«
»

Books

Cette tristesse étrange

05.01.08 | Comment?

Last night I finished reading J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace.  In the last few paragraphs I kept repeating “My God, my God” over and over.  I won’t ruin the ending, but suffice to say that I can’t keep it out of my mind this morning.  Devastating stuff, and it’s making for a blue day. 

Similar effects, I recall, have come from books such as For Whom the Bell Tolls, D.M. Thomas’ The White Hotel, Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto, among others. 

With books like these you wonder why you read at all, if it’s going to hurt you so much. You think the author is awfully bold to bring forth such pain, and you squint at the balance between true emotion and bathetic manipulation. 

Now I suppose I should go read something twee and anodyne.

have your say

Add your comment below, or trackback from your own site. Subscribe to these comments.

Don't be a jerk.

You can use these tags:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

:

:


«
»