Week 52: The End Of Everything

not kidding

No, the title is not a metaphor, is an actual title of a book I found in the library yesterday. It seemed to fit the bill, the cover was warm and inviting, and it seemed reasonably short (no judgement, I’ve been horrendously ill all week and the libraries were closed). So I grabbed it, thinking I could make at least one joke about the obvious and move on to something else. However, what the happy cover enclosed was not something I would have liked to end this project with. I should have known what I was getting myself into with a story about a missing teenage girl, yet I chose to ignore it. This is the only reason I refuse to read Lovely Bones, and why I sometimes have to scroll through the news really quickly in order to avoid unpleasant headlines. In the case of The Colour Purple, I read it only to find out what happens after, since I knew it was only the beginning I had to get through. In this case, it was implied everywhere, hanging in the air, widely agreed yet not verified; in certain cases, allusion seems so much worse than the honest truth.

Was is well written? Yes, it flowed in the way that I think a novel like this should, told from the point of view of the best friend, left behind. The voice was very clear, the emotion seeping from the page, rising like a toxic cloud, which I breathed into my already stifling lungs. The repetition of the what ifs and the continuous rollercoaster of is she dead or not is just too much. I know it happens, more often that we would like to admit and I am glad the topic is no longer a complete taboo, and that we can have discussions about it. But what I can’t handle is a personal discussion with the victim’s best friend’s brain demons. The distance is necessary, to keep one’s sanity.

more than friends

Aside from the obvious, this week’s book is about friendship. But not just about who is there when you need someone to talk to or to sit with you at lunch. What Lizzie feels for Evie is all consuming, borderline ownership of disturbing proportions. First it reminded me of the movie Thirteen, with it’s similarities in age and the nature of the destructive friendship. When I think about it even more, Evie from the movie remind me of Lizzie from the book, in the way in which she tries to infiltrate Evie’s (from the book) life, planting herself in her house, in the constant company of her dad to the point where the older sister starts to openly question her presence in the house. Then again, it seems like the father wants Lizzie there, as a stand in for the missing daughter, until she is discovered.

A book that this week’s novel reminded me of was The Moth Diaries, but for a different reason. It is the similar kind of symbiosis that I detected here, the kind of bond that is mutually beneficial only to turn into a soul sucking black hole that consumes the hours of your day when it is no longer there. When something changes, in any kind of friendship, there is always an adjustment. Here, the adjustment does not seem to happen, as Lizzie refuses to believe anything has changes in a way that prevents the past from re-emerging. The title seems appropriate in a situation where there is literally no going back. Lizzie wants to know what happened, how Evie’s brain truly works. In the end, however, she ends up being the rubbish bin where everyone throws their confessions and she cannot handle it. The truth hurts, doesn’t it, and the worst thing is that you asked for it.

THE END

Originally I was going to make a separate post about the end of this project, but to be honest, I want to go into the new year with free Sundays. Lazy Sundays, where I won’t be waking up at the crack of dawn to read because I’m late, yet again. I won’t be blowing off friends or other commitments because guys, it’s Sunday, don’t you remember. I won’t be on the computer at 11.45pm, still panicking because I need another paragraph. I won’t scour through the internet with ridiculous search words, to find an amazing book, only to the realise that nope, my library does not have it and it’s already Thursday and no, there is no time to order it online anymore.

So was it actually worth it? Did I achieve my goals? For the most part yes. In all honestly, I did not think I would make it and I am surprised that it is week 52 already. I have read most of the books that were stuck on my ‘to read’-list for way too long, and some of those can now join the very extensive ‘let’s read it again’-list and some of them can go do something that I probably should not say on the internet if I ever plan to show this to someone important. Some of the books I wanted to read are still hanging in mid air, because I cannot go through Tess of the D’urbervilles or Vanity Fair in a week and live to tell the tale. I think my writing skills have grown somewhat as well as my editing. I think that’s the best I can do for now, to say that hey, I did this thing and now I’m off to do something else. Loooots to reread, bring on 2015! 😀

– Jatta –

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Posted in December 2014 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Week 51: Matched

contracted love

Finding love is always on people’s minds, at least that what it seems like. Whether it is love for tonight, for the next few years or  lifetime, the search for the person we are meant to be with consumes the mind of a person longing for a connection, for a validation of sorts to their existence. In this novel, that pain in the butt has been completely eradicated. There is no need to find love, since it is handed to you on a silver platter (unless you choose to stay Single). Much like dating apps and match makers, predicted compatibility serves as the indicator of fiery passion and endless happiness. Wait, sratch that. Actually it serves to produce gentle couplings who are too stable to act agains the system that seems to have give them – and the people around them – so much. We can see this very early in the story, so why bother reading on? Because even with the most predictable situation, there is always some variable to catch you off your guard.

This week reminds me of several other books. Much like in the case of The Time Traveler’s Wife, this situation seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Cassie never seems truly free to explore her options. Her on the surface perfect situation has everyone at Second School green with envy and both her and Xander’s parents are glowing with happiness. Still, there is something not quite there. She is only content, not glowing. She is only smiling, not grinning. She is only just walking, not running fast enough to make her lungs burst. But is it meant to be like that? Who again knows what something as subjective and abstract as love is supposed to be like? And yet Cassia knows right away with Ky. Even before anything happens, there is that feeling, that something that lets her know this is something more than expected. More than contentment. More than subjection to something that you know will make you happy and joyous. This is the real thing, that can rip your heart from your chest. That thing that can bring ou to your knees and sever your spine piece by piece. And most of all, this is the thing that makes your skin glow and your heart race and your mind fill with light and noise and images and emotion beyond control, freedom from fear and self-doubt. Something truly worth living for.

who is in control?

This is another novel in a long line of YA literature, much like The Hunger Games and Divergent. There is something in depicting the society from the viewpoint from those yet uncorrupted and fresh that makes it the most interesting. But it is also about showing the most controlled areas of the society. In this case, it is about Matching, like it was about the Games or the Factions. Or about criminals. Or something even bigger than we could see from one’s person’s viewpoint. Defining who is in control in the first place is always fascinating. Without society, religion parents, or something else to keep us in place, what would become of us? I am almost an adult in the eyes of the society, yet sometimes I feel most lost since the structure that I have come to depend on seems to crumble from around me the older I get. And this is supposed to be a good thing, right? A sign that I am deemed fit to ake my own desicions? However, I understand Cassia and her hesitation to leave the easy, predicted and supported life path behind in order to jump into the unknown. Since her parents’ marriage seems to work and the way the society works has produced herself and other good and hapy people, how can it be completely wrong? The answer is that it isn’t and at the same time is. The balance is yet again the problem, and continues to be one with or without the cover of a dystopia.

there’s a a possibility….

What most annoyed me and I’m guessing Cassia was the identity of her Match. Not because there is anything wrong with Xander or the idea of being with him. But what about when Em was telling about her Match, and Cassia could not hide the twinge of jealousy in her voice? The real problem with Xander is that the life with him pts her in a cage. She has nothing new to discover, nothing to look forward to. Even those brief moments of unpredictability – a rareoccurence in that society – with your new Match are taken from her. Even Ky seems like a plan to test something about her. This reminds me of week 21, but at least in that case we got to see both sides of the story. But then again, we also got to see both here, because wee know exactly what would have happened if Cassia had just stayed with Xander.

Overall the idea of predictability ticks me. How can we know what is going to happen? How do you know who you fall for? What kind of life you are going to live? Planning is essential, but putting unnecessary limitations on ourselves create only problems and unhappiness. What if you choose a path and realise half-way through that you want to run back and take a left where you took a right? There should be a chance to evolve, to pick something just for the sake of picking and at the same time recognition to the choices we have consciously made. I might not know exactly what is going to happen, but I know what I feel and how I made my decisions. And I am sick and tired, just like Cassia of other people decisding where my happiness is supposed to come from. Further down the line I might not like them, but at least I have no one to blame but myself.

– Jatta –

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Week 50: The Hours

is it stealing?

So actually for this week I wanted to get another book completely. I searched my university library, searched through the maze of numbers and letters and found the exact spot where the book should have been. Except that it wasn’t there. No biggie, I thought, I’ll come back in a day or two, maybe someone is reading it iwithin the library or something of the sort, and it will emerge on the shelf in no time. Fast forward to two weeks later and the book still isn’t there. After the library help desk concluded that it might be missing, my friend suggested that it might have been stolen. First I was indignant, for obvious reasons, however, I soon realised the genius of it all. The helpful person in the library told me that the book in question had last been checked out in September. Therefore it had been missing several months and only reported to the staff by my desire to find it. If anyone knows how to steal a book from a library that has detectors at the exit, please pass the wisdom on.

And this is why I casually link my ramblings to the actual topic. On could argue that this week’s is simply a modern adaptation of the classic Mrs Dalloway and therefore, perhaps, stealing. The characters and events of the two novels are similar as well as the themes, and especially having read the original I could draw the parallels easily. Which got me thinking whether one could read – or better yet, understand – this book without at least basic knowledge of the original? Is Googling again the only option? What is the value of this book then, without the classic context? Individually speaking, the three stories are well written and very interesting, yet the thread connecting them all together seems rather frail. Then again, would there be people interested in this book who haven’t read Mrs Dalloway? The target demographic for this novel are those already interested in Virginia Woolf and her novels. Most importantly, it is not a copy. It has a story line, a narrative all its own that enables the reader to pop in and out of three different lives that interlock through creative narration. At least there was clarity between the sections which does not always happen in novels/movies that try to introduce seperate voices. I had heard it many a time before that all authors drink from the same pool, which is clearly visible in the recurring topics and the sheer amount of love songs in the world. Technically not stealing then is it?

beside the point

I have read specifically LGBT books for this blog before and it didn’t really cross my mind to include this one into the said mix. Why? Because it falls into the same category as Oranges, perhaps even more. There are members of the LGBT+ group in the book, as protagonists and secondary characters, and yet this is never the actual topic of the conversation. Specific acts may play on the characters’ mind every few pages or so – Laura’s kiss with Kitty is a good example – however, this discussion never reaches a higher plane. Just like in Oranges, it is only a small piece in the puzzle that makes a person (okay, character…whatever, sometimes characters feel more like real people). However, no one in this novel has any issue with the situation. Maybe because it is never made as public as in Oranges. There are no great revelations, no exploding coming out experiences. Only a few minutes of musing eventually dismissed among other little details of the day. Clarissa is with Sally. But she was also with Richard. Who was with Luis. Sally has a friend who is seeing his student, who could really care less. There appears to be something between Julia and Mary, however, the future of that at least is revealed: spoiler alert, it’s not gonna happen. Then again, this is an age where such things are generally viewed acceptable. In the earlier time periods that the novel depicts I found myself thinking similarly to Tipping the Velvet. However, we are only seeing one day, and this particular day is not the day for such musings. There is always something else going on. Which again, could be read as a message that in the end, it is only a small part of you and there are truly more interesting things going on around you. Like more books!

– Jatta –

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Week 49: Perfume

creativity

The unequivocal fact is that Grenouille has talent. In the book, it is described as something innate, something built into him. His sense of smell is his defining feature and his life is devoted to cultivating that talent. Creating perfumes is a lot like creating any other kind of art, which begs the question: can creativity be taught? From the looks of it, there seems to be a level that one can reach with proper training, however, there are still some people who shine through no matter how hard you work. Baldini and Druot are the back up singers to Grenouille’s solo, and they will never reach his register. Clearly Grenouille serves only as an exaggeration, yet a powerful one in demonstrating how some people just seem to have it right from the go.

Then again, the amount of effort Grenouille puts into honing his craft, to learning all the possible ways to make perfumes, agreeing to work with practically no money or prospects, sacrificing everything else, speaks for itself. One may have an affinity towards a certain talent, yet have no knowledge of this, or better yet, regards it as completely irrelevant or unimportant and leaves their gift unused. This would no doubt frustrate those who are trying to reach the same level through hard work, without natural instincts. Jealousy plays a large part in that process, as well as frustration over our own inadequacies. Why are we pursuing this particlar route? Why spent time on something we cannot be the best at? Referring back to two weeks ago, the question of why we do anything is found somewhere deeper. Then I talked about how one should write even though they may not be “great” at it (again, according to whom?!) and this week I might just ask about the same situation but reversed. What if you have an amazing talent and it is recognised, yet you want nothing to do with it? I could venture to say that most of us learn eventually what where our streghts lie and also what peeks our interests. In Grenouille’s case, those two collided in a most beautiful way (okay, so I might be ignoring the murder parts here, bear with me…). This is not always the case. I have been binge watching Grey’s Anatomy again – during essay season as well…where is my life going… – and this reminded me of Ross trying to impress Derek with his hard work, before Brooks swoops in with her apparent talent in neuro. Ross clearly wanted to shine in neuro yet he lacked something essential that even he could not understand (luckily he found a home in cardio).

Lastly, it is a well known fact that you can achieve anything if you are willing to sacrifice everything else. Going back to the book, it is no wonder that Grenouille achieved what he did after a lifetime of devotion. But for him, it did not feel like that did it? He seemed to want nothing else, nothing more than only to create the most elegant scents in the world, culminating in the most powerful ever created. Exaggeration or not, he’s got a point there. Yet deciding what is the most important thing, the most valuable, the one we cannot live without…that is like picking only one favourite kind of food to eat for the rest of your life. You better make a choice that you can keep making every single day for the rest of your life and feel like you made the right choice.

that one sense

The sense of smell is one of the underrated ones. If asked, I would pick sight and hearing and touch over it in an instant. Taste is basically about smell, so maybe that can be sacrifised. But then I start to think about how much something so mundane like the sense of smell actually means, the result is quite revealing. When I think puppies, my mind is filled with the warm, slightly burning smell of their fur. Babies, with their powdery, mushy smell that just makes you want to press your nose against the top of their heads and inhale deeply. And then there is that special scent that eminates from a person dear to you, something defining and reassuring. This is a safe person. This is an important person. This is person so and so.

Smell defines a lot of things, and not just in our heads. There are articles in The Independent and The Guardian trying to explain why certain people are just so damn irresistible. Felix felicis, anyone? Who can forget Hermione having a heart attack over some toothpaste. Just like certain sounds, certain smells make us remember. You find a shirt that belongs to your girl/boyfriend after they’ve left and you bury your face in it as if to bring them closer, to have them there with you. You smell something good in the oven and suddenly you are six years old and in your mother’s kitchen and she’s baking your birthday cake. Again, Grenouille’s case is over the top, especially since I think it depends on the individual on what smells good to them, so how can a growd have a collective reaction to a certain scent? When I pause to think, I realise that there are certain scents that everyone agrees are good, like babies and puppies. But perhaps us real people can control ourselves from the kinds of reations they had in the book, at least I sincerily hope so.

– Jatta –

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Week 48: The Curious Incident Of The Dog At Night-Time

don’t tell, show

Having attended classes and work shops in creative writing and after reading extensively on the subject, there are certain points that keep appearing. One of the most applicable in the case of this week’s novel is descriptive writing. We all paint different pictures in our heads from the words we are given and that is one of the most beautiful features of literature. There is no need for everyone to see the situation the same, they can change it to fit their perception of the world, of themselves. You can leave bits out, include something off the page and no one will ever now. It’ll be our little secret. However, if one lets go of the fine print, there is still talent to be witnessed in descriptive writing that forces us to view the world through the eyes of the author.

What makes this novel so gripping is that the character of the narrator seeps into everything, even the chapter numbers – a truly beautiful detail, showing Christopher’s obsession with prime numbers. The simple, clipped sentences and the matter of fact tone all make us both see the world through Christopher and Christopher through the eyes of the world. It would have been easier for the author to state in the beginning of the novel exactly what kind of ‘disorder’ he suffers from. This would have enabled us as readers to do a quick Google search and define Christopher even before we meet him. Sometimes he reminds me of Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory. It is never clearly stated what is going on, yet there is something that everyone acknowledges and acts upon. Without definitions, we are left with a quest through the pages and a journey to understanding without prejudices, which is what we should all thrive for, shouldn’t we? Rather than forming expectations, let’s just look at what is on the page and go from there.

said this, meant that

Christopher (for the record, I am struggling way too much with spelling his name, I knew I should have started writing earlier..) is obsessed with truth. No, not really obsessed, it is more like there exists to him nothing else but the truth. He cannot tell lies and does not understand their ‘value’. Do lies have value? Sometimes they spare us from pain. Sometimes they are a way of telling a truth without having to utter the precise words. To Christopher, they have little to no value and instead serve as warning signs. When he learns of his father, the deception is so great that he embarks on a journey barely within his capabilities. First of all, does he have it right? Should we cut people out of our lives when we catch them in a lie? But how could we retain anyone since everyone lies? How could we ourselves exists without the occasional “yeah, that haircut looks great!” or “this is fantastic, could I get the recipe?”? It all comes down to the reason behind the lying. One could argue that good intentions make up for the bad deeds. In the novel, Christopher’s father did not mean to hurt him by not telling him about his mother, I refuse to believe that (no matter how unappealing he is decribed otherwise). He did it because he saw no other way out.

Another point that I could make it that sometimes we only see what we want to see in order to keep our world from falling apart. We close our eyes from the ugly, distorted reality in order to keep our pretty bubble from bursting. This does not mean that we don’t acknowledge the thorns on the other side, but for now we are choosing the ignore them. This is not exactly how Christopher’s mind works though. In a way, he is at the mercy of others for such knowledge. Although a mathematical genius, he repeatedly struggles with language and social interaction. Metaphors, similes, hyperbole, puns, those are only a few things that encompass my whole degree! I could not imagine having a casual conversation without a pun or two, a metaphor thrown in for extra effort. But if I am stripped of these tools, how can I truly express myself? Are truthful, factual words enough to satisfy a literary junkie? Luckily I don’t have to make a choice. Then again, I do sometimes find myself relating to Christopher as I stand mystified in the middle of a conversation where British words and phrases fly. At least I don’t have to carry with me a chart that tells me how to read expressions. Then again, that would be useful sometimes…

– Jatta –

Posted in November 2014 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Week 47: The Diary Of Anne Frank

why do we write?

“It’s an odd idea for someone like me to keep a diary; not only because I have never done so before, but because it seems to me that neither I – nor for that matter anyone else – will be interested in the unbosomings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl. Still what does that matter? I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”

This is a passage from the very first pages of the diary, and it ignites the fire under many a question that is to follow. Firstly, who is supposed to write? She brings out the age question. Especially young people are sometimes criticised for not having anything of worth to say, yet her tale has so much value because it is her story and no one else’s. She can offer a unique viewpoint in the midst of others. Every writer asks the same questions at some point of their writing process: Am I saying anything interesting? Who is going to listen to me? If we get into this loop, no one would ever write anything! I know – thanks to the handy chart that shows how many people actually visit my site – that my readership is sporadic and minuscule. Does that mean I should stop writing? Who am I writing for? Writing is self-expression; Anne hits the critical point when she says she wants to write. It is no about whether anyone ever sees this or if anyone cares really. This is about me. This is about getting my thoughts out there, discussion between myself and I. Like any conversation, sometimes it feels dreary, insignificant and uneventful. Then sometimes I hit the jackpot and realise something about myself or the world around me that I know could only have been figured out via writing. These are the moments that I cling to when it all seems meaningless.

Especially with diaries, there is a certain quality that attracts me. Just like Anne can look back and see the change in herself, I can see the difference between when I first started writing this blog and where I am now. Similarly, when I look at my own diary entries from years ago, I am filled with a mixture of nostalgia, embarrassment and pride. Time travelling is possible through writing and I’m sure that in the future I will look at this blog and – hopefully – see how far I’ve come.

captive yet free

Even though Anne’s family escape the camps for a relatively long period, they are still essentially prisoners. They are voluntarily trapped, hiding in a place too small for a group that size, at the mercy of their helpers for food and safety. They are in control of them, in a sense, for everything. They have to trust that they will be protected by a group of people only because they were promised they would be. Every time there is a commotion, they have to imagine it has all come to an end and that this will be the moment of discovery. They cannot go outside, they only hear what others tell them, what they hear in the radio. Why do they choose this? Is is truly by choice? Of course it is not, it is because of a terrible situation that offers no way out. They have to choose the lesser evil and play the hand they are dealt. This has quite a predictable impact on the adults, whose character changes from bad to worse throughout the experience, which is completely understandable. It made me think of those participating in Big Brother or Survivor. Even if they don’t anticipate or believe it, the experience surely changes them. Our worst attributes come out when we are under pressure, and that is only a fake situation. In Anne’s case it is painfully real.

So what about Anne? That young flower between the ages of thirteen to fifteen? She embraces a philosophy I want to learn from. She is engulfed in a sea of optimism, her light shines through the bleak reality surrounding her. Her spirit is never crushed, which gives me hope that if I just start thinking positively, I will achieve anything. Yet again, I am learning from someone younger than me, struggling with issues way beyond my capacity to grasp. How she does it is beyond me and for that I respect her. Especially when I know that this is not just a character (I really should not say that characters are secondary to real people, but I trust you know what I mean) but a real life person, telling me her story, letting me know how to survive a situation that seems insurmountable. It does not have to be a war, it does not have to be a world wide catastrophe. I can adapt this to my – in comparison – small problems. On a side note, I really hate comparing personal problems, because something insignificant to one person can really turn someone else’s life upside down. Nevertheless, – even though in the end she was captured and had to be subjected to the horrors of the holocaust – what I have been privileged to witness is a journey of a girl no one can put down and who I can look up to and say: “Look at what she went through and yet she never gave up!”

– Jatta –

Posted in December 2013 | 1 Comment

Week 46: The Trial

reading Kafka

If we put K.’s trial on one side for now, my personal trial was reading Kafka in the middle of the night with my head exploding with thoughts, ideas and images that have nothing to do with the book, with the clock ticking away mercilessly. This is not easy reading, something that one just picks up and passes the time with; remember the scene from the first Harry Potter movie where the trio is researching Nicholas Flamel and Hermione throws an enormous, old book on the table, claiming to have checked it out for a bit of light reading? Ron’s face says it all… Even though this book is short, it is so packed with information, thinly veiled irrationality that plays with your head and your eyes as you attempt to follow a point that has already disappeared around the corner, leaving you alone in the empty corridor with K. as your only, equally confused, companion.

The writing style does not make the process any easier. The heavily worded, long sentences and paragraphs that strech page after page, with no end in sight. The chapters follow each other, apparently indicating order or structure that evades me as I turn the page, hoping for an answer that will not reveal itself. Which is the real point, right? That there is no answer. There is no easy solutions in life, in relationships, in society. There is only you, alone, struggling to make sense of you surroundings, armed only with the information you have acquired. That is a horrible way to look at life yet I wonder how accurate is it. Having read The Metamorphosis previously, there are visible parallels between the isolated figures of K. and Gregor, both trying to survive in a world that used to make sense and now doesn’t. Neither of them serve as a great example of triumph.

 

so, what is actually happening?

What is justice? According to 1984, it is having your life examined by an unknown authority at all times. In When She Woke, revealing people’s past and public punishment is what seems to suffice. This week’s book offers no tangible enemy to confront, nor a jurisdiction to argue against, not even a crime to debate about. Nothing is revealed, yet everything happens the way it does. There is a detained criminal, legal proceedings, lawyers, corruption, manipulation and murder committed in the name of ‘justice’.

I am not that familiar with the legal system and I know that I should be. I know the bits that directly affect my current life and if I was to get in trouble with the law, I have people around me who are better informed and who I could turn to. However, even the priviledge of accessing information seems to be denied of K. He cannot defend himself because he does not know what he is being accused of, which seems to be the biggest problem. Even the lawyers seem to be oblivious to the inner workings of the court, or if they know something, that is never made truly clear to K. He has to out his trust into people who are deemed qualified to help him and yet they let him down. Does this teach us to trust authority or to make our own? Should we keep the strings in our own, incapable hands instead of relinguishing control to someone who might disappoint us? This question is no longer applicable to only justice…The way K. acts with other people screams of (voluntary?) isolation and deluded sense of supremacy. He seems to be above the proceedings, yet they control his everyday life. So is it a commentary about surviving on your own or a tale about an island who proved you should reach for land because otherwise you’ll drown?

Then again, what difference would it make if we knew what the crime was? Isn’t the whole point (I keep repeating that word today..) that it does not matter what you are accused of and whether you actually are guilty or innocent. It is all about the system. The system that seems hard to understand even to those working within it. The faceless system that attacks us when we are vulnerable, stabbing us in the back in the middle of the night? But is it really like that? Because that faceless monster seems insurmountable and I refuse to accept that. Even within this book, there were characters that could have helped K. yet I felt that he did not realise they could or would not accept their help. K. saw his situation as an individual case, which it isn’t. It is rarely only about one person, once in a lifetime situation. His case was simply one among a sea of others which gathered together are indicative of a larger issue. Without realising that we are all alone, when in reality, we are more in common than we realise.

– Jatta –

Posted in November 2014 | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment