book was phenomenal, but that is only when parts of the story are taken separately. There's a lot at work here, layers that should be peeled off in order to appreciate how much their bulk weighed on the grander scheme of the narrative itself. At its core, The Wasp Factory is an ontological horror that lent itself many subtleties in spite of the brute force in which the anti-hero wielded his malice that was as homegrown as the rest of his assorted weapons of intimate destruction.
The book has less than two-hundred pages in length (187, I think, with the copy I have here). True enough, the first few chapters did meander for a while, given Banks' rather bare prose that reads quite analytical and sparse in its sentiment. Written in the first-person point of view of the eighteen-year old Frank Cauldhame, The Wasp Factory delved on the psychology of someone who had been mutilated at a young age, and how much of that trauma pushed him to commit heinous acts of violence. I actually struggled to keep going five chapters in, because of how unexpectedly dry Banks' style was the entire time, but I was fascinated by certain passages and Frank himself nonetheless, so I held my ground and kept reading.
My patience and anticipation were soon rewarded by graphic details of stomach-churning child murders committed by no other than a child himself. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't delighted in a sadistic sense; my interest was more objective. As a writer, I was impressed of the caliber in which Banks wrote these scenes. He didn't go overboard and even chose to tackle the route by having Frank come off both callous and innocent as he looked back on the thought process of his murders. I met each passage narrating this with wry indignation that also masked my more gritty amusement. As woeful as I am to admit it, I like the curtailed style Banks employed as he told what should have been emotional scenes of children losing their lives. It established Frank as a cold-blooded yet also naive young killer at his prime, and enhanced the unsettling feeling a reader will readily associate with any character who comes across as devoid of humanity yet also dangerously close to mimicking it enough that they become so compelling to understand.
With that said, I can see why several readers' reviews of this book at GR discredited the novel as a whole based on the scenes that portrayed the senselessness in the motivations of a budding sociopath like Frank as he targeted his younger brother and cousins alike. It just feels so uniquely hollow, to read things like that because it calls into question how moral relativity can fuck us over as an individual. Yes, the child murders were a lot to sit through, especially if you're someone who is easily uncomfortable with violent depictions of young people dying.
But that's the thing too; Banks never explicitly described the details in a way that sensationalizes the killings themselves, which means that, to an average fan of fore, the chapters themselves don't give them enough of that rush. These kind of 'ghoulish' readers who actually partake a lot in stories that do have gore elements (and may even be desensitized to it) will not find Banks' delivery shocking or gruesome enough, and will also rightfully dismiss the novel as a farce because they can always find books (sequential art like manga or comics) that can do it better.
Look, I know what I'm talking about. I was a ghoul of a reader too because horror is my most favorite genre to this day; and the more fucked-up a story is, the better I can savor the depravity. But I suppose becoming older has curtailed that appetite too.
In that sense, the readers' reception for the horror and violence in The Wasp Factory sits precariously in the middle in which you're either turned off by it, or you aren't, say turned on enough. I personally thought that such a sensitive subject matter was handled well by the author without sacrificing the quality and diminishing the impact of the crimes themselves through over-the-top showmanship. To me, real horror lies on how the mind processes the violence rather than the acts committed. Nothing is more frightening than a young mind like Frank's, that has yet to develop cognitively alongside the range of emotional intelligence he never got to grow either because of mitigating circumstances of his past.
And that's another issue that Banks presented near the end of the novel's conclusion; a surprise twist that felt just a tad rushed to me even if it does fit the overall arc Frank's character was going. It would be a complete spoiler if I talk about it here, but let's just say I would have preferred Banks used his gift for subtlety again in those very last paragraphs since they came off somewhat too on-the-nose. But I digress.
The most memorable part of The Wasp Factory was the eponymous vessel itself, a craftsmanship of haunting quality where Frank would entrap insects (specifically wasps) and watch as they try to fight for their lives through the many chambers allotted within the mechanism. An entire chapter celebrated this invention in all its macabre glory. There's something to be said about Banks' deft descriptions of it that truly made it come alive in the reader's mind. Someone actually recreated the factory itself, and it's just as brutal and barbaric as it's supposed to function, but nevertheless a work of art:
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� So, what are my final thoughts for this book? Well, I would recommend it, but not to everyone I know. I'll probably handpick only a few who I think will like the darkness enclosed in the pages. If you can look past the crimes and themes that the book tackled, then I suppose you may even find humor in the situations that surrounded Frank especially after he was forced to confront the truth about his person in the end. Did Wasp Factory deserve to be listed as a controversial book? Absolutely. I don't think I would read anything like this story in prose form again, nor will I ever want to again. For what it's worth, the book can spark certain discussions concerning gender crisis and child formation during early years. How does a child lose his or her innocence, and what is the cost of that? How do you reconcile with a child who displays symptoms of depravity like this and where should the healing and rehabilitation begin? Are people who are spiritually impoverished and morally inept born or made? As Banks himself concluded for Frank:
❝Believing in my great hurt, it seems to me that I took life in a sense too seriously, and the lives of others, for the same reason, too lightly. Our destination is the same in the end, but our journey--part chosen, part determined--is different for us all, and changes even as we live and grow.�
I knew enough about the King Arthur mythology through cinematic adaptations I've seen growing up, but this is the first time that I ever read a novel I knew enough about the King Arthur mythology through cinematic adaptations I've seen growing up, but this is the first time that I ever read a novel about this legendary hero, and I thought T.H White's classic masterpiece The Once and Future King is the best place to start as any, considering the raving reviews I've encountered about this one every time I browse the medieval literature section in book-related websites. I was also drawn to this book because of this quotation taken from it: 'Perhaps we all give our hearts uncritically to those who hardly think about us in return'
I remember buying a copy of this book once a paperback became available back in 2013 or so, and I started reading last year but had to stop because of my self-imposed Batman comics diet. I was glad to pick this up again last week where I was already halfway through the first of the four segments. Now that I have officially finished the entire thing, I suppose what I can say first and foremost was that it wasn't everything that I hoped or wanted it to be--and that was pretty disappointing, honestly. Nevertheless, there are exemplary aspects to it--particularly on the discussions concerning the ideologies of power and leadership; morality and gray areas--that are thoughtful and provocative. This book has very strong arguments which I immensely appreciated.
"Education is experience, and the essence of experience is self-reliance."
The first segment of the book is The Sword in the Stone where a boy deemed Wart, a warden of Sir Ector and a playmate to his son Kay, meets a mysterious and whimsical wizard named Merlyn who offers to tutor him. Their chance encounter was supposedly destined and Merlyn is very fond of pointing out that he has clairvoyance, often humorously overwhelming Wart with prophesies from his distant future. Their relationship is very unusual, an interpretation and approach that I'm not used to, but it remains nonetheless as my fondest and most favorite part of the entire novel. Wart doesn't feel special in any way and it baffles him why Merlyn has taken such an avid interest him especially when the boy has gotten accustomed to being treated of secondary importance to his more privileged friend, Kay. His journey of self-discovery is an entertaining mix of the extraordinary and poignant where Merlyn forces him to question the social constructs of the era he lives in.
"The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then; TO LEARN."
Throughout The Sword in the Stone, Merlyn accomplishes this by turning Wart into various animals through magic, imparting him indirect lessons pertaining to the nature and roles of community and individuality so that the boy who will become king of Camelot will develop an understanding and compassion of how to best govern his subjects. Wart is a receptive student who eventually does accept that nothing his eccentric mentor is teaching him is inconsequential. Over the course of the first two hundred pages, Merlyn shapes Wart into the fine young man worthy of pulling out that famed sword Excalibur at the end of the first segment, and it's pretty much rewarding for our lead character and the readers to see Wart freely choose and embrace his fate even when he's absolutely terrified of the things Merlyn has warned him about for his future.
Next we have The Queen of Air and Darkness whose tackled events are twofold in scope; the first few years of Arthur Pendragon's reign and the wars he felt obliged to wage; and the curious adolescent misadventures of Queen Morgause's sons Agravaine, Gareth, Gawain and Gaheris whose unquestioning devotion and slightly (if not gravely) Oedipal-worship for their mother are upsetting and pitiful to read. Queen Morgause is, of course, Arthur's half-sister, who will make him unwittingly commit an incestuous affair that will produce an offspring who is to be Arthur's ultimate downfall--Mordred. In this segment, there are noteworthy discussions about "Right" and "Might" between Arthur and Merlyn and his old friend and mentor continues to challenge him to think about every decision he makes as a king and the purpose and motivation behind every course of action he will take.
"You have become the king of a domain in which the popular agitators hate each other for racial reasons, while the nobility fight each other for fun, and neither the racial maniac nor the overlord stops to consider the lot of the common soldier, who is the one person that gets hurt. Unless you do something, your reign will be an endless series of petty battles. That is why I have been asking you to THINK"
The third segment entitled The Ill-Made Knight is the longest one and definitely the part of the novel that ALMOST ruined it for me. We've been following Wart's growth and evolution to King Arthur and his meditative discussions with his mentor Merlyn, and then all of a sudden we've switched central characters midway and they're the most irreconcilably selfish, distressing and unsympathetic pair I have ever encountered. I'm referring to Lancelot and Queen Guenever. I may have more sympathy for the former whose lamentations and struggles of moral judgment against the weakness of earthly desires can be quite moving in some moments during the book, but I absolutely abhorred this version of Guenever.
I assert that the writing for the women in this book is so appalling, even in medieval romance literature's standards. We have Guenever who is just vain, oppressive and pathetic and the commoner Elaine who is passive-aggressive yet also submissive and stupid. Both women are Lancelot's love interest and unrequited admirer, and they are respectively the devil and the deep blue sea for him as well. It's like reading the lives of a celebrity couple and a stalker-fan who wants to pull them apart. And it's not even the trashy-fun, tabloid drivel kind of soap opera which was why I almost, ALMOST wanted to give up reading this book entirely. I did like this quote, however:
"They thought they had understood each other once more--but their doubt had been planted. Now, in their love, which was stronger, there were seeds of hatred, and fear and confusion growing at the same time; for love can exist with hatred, each preying on the other, and this is what gives it its greatest fury."
Though the third segment is heavily focused on the painfully unrealistic and absurd adulterous love affair between "Lance and Jenny" and the involvement of the unwanted second mistress Elaine (who, by the way, tricks Lancelot twice in her own version of modern 'date rape'), there are still gems to be found in this part of the book. This happens when we revert back to Arthur who begins to question and doubt the choices and rules he had imposed on his kingdom. I just don't understand why I should care about Lancelot and Guenever's depressingly bland "love story" when I'm so invested in finding out more about King Arthur as a leader who is supposed to be a champion of the masses but has found himself becoming their oppressor instead and in ways he had been so committed in preventing in the first place. This was the man who argued with Merlyn that ideas should not be imposed on people but rather made available for them to choose or not to--and yet he finds himself doing the exact opposite because the supposedly noble knights in his service have taken advantage of their positions.
"When I started the Table, it was to stop anarchy. It was a channel for brute force, so that the people who had to use force could be made to do it in a useful way. But the whole thing was a mistake. It was a mistake because the Table itself was founded on force. Right must be established by right: it can’t be established by Force. I'm afraid I have sown the whirlwind, and now I shall reap the storm."
Furthermore, there are also interesting sidestories concerning the knights themselves, particularly about the theory and application of "chivalry" back in those times. I recall Jaime Lannister from George R.R Martin's A Song of and Fire series once arguing that there are so many vows that knights take that it's often possible to follow one vow and forsake the other especially when they tend to contradict each other. White does tackle this but not nearly as straightforward as Martin's. His knights are still more inclined to hide under the veneer of moral self-righteousness to justify their machismo and misogyny. Even the bravest and most chivalrous of them all, Lancelot, still mistakes his own intentions but I can actually blame Guenever and Elaine for that. As a central character of The Ill-Made Knight, Lancelot is compelling but his inability to reclaim his weaknesses and use them instead to strengthened his convictions is ultimately the reason I stopped rooting for him.
The only real lesson I garnered from reading the torturous and unsurprisingly tragic relationship between Lance and Jenny is the fact that passions unchecked and consummated out of blind lust and immaturity are going to destroy you little by little, and Guenever most of all deserved whatever is coming for her. I frankly want to wish away the "Lance and Jenny" disaster from the pages of this novel.
"Morals are a form of insanity. Give me a moral man who insists on doing the right thing all the time, and I will show you a tangle which an angel couldn't get out of."
The final segment of the book is The Candle in the Wind is probably the most serious part of the entire novel (where as the first one has great humor in it) which is only appropriate since it concludes the story in a way that I actually found shocking yet acceptable. The personal drama between Lancelot and Guenever's revelation about their affair and Arthur's reaction to it is one that really amused me to no end because Arthur has been aware of the affair since it started (thanks to Merlin, the walking spoiler alert) but chooses not to do anything about it as long as it's left unspoken. However, his half-brother/half-son Mordred wants to make sure that Arthur will be forced to punish the adultery of his wife and best friend in accordance to the new laws of his kingdom. What follows over the course of the pages is actually rather suspenseful for me. Everyone's dishonor and sin have caught up with them; Guenever's jealousy, Lancelot's pride and betrayal and Arthur's ineffectual stand against these two people and his unwillingness to accept Mordred as a son (as well as a couple of other things I won't spoil here).
In the most twisted and ironic twist of fate, these three characters have no other choice but to stay united against the joint forces of Mordred and Agravaine who are determined to end Arthur's reign in Camelot.
Arthur's conflict for me in this last segment is very riveting to watch unfold; all the lessons Merlyn have taught him have lead him to this moment. It's Arthur, waiting and dreading for the other shoe to drop.
In summary, The Once and Future King was thought-provoking in ways that I enjoyed and consumed wholeheartedly, but it also fails to establish a well-balanced narrative that allows me to attach myself emotionally to its characters which diluted my investment in their eventual fates. I was very fond of Wart and Merlyn's relationship the most, and I would have liked to see Merlyn still play a role in the final years of Arthur's reign. I think the reason I have to rate this book lower than I initially intended was because I believe trimming The Ill-Made Knight is NECESSARY. I also believe White should have lessened his focus on Lancelot and Guenever and showed us more about Lancelot's relationship with Arthur as oppose to telling us in passing. I think Arthur and Lancelot's relationship is more important than his affair with Guenever and if Guenever was written better then perhaps her role in the story wouldn't have been so wasteful and indigestible to read.
I maintain that this is a remarkable classic as a whole as long as you can select the parts to remember the most fondly. If I ever re-read this, I definitely plan to skip all the Lance-Jenny-Elaine debacle. I must also caution anyone who plans to read this novel to endure the insufferable length of the third segment because, overall, this is still a worthwhile read.
Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart is a substantial and illuminating piece of African literature written by its author in the English language with theChinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart is a substantial and illuminating piece of African literature written by its author in the English language with the purposes of not only portraying the Nigerian tribal culture through the neutral lenses of one of its native writers, but also to connect with a wider, global audience who very much need a fresh perspective when it comes to how Africans live, worship and govern themselves as families and clans. In this sense, most of the critical acclaim that this novel received is well-deserved. I could definitely agree that it's something schools should require for students to read and analyse in their literature classes.
I also think that the broader strokes that Achebe achieved in writing Things Fall Apart must be better appreciated, I believe, with the sequels that followed it. I myself feel encouraged to pick them up someday. For now, I'm content to lavish on the richly detailed significant moments that happened in this book which were relayed with both sheer insight and pragmatism in a scale I thought was admirable and genuine.
The central figure of this book is a native named Okonkwo who is considered to be one of the most formidable wrestlers in his clan. He also fancies himself as a self-made man of brute force and hard labor, dedicated in making a name and reputation for himself where his own father before him has failed. From the very start, readers are immediately informed that Okonkwo despises weakness and laziness since his culture demands a man to be strong with the typical and traditional traits of masculinity. He must be steadfast in dominating his wives and children and must never show affection or leniency even towards his loved ones. The mark of a proud man, indeed, and this singular quality has made him rather unappealing to me.
Nevertheless, I thought he was a main character I didn't mind reading about or learning more from since there are other times I think he is also sympathetic enough to warrant some of my understanding and compassion. I like the fact that Okonkwo values hard work above all else, that he has to strive to attain for a prosperous life, and that he wants the same for his eldest son borne of his first wife. In this sense, I thought he was agreeable enough.
With Okonkwo as the focal point, Achebe also explored the inner workings of the clan he is a part of which include some practices and customs that may seem bizarre from an outsider's point-of-view. Much of the book delved upon the daily grind of their lives which include the homemaking and services provided by the women, festivities and certain offerings for their gods especially during harvest seasons, and the clan's very own judicial system which may seem primitive if not outright cruel for modern readers who will encounter it in this book but I think it's a system that works best for them in the long run. There is also a matter of how Okonkwo treats his wives and children which are questionable, of course, because he can be violent and definitely beats them around whenever they displease him but Achebe never describes this violence in detail which gives the effect that such a occurrence is commonplace.
I didn't particularly feel enraged either only because Achebe can somehow make a reader readily understand that this is simply a matter of how the culture works and whatever preconceived judgments someone of my own upbringing has should be cast aside to enable to view this with a more pragmatic observation.
I succeeded, in this case, and bore in mind that a husband beating his wife in the context of their culture is his right because she is his property, and that is a norm I should only consider myself fortunate not to be a part of. In my perspective, it is nothing other than systematic abuse that is normalized by societal acceptance, but to the clansmen and women it's what is prescribed by their laws and religion. I find it amusing, though, that there was a mention of a certain holiday where husbands cannot beat their wives because it would displease gods. The irony of that did not escape me.
I think books like this one (and Mahfouz' Palace Walk which I read a week ago) have challenged me to keep an open mind when it comes to things which I'm readily prejudiced against especially when it comes to the maltreatment or oppression of women as portrayed in fiction. I think an author's intention is the defining point in this and so far neither Achebe or Mahfouz has glorified violence or the subjugation of women and their neutrality is helpful and comforting somewhat.
Still, there are real social issues and horrors that condemn and harm women across the world; some of those struggles are culturally unique as well, but although Achebe and Mahfouz have touched upon them in their respective books, their stories were ultimately not modes of advocating for it or against it, so readers shouldn't concern themselves too seriously about them when reading either of these books.
Or you may choose to do so but hopefully with caution, tact and good intentions. Such an open discussion is something that might prove to be otherwise fruitful.
Going back to the review: Things Fall Apart as a chronicle of tribal life is well-versed and insightful, but midway in the book, the story gradually builds up to the altercations and cross-cultural misunderstandings that occur between the Africans and the Christian missionaries who settled in their homelands, and whose warped sense of ethnocentrism and religious fervor drove them to convert these people they perceive to be barbaric and inferior to them. I thought this is the most exciting part of the entire novel itself even though it only happened for less than a hundred pages. Amdist this conflict is Okonkwo who view these outsiders as a plague that threaten to corrode their way of life and worship, and he must make the ultimate choice as an individual as to whether or not he must subject himself and his family to their will.
At the heart of Things Fall Apart are the small moments of triumph and compassion that Okonkwo and his family share which are my favorite parts of the book. But, unlike Palace Walk, this novel is not character-centered so I can admit that I find myself rather detached at times when reading certain texts. I never felt like I knew any of the characters in this book so identifying with their sorrows and struggles never deepen enough to take root. In general, I've looked at the events that took place in Things Fall Apart with the knowledge and experience of someone who grew up and lived in a colonized nation such as the Philippines.
Contextualizing my own cultural struggles with the ones Achebe have showcased here was rather helpful. My country is an archipelago which meant that there are still a variety of existing tribal natives in other lands, and though the Philippines is now a homogeneous Christian nation, that road to progress is paved by civil wars between the Filipinos and their Spanish patrons who aimed to spread the Catholic faith by any means necessary.
I think this was why I was very fascinated and sympathetic with the last five or six chapters of the book that delved upon this conflict because I have read it in my own history books. In this manner, I thought Things Fall Apart is remarkable and brilliant.
It may not be as personal or intimate as my reading of Mahfouz' Palace Walk has been but it's nonetheless just as invigorating and exceptional. This is a book with impressive breadth and insight, and one you should strive to explore at one point in your life. It's quite an indisputable treasure.
I have no obvious vices like smoking or drinking but this year, there were two books so far which had compelled me to indulge in these things. Upon fiI have no obvious vices like smoking or drinking but this year, there were two books so far which had compelled me to indulge in these things. Upon finishing Patrick Suskind's Perfume: The Story of a Murderer two months ago, I immediately went to the nearest convenience store and bought a single cigarette stick to corrupt my lungs with; even just for that night because the reading experience was quite exceptional and I needed the taste of nicotine in my mouth to preserve it somehow.
Now, as I write this review, I suddenly had this overpowering craving to drink booze, and vodka, I find, has always had a soothing effect on me which was exactly what I needed to suckle on once I did finish the end of this novel.
"The story is always about someone, a man or woman, who didn't seem to fit into the world and always shocked people by misbehaving. There is the rebel who tries to destroy the social order and the follower who tries to please it. And then there was the witness; one who is transformed and enlightened from all this. The rebel, the follower and the witness. The two extremes and the resulting compromise."
I suppose like most people, I know of this book because of the movie starring Jack Nicholson in the lead role but I barely remember that film adaptation now because I think it had almost been a decade since I last saw it; which was great because at least I get to read this book with fresh eyes with only remnants of what I have watched from the movie sometimes resurfacing when I read a particular scene that I can somewhat recall seeing before. Nevertheless, reading Ken Kasey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest has been really thrilling in spite of the narrative's slow-burn tendencies. Told in the first-person perspective of the Native American Chief Bromden, the book reads like a journal of personal experiences and interactions of this said character with the people he is co-existing with inside the 'loony bin' where the story majorly took place. There were even quick sketches of certain in between the pages which gives the narrative an authentic 'diary' feel to it.
Chief Bromden as the narrator for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is someone I would consider the most reliable of all the unreliable narrators out there (if that even makes sense). Because of his heritage, he usually keeps to himself, content on people assuming he's either deaf, mute or dumb--or all of the above. This is a man who prioritizes self-preservation and keeping up with the status quo, more so than any character in this book and that's mostly because he knows first-hand how being different will get one into trouble. He had been in several other mental institutions before and know of the small horrors and limited compensations that people who are considered 'unfit' have to undergo. Through his eyes, readers get to acquaint themselves with the overall routine and the ridiculously inhibiting way of life that patients at the mental hospital he is currently committed in have no other choice but to live by. In charge of all this is the middle-aged re-inforcer of the most precise of rules, Nurse Ratched, whose staunch ways re-define a whole new level of totalitarian matriarchy.
I find Bromden's descriptions of her physical appearance, habits and eccentricities to be rather chilling since he always compares her to something of a detached automation than an actual living, breathing person with feelings of her own. Because of this limited perspective and insight, we never really get to see any kind of vulnerability or sympathetic trait from Nurse Ratched unless of course her perceived weaknesses are interpreted rather antagonistically not necessarily by Bromden himself but by the other male characters.
If this was truly a nest of cuckoos then Nurse Ratched may as well be their mother bird and she governs every facet of their life and she often demonstrates her power and influence in the most gratingly passive-aggressive manner ever imaginable. There is certainly a matter of questioning the author's intent that somewhat demonizes female authority and I personally can encourage that discussion because any criticism regarding its chauvinism towards its only main female character can now be raised and argued by readers of my generation. I do think Nurse Ratched is portrayed in a harsher light than needed. It's worth a discussion most probably because of her gender and what she directly (and in latent terms) symbolizes in relation to that.
Like any promising and compelling story on overthrowing the oppressive regime or taking away the control from the most inhumane of overlords, this book's knight-in-shining-armor is a less pristine version of said trope and this is realized in no other than Randle Patrick McMurphy, a gambler and recently diagnosed 'psychopath' who is all kinds of charming and disarming, much to the initial dread and eventual relief of the other patients including Bromden. McMurphy's very role and participation in the book is to create a shift in power dynamics among Nurse Ratched and her blabbering, passive and frightened patients. Through McMurphy's carefully cultivated chaos, the other male characters of this book started to recognize the seemingly small injustices and that they shouldn't have to put up with Nurse Ratched's deliberate manipulations.
The maltreatment they are suffering was often described as rather mundane or inconsequential--such as the lack of enough free time to do other activities, or the refusal of the staff to cater to some more humane methods to pacify them--but their rights are still being violated little by little until these men are reduced into spineless fools who would quiver at the sight of Nurse Ratched's shadow as it passes them by.
Clever and more than a match to Nurse Ratched's imposing authority, McMurphy quite literally gets the patients riled up, waking up these men from their once restful and lethargic states so they can have a more meaningful purpose than just take whatever the medical staff would give them, mediation or otherwise. McMurphy is not a saintly liberator, however, and Bromden recognizes that there is ego and impulse in every action that McMurphy commits; sometimes he deliberately tries to rattle the one in charge either to know that he could or to reap whatever kind of benefits he will receive if he did succeed. Nevertheless, Bromden becomes fond of him and so do the other patients because for the first time in a long time they have someone to look up to, someone to defend them and someone they can consider their friend against a nameless, overreaching system that oppresses them and makes them feel less human and more burdensome creatures who can never fully function outside the confines of the facility.
It's a rather poignant affair especially when McMurphy realizes what he meant to these men and that he himself is beginning to care about them beyond seeing them as an audience he can perform his anarchist tricks for. Bromden also grows midway through the book, realizing that he doesn't have to hide under 'the fog' anymore, not when McMurphy has shown him that the only person standing in the way of his freedom and self-esteem issues is himself and once Bromden overcame his insecurities and fears, his trauma of his past concerning his father has lessened, and he began to fight back against the same oppression that has him kneeling down for a very long time.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest has some riveting social commentary regarding the function and tension of power constructs that also happens to include a scathing indictment of the health care system back then when it came to treating mentally damaged patients. The book also examines in a quite humorous but still piercingly philosophical way this inherent inclination of humans to rebel against an authority or refuse a system they perceive as demeaning and aggressive. There are plenty enough layers in this novel that readers can freely discuss and argue about for days.
Deceptively slow in establishing its key players and moments, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is guaranteed to be very satisfying midway and until the very unexpected end.
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