"Oddly haunting book about a forced journey into the interior of the earth. Very long winded, 1/3 story to 2/3's lecture on science, metaphysics, dangers of alcoholism etc. Tough to dig through but interesting."

"One of the most fascinating and personally affecting novels I have ever encountered, Sirius follows the life of a dog genetically engineered to have human-level intelligence, as well as a correspondingly increased lifespan, as he is raised as an adopted son in his creator’s family alongside the man’s human daughter. Set in rural Wales in the years leading up to and during the Second World War, the novel follows the titular character on a journey of existential self-reflection as he tries to come to terms with his unique, lonely personal existence, as well as the nature of existence as a whole.

Written by a communist who had seen and learned enough to become bitterly disillusioned with communism, a pacifist who had lived long enough to see pacifism utterly obliterated as a viable strategy in the face of the unimaginable tyranny and aggression of the Nazi and Soviet regimes, and a world-weary atheist frustrated by the inability of modern science to cope with what he described as man’s “spiritual dimension,� the novel does a wonderful job at exploring the mind of a thinker cast adrift in a world that appears to hold neither answers nor solace of any kind � proving highly prophetic on both a personal and societal level.

Brilliant, creative, and introspective, raw in its intellectual authenticity and fairly grounded in its science, I cannot recommend this novel highly enough to readers who remain open to an exploration of some of the darkest aspects of existential philosophy. [10/10]"

"Miyazaki is a legend of animation, so everything he's ever written must be worth reading, right? That seems to be the premise of the people who put this collection of articles and interviews and transcriptions of lectures and things together. It is wrong, in fact, though even if it weren't this would be an impressively cruel way of showcasing his brilliance—anyone is going to appear shallow and vapid when you read them answering the same handful of questions for the same sort of audience half a dozen times in a row.
It's not that Miyazaki is a particularly objectionable person—he's venal on occasion, sure, and nationalist, and unpleasant to and about people he works with, but not really in an exceptional way. He just doesn't have anything particularly insightful to say on really any subject, including animation—not even his own works.

(I know 1979 is when he directed Castle of Cagliostro, his first feature film, but that doesn't make titling this Starting Point any less silly. In 1979 Miyazaki was 38 years old and had already been working in animation for sixteen.
There's another one of these called Turning Point.)"

"I read the 2011 translation by Bill Johnston. Solaris has been more difficult for me to properly express what I felt than anything else I've read in a long while, and I don't know that I did so that well. Maybe that's to be expected for a book about human limitations. The greatest limitation to my enjoyment was that I had already accepted and agreed to the premises, but also moved past them, so their demonstrations were met by indifference rather than any kind of strong emotional response. Yes, humanity is limited in many ways, I find that to be self-evident and obvious. Yes, rationality and empathy can be easily manipulated, perhaps especially through self-delusion. Yes, simulacrum can be treated similar to the original, or on its own terms. Yes, there exists that which is beyond our current comprehension, and perhaps it always will be.

This was like two books for me. One was a relationship drama and the other was a fictional nonfiction work about the specific details about the alien/planet. I liked the former more than the latter, which is what the movies focused on, though I haven't seen them and I probably won't. Solaris was iconoclastic, which was amusing, but also a killjoy. My response to almost all of that was, "Ok, sure, but so what?". Overall there wasn't much entertainment for me, which is understandable, because I don't think that's what it was about.

In both the book and reader reactions, much is made of the inscrutability of the alien, that they're truly alien in their lack of comprehensibility. Humanity is unable to accept this, and thus must impose meaning upon it in any way possible. Many decades of theories are presented and much action is taken, but none of it matters. Humanity feels that it remains insufficiently acknowledged. I'm conflicted about whether Lem should've gone all the way by not having any sort of response or reaction at all. That would've driven the point even further, but I don't know if it would've been readable, let alone popular, if he had done so. It's all very allegorical. The proper approach to me would be to accept our limitations and disengage. If it ever wants to contact, then it can do so, or not. Uncertainty has to be tolerated, because too often the resolution is the elimination of its source, which may also be the end of the uncertain ones. I don't believe there's any inherent value in incomprehensibility, as sometimes seems to be the case for the literary where obscurantism almost seems to be a virtue. If something can't be understood, then it must be great, is certainly one of the reactions they have to the alien, and I feel like that may also apply to many of the readers. It's also why I don't think it is. All of this may seem like I disliked the book, but I didn't. It's just that I believe the ideal time for me to have read it has long since passed."