I don't know how Koike manages, but EVERY SINGLE BOOK I've read by him helped me realize something importantAnother fast read with important lessons--
I don't know how Koike manages, but EVERY SINGLE BOOK I've read by him helped me realize something important even though they're usually light in content. Yes, there are unilluminating and even questionable thoughts/chapters, but the few insights they contain are definitely worth the time.
Some of the lesson I took away from this: being "passive" is good if you let "en" (or codependent origination in technical Buddhist jargon, or more colloquially and informally, "fate") take care of what kind of people come into your life and leave; let's not try to fall into the trap of self-marketing (e.g. I'm so busy but I'm glad we could meet = "I'm making time for you so you should be grateful"—which, by the way, is something I did only yesterday!); people being uninterested in Japanese politics can be a good thing (preventing extreme views from winning in elections, but also because people who are critical of others for not being interested in politics secretly assume they'll agree with their political views); and"mottainai" can be a curse (though I still have a problem when it comes to throwing out food and end up overeating to save it).
Craving and effort: 面白いのはこうした場合、「すごく無理をする」か、さもなくば「ダラダラして努力しなくなる」かという極端な二者択一が、なぜか前提にされていることです。実際には、その中間に、「自然体で、自分のモテる百の力を、惜しみなく出してゆく」という選択肢が、あるにもかかわらずです。（98）
100% vs. 0%: 「自分の力量以上のことに挑戦しなければ成長しない」などという、もっともらしい常識に騙されないことですね。力量ギリギリで、完璧に精進するのがベストなのです (102)
Do good without being seen: 「陰徳を積む」 -PRしないことでこそ、もしも後ほど相手がしってくれたなら、大いに喜んで受けとめてくれるだろう、というくらいの心持ちで炒るほうが、合理的だと言えないでしょうか(120) -「今週はおそろしく仕事で忙しくて、どの日も予定がつまっているのですが、なんとか今日は時間がとれてよかったです」こんなに忙しいのにあなたに時間を咲いてあげている、と、間接的に恩を着せているのですねぇ。恩着せがましい言動をしてしまいそうなところをグッとこらえ、「忙しい」だなんて言わずに平然と約束通り相手と会っていられるなら、それはほんのささやかながら、陰徳を積んだことになります(122)...more
And so I should have liked this short novel that Kafka and Borges might have conceived of together. I liked the theme of theA mix of Kafka and Borges—
And so I should have liked this short novel that Kafka and Borges might have conceived of together. I liked the theme of the plains and the myriad speculations about them, and liked the motif of no man's land, as it were for lack of better words, where, like in Kafka's The Castle you never get the satisfaction of completion, of consummation, achievement, or even communication. Things are always in the incomplete, the in-between of the no man's land. In fact, the protagonist who claims himself to be a film-maker doesn't even get to start filming anything. All he has are speculations and preliminary notes (he's not even starting to start).
But it didn't do it for me. The reading experience was ironically apropos to the book: a long slog punctuated by dull flashes of brilliance that failed to be real awe-inspiring brilliance. A book that put me in that no man's land of concentration: somewhere between not excited, but not completely bored....more
Compared to other books by the author, this is packed with content and as satisfying. As always, Koike's works manage to be instructive every sinGood!
Compared to other books by the author, this is packed with content and as satisfying. As always, Koike's works manage to be instructive every single time. Some lessons I took to heart include how wanting anything amplifies your sense of self (because you judge the world according to how beneficial or harmful to your ego/self), why there's a crisis of existential meaning and how it's related to the diversity of values, and purely being aware as the only unconditional acceptance that's possible in this world.
People unfamiliar with Koike and have a problem with self-esteem and validation, I'd recommend this book as an entry point.
Short and sweet, like most of Koike's books and a bit light on content--
But he doesn't fail to leave me with an important lesson or two. One is relateShort and sweet, like most of Koike's books and a bit light on content--
But he doesn't fail to leave me with an important lesson or two. One is related to writing/reading (or any creative work): beware of becoming a slave to craving/aversion, pleasure/boredom and stopping the work when the time comes regardless, without any attachment.
Another is a trap that a lot of meditators and Buddhists fall into (including, of course, myself occasionally): judging others for being lax, untrained, undisciplined, etc. Let's remind ourselves to practice tolerance, acceptance, and loving-kindness at all times.
This is exactly what I needed to get to the next level in my meditation practice. I've read many books by Ryunosuke Koike, but this most recenTimely--
This is exactly what I needed to get to the next level in my meditation practice. I've read many books by Ryunosuke Koike, but this most recent one came at the right time and contained a great many insights. The title is a bit of an exaggeration to say the least ("A path to ultimate satori"), but it does contain a HOARD of useful tips and lessons that can help especially those with some meditation practice under their belt. One of the impressive feats in this book is he denies free will altogether and so goes a step farther than Stephen Batchelor, who, in his solid After Buddhism interprets dukkha in terms of reactivity but still allows for spontaneous action (presumably of one's free will). Koike, though, says it's reactivity ALL THE WAY and there's no room for any freedom of will. Thanks to this book, I've made some good progress toward understanding the no-self doctrine of Buddhism, something I've always found puzzling/mysterious. Now I can relate to it based on my practice/experience. I'm also starting to see the matrix, as it were, how people are mired in ignorance and keep reacting without realizing that's what they are doing. And with that a way to get out of that matrix. I wouldn't have had these realizations had I not spent more than 2,000 hours meditating in the past 2 years or so—so if you can read Japanese, I highly recommend this, but don't expect to get immediate results without proper practice!...more
Not having read a word written by Virginia Woolf, I've always set her aside as another modernist writer who was more Much better than I ever thought--
Not having read a word written by Virginia Woolf, I've always set her aside as another modernist writer who was more interested in the technique (stream of consciousness) than the heart or the soul, a la Joyce's technically superb but inhumanly inaccessible Ulysses (which I slogged through with a guidebook in hand). I couldn't have been further from the truth. This book was ALIVE. Here, stream of consciousness really worked and it didn't feel contrived at all. Felt natural, even necessary. I wasn't sure what to do with all those semicolons and the cadence they created at first, but after I got used to them, they were totally essential to the reading experience. The setting can't possibly be duller: telling of a single day as Mrs. Dollaway prepares for her party (and a cast of other characters intimately or loosely connected, as they go about a hot summer day in London). And yet! Once you dip into it, skeptically, apprehensively, the sentences just carry you forward and I have to admit, it's kind of hard to put down. Not because the story is fascinating—there really isn't much of a story—but the rhythm, the thoughts, the emotions, the descriptions all work together to create the feeling of flow, as it were. It's a veritable stream. Even though I would never write like her—too many semicolons for my taste, for example—it was an edifying and absorbing read.
Definitely reading her other works for sure. (And btw, this Vintage series is BEAUTIFUL and fits snug in the palm, too.)...more
This is probably a great entry point for Schopenhauer's philosophy—I read The World as Will and Representation (Volume 1) first aA small masterpiece--
This is probably a great entry point for Schopenhauer's philosophy—I read The World as Will and Representation (Volume 1) first and had a good grasp of his metaphysics and ethics, but this little book—clocking at 257 pages—was still an illuminating read. In the first essay on freedom of will, he pretty much demolishes any attempt at finding it, at least in the world of senses/appearances, and that's where you find still valid psychological insights like you can't choose to want something and the like. His discussion of how people mistake the freedom of will as something else entirely was quite amazing (we think we're free to do as we please based on the fact that we can do what we will, but then that's a misleading answer because the real question in a nutshell is, "Can we will what we will?" the answer to which is in the negative).
The second essay is also really good. Continuing his bulldozing of German philosophy, he dismantles Kant's categorical imperative in its various formulations. His main argument against it is that it utterly fails to take into account the reality of moral judgments, that it ultimately rests on egoism. His positive account of the basis of morality on compassion is superbly clear, simple, and convincing. Though I had some squabbles with his claim about our indifference toward another's happiness as such (don't we feel energized or maybe warmed by the sight of, say, people meeting at the airport?), I couldn't help but nod along to his classification of moral incentives into three (egoism, malice, and compassion) as well as his argument for why any moral action is and should be based on compassion alone (and not on, say, Kant's universal maxim or any hokum human reason can concoct) and the relationship between compassion and egoism (how they vary in the distinction we make between the I and not-I). All of this mostly jibed with Buddhist thoughts as I understand them, though Schopenhauer disagrees with it over the possibility of changing one's character: he says it's impossible, that we're stuck with our innate character, but Buddhists might say we can change it to some extent through prolonged meditation practice (which is borne out by science).
All in all, another great read from a great man (but also flawed like any human being, because he shows the slightest trace of anti-Semitism and is glaringly misogynist. I don't want to throw all the good he has to offer just because of those flaws, though)....more
I wasn't really in the mood for nonfiction, but since the book arrived in the mail, and I was waiting for another book, I just picked it up and Good--
I wasn't really in the mood for nonfiction, but since the book arrived in the mail, and I was waiting for another book, I just picked it up and began reading. Gorgeous, contemplative prose. The blue of the distance, especially the first section of it, reminded me of Heidegger's obsession with the color blue (and arriving but not having arrived) in his later works. The book weaves memoir, meditation, and odd bits of fascinating history (a conquistador who finds home in the native culture, a quick history of blues the music genre, Hitchcock's Vertigo, Yves Klein, and cartography) together into a highly personal and insightful quilt of lyrical essays. Definitely recommended for those who are lost, want to get lost, and see the value in getting lost....more
An interesting autobiographical account of the author trying to trace someone who was reported missing. Also a meditation on the French OPretty good--
An interesting autobiographical account of the author trying to trace someone who was reported missing. Also a meditation on the French Occupation. Nothing mind-blowing or life-changing, but there's a quiet strength, a kind of nostalgia and obsession with emptiness/absence that becomes hypnotic, gets under your skin. It grows on you, though only when you're in the mood for that particular brand of literary rhythm.
And so I of course enjoyed it. Drank it to the last dregs, that goes without saying. Three biographies that sparkle like diamondsI mean it's Jaeggy...
And so I of course enjoyed it. Drank it to the last dregs, that goes without saying. Three biographies that sparkle like diamonds because they must have been compressed from hundreds and hundreds of pages, of details. It is in the selection of details that these biographies, these non-fiction pieces—or "essays" as the publisher calls them—become unique, an extension of Jaeggy's literary output. They were perhaps too short, maybe—clocking in at 60 pages—but then that's their virtue as well. Enjoyed them all, and it was like eating air. I wanted to dwell in those pages for a lot longer.
Having read all of Jaeggy's books translated into English, I'll be doing the only thing I can do with such short works: reread them. And happily....more
It takes some time to get used to the formal voice of the narrator, but this is one of those literary comedies that are comic precisSurprisingly good!
It takes some time to get used to the formal voice of the narrator, but this is one of those literary comedies that are comic precisely because it is also tragic. Gripping narrative that engages with big philosophical life questions and punctuated with laugh-out-loud funny moments as well as deep human insight. Started reading side by side with Grace Paley's short story collection, but I enjoyed this far more than Paley's book (though it's an unfair comparison, like comparing apples and oranges, but still, I'm a sucker for a good old-fashioned story like the one De Vries weaves).
Will definitely read more of De Vries's works—highly recommended if you can get past the rather old-school formal voice of the narrator.
Quotes:
"Dr. Simpson, do you believe in a God?" ... It took me some years to attain his mood and understand my blunder. He resented such questions as people do who have thought a great deal about them. The superficial and the slipshod have ready answers, but those looking this complex life straight int he eye acquire a wealth of perception so composed of delicately balanced contradictions that they dread, or resent, the call to couch any part of it in a bland generalization. The vanity (if not outrage) of trying to cage this dance of atoms in a single definition may give the weariness of age with the cry of youth for answers the appearance of boredom. (111)
"It seemed from all of this that uppermost among human joys is the negative one of restoration: not going to the stars, but learning that one may stay where one is." (164, recalling Schopenhauer)
"The greatest experience open to man then is the recovery of the commonplace. Coffee in the morning and whiskeys in the evening again without fear. Books to read without that shadow falling across the page..." (166)
"We live this life by a kind of conspiracy of grace: the common assumption, or pretense, that human existence is 'good' or 'matters' or has 'meaning,' a glaze of charm of humor by which we conceal from one another and perhaps even ourselves the suspicion that it does not, and our conviction in times of trouble that it is overpriced—something to be endured rather than enjoyed" (215)
"Two people can't share unhappiness" (219)
"Blessed are they that comfort, for they too have mourned, maybe more likely the human truth" (246)
"Again the throb of compassion rather than the breath of consolation: the recognition of how long, how long is the mourners' bench upon which we sit, arms linked in undeluded friendship, all of us, brief links, ourselves, in the eternal pity" (246)...more
I'm completely under Jaeggy's spell. Hypnotic, yes. Bewitching, yes. Compressed, like carbon is until it becomes diamond, and manages to tell Oh yes--
I'm completely under Jaeggy's spell. Hypnotic, yes. Bewitching, yes. Compressed, like carbon is until it becomes diamond, and manages to tell so much. All the light it reflects, the way only a diamond can. This is a novel of "subtraction." As Jaeggy says in her most recent collection, I Am the Brother of XX, "But people always talk too much. He adds. Instead of subtracting." This novel subtracts. Silence is pitted against socializing, truth-telling ("love of the truth"), displays of emotion even at a funeral. The protagonist and her father do not talk. They spend time together every day on a cruise but mostly in silence. Or seem to. No meaningful conversations, no confessions, no demonstrations of affection whatsoever. But you hit the last chapter and it hits you in the head: the protagonist loves her father. There has always been intimacy between them. Forged in silence, in what is not said. Theirs is a relationship not built on words but whatever is left after they are excised, subtracted. "The truth has no ornaments. Like a washed corpse," the protagonist tells us toward the end.
How do you tell a story—in words—about a wordless relationship? How do you subtract from words, when you have to add to the blank page to begin to tell a story? Impossible. Yet Jaeggy seems to accomplish the impossible in this story that is warm because it's so cold, heartbreaking because it's so stark, austere.
I was blown away by her most recent story collection, I Am the Brother of XX, and eagerly picked up this earlier collection sheGood, but not as good--
I was blown away by her most recent story collection, I Am the Brother of XX, and eagerly picked up this earlier collection she wrote after Sweet Days of Discipline, but the first 4 stories didn't really floor me—or I might have had unfairly high expectations—but I did really like the last three stories, which are quite magnificent.
And here are some luminous passages:
"Souls need neither prayers nor words. It's secrecy they want" (70)
"To push one's husband out of the window, using no more than words, persuasion, is a form of spirituality. She confessed that—and even confessing a wicked thought, a murderous thought, of which there is no earthly proof, is spirituality" (95)
The rhythm of her sentences is hypnotic, and her stories are just phenomenal. Many of them revolve around religious/Christian themes, deathBewitched--
The rhythm of her sentences is hypnotic, and her stories are just phenomenal. Many of them revolve around religious/Christian themes, death, and sudden inexplicable violence. I'd describe Jaeggy as a cross between Clarice Lispector and Flannery O'Connor. But she holds her own. Those short sentences that deliver punches to the gut. And the world she creates through her style and storytelling is one of a kind. Austere, with a touch of the gothic fairy tale to them. And mystery. There's always that in her stories. These stories blew me away, put me under a spell in a way because I began writing like her (which doesn't happen often these days), and I was sorry I came to the end of the book. Better than her earlier novel, Sweet Days of Discipline which is also short but packed enough mystery and magic that I was convinced I should read all of Jaeggy's works.
Onto her earlier short story collection, Last Vanities!
Not my cup of tea. There were passages that I liked and it was barely interesting enough for me to get to page 110 (out of 176), but after 110 Hmmm...
Not my cup of tea. There were passages that I liked and it was barely interesting enough for me to get to page 110 (out of 176), but after 110 pages of meandering monologue and a story that went nowhere, I just couldn't find any reason to keep reading. I sort of felt that after reading it for 30 pages, but I gave "the quiet genius of the twentieth-century literature" (as the blurb has it) a benefit of a doubt, but alas, no cigar. There are a ton of books out there I'd rather be reading, exploring, than stick to this for the sole reason of being able to say I've read it from cover to cover (which can give you a sense of accomplishment, but at the same time a feeling of emptiness because that's all you get, a sense of accomplishment and nothing else, which shouldn't be what reading literature is all about). At any rate, this wasn't for me.
[update 10/30] After writing this review—or more specifically, after writing down all the quotes I marked—something about the passages below pulled me back in and I slogged through the rest of the book despite myself. I'd probably give this 1.5 stars, but I knew how I'd feel about it after finishing it about 30 pages in. A good lesson in learning to lesson to your gut.
He [Fuchs] speaks like a flopped somersault and behaves like a big improbability pummeled into human shape (43)
I love the noise and restless movement of the city. Perpetual motion compels morality. A thief, for example, when he sees all the bustling people, would not be able to help thinking what a scoundrel he is, and then the blithe and brisk sight of it all can feed betterment into his crumbling, ruin-like character. (45)
Hands are the five-fingered evidence of human vanity and rapacity, therefore they stay nicely hidden under the desk. (56)
Sleep is more religious than all your religion. When one is asleep, one is perhaps closest to God. (60)
Their [women's] souls go tripping along with the high-swelling heels of their sweet little boots, and their smiling is both things: a foolish habit and a piece of world history (62)
To you come the most refined gentlefolk, people with crowns on their lapels of their overcoats, officers rattling sharp sabers, ladies whose robes ripple like tittering waves in their wake, older women with enormous amounts of money, old men who give a million for half a smile, people of rank, but not of intellect, people who ride about in automobiles, in a word, Principal, the world comes to you (63)
Our belief in ourselves is our modesty. If we didn't believe in anything, we wouldn't know how little we are. (66)
I would be attracted by deep things and by the soul, rather than by distances and things far off. It would fascinate me to investigate what is near at hand. (78)
Quite definitely the money would have to be spent in an utterly wild way, for only genuinely wasted money would be—would have been—beautiful money (80)
And the riddle will never be understood, for look: people don't even try to solve it, and for this very reason the Kraus riddle is such a glorious and deep one: because nobody wants to solve it, because there isn't a person living who'll suppose there is some task, some riddle, or a more delicate meaning, at the back of this nameless, inconspicuous Kraus. (86)
There is more hidden life in opening a door than in asking a question. (95)
If I want to, if I tell myself to, I can revere everything, even bad behavior, but it must have the color of money. (126)
You listen to my miserable tale as if it were something small, fine, and ordinary, something that attracts attention only, but no more, that's how you're listening. (143)
But nobody understands that, I don't either—sometimes I say and think things that surpass my own understanding (151)
Work more, wish less, and something else: please forget all about me. I would only be annoyed if I felt that you might have one of your shabby od cast-off dancing, here-today-and-gone-tomorrow thoughts left over for me. (165 Krauss to Jakob) ...more
Not fantastic, or as mesmerizing as Clarice Lispector, but still limpid, elegant, and haunted. The story is simple. The protagonist tells of her Good!
Not fantastic, or as mesmerizing as Clarice Lispector, but still limpid, elegant, and haunted. The story is simple. The protagonist tells of her boarding school days in Switzerland and her fascination and relationship with her classmate, Frédérique. That's it, and there isn't much drama or plot. Yet she manages to portray omnipresent death through the mundane. Definitely a pleasure to read. Convinced me to get all her other works of fiction available in English. Just to give you a taste of Jaeggy's bewitching magic, here's one of my favorite passages: "The wind wrinkled the dark lake and my thoughts as it swept on the clouds, chopped them up with its hatchet; between them you could just glimpse the Last Judgment, finding each of us guilty of nothing" (73).
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