alice
A totally repetitive grief-inducing book with a lot of factual and superfluous data to support its own irrational way of thinking, that is totally irrationally rational.
Ah, how could one name a book like this. First or two chapters were fine, standard courses to introduce the event of the writer's husband's death and were actually pretty captivating (and that's why I bought the book).
And the rest were...insufferable.
That self-absorbance was not quite the big reason. More of that was due to it's repetitive account of the events. Grandma's whines, again insufferable to me. Or let's assume I'm just a heartless person, anyway.
Alright, might do this book some justice. It would be better if Joan wrote the entire book wholly focused on her own writing and her personal experience, like honestly do I really need to know the causes of heart attack when I'm a biology student? Thank you, next.
Anyway, I might just drop it in the darkest corner of my home. You might rest well there.
So, existentialism.
Where to start with? Everywhere on this planet now reeks of nihilism, and as obvious as it is, we are all unconsciously sharing a nihilistic attitude, under a common notion that faith is never enough to support the modernist view on life philosophy.
At first I was thinking about giving a 3, since it is indeed so common now that this negativity transverse itself across space and time. But then, it went on much smoother with a gradually intensifying height in the take of this nausea, which finally resolves on to simply enjoy the trivialities of everyday life.
All in all, it is still worth a read, just don't put on the superfluous weight of existence onto yourself.
It is hard to define this book with common literary views.
I don't think I love it, but I don't hate it too.
With the title of All Souls it explores an affair, but in the affair and all the affairs around Oxford, there are all of the souls. Mostly it is heavily lined with a melancholic air, stirring the affair towards the end as both Clare and the narrator knew the ending from the very beginning.
It was perhaps an interesting way to think of the affair as like, whether leaving Oxford and the impossibility to create a shared future with each other or being actually ignorant of what was exactly on the other side was in fact, the more regrettable option. The black sea, the river in blue and black, the deep blue eyes shared commonly in three people...All of these points to the commonly shared fates, I think, that by knowing the tragedy and commits half of it would be the best way to end a story.
Although some of the phrases in Oxford, mainly projected by the other less important characters act as additional information or plots diverged to support the theme framework, to me, some of the parts seemed too elongated and a bit flat-toned. Yet, there are still funny moments in the school life in Oxford as a Spaniard.
I think I'll give it another go if possible.
Words are never enough for me to express my feelings about this immaculate book.
As a lover of books in series, and keen of the idea of a Vivaldi seasonal quartet alike compilation, this book, the finale to a grandiose one, was an isolate read which I had not come across of any other books in the series before.
Being titled Summer, the theme of that radiant energy emitted from the sun, hoping for a everlasting primal time, warmth, the optimal season in the year, as written in the book “how we overload summer most out of all the seasons, I mean with our expectations of it”...all come together to formulate an exceedingly outstanding novel on which summer is the chief theme with the bringing up of several current topics, COVID-19, Black Lives Matters, Brexit, lives of the immigrants, etc. The strong sense in its catching up with the trends, on the globe, things that are seemingly local but global, worrying and devastating in their development, which somehow give the brightest season of all a new definition—the light in the darkness, grieving but with possibilities around, bringing about changes.
Yet, if this book only revolves around the cheerfulness of the summer days, the best weather guaranteed in the year, it would turn out to be rather a disappointment given that the dreamy features of summer does not get into accordance with the reality, especially a world full of turmoils that we are in now. To my surprise, it didn't, and was instead bonding in a close proximity to the vast arrays of emotions we are all feeling now: thinking that 2020, start of a new decade would have done us good; thinking that Brexit might bring the country up to an independent economic force, competitive enough for the US and China; thinking that COVID-19 was nothing prevalent and till the summer it would all be normal and at ease again... Let's not forget about these thoughts we had had during these last 18 months and yet, what did happened was that none of the good things seemed to sway its way into our lives, and everything was in recession—the equal to that of summer. The extent of relatability of the events and emotions are as surreal as it is now happening to us. Speaking only of how resonating the book is would already urge me to give a perfect score to it.
And time, the other dominant element in this novel. From the world war 2 to midsummer in 2020, which exhibits as a parallel of timeline, regarding the changing atmosphere, panic, all sorts of negativity. Yet this is never going to ruin summer, the eternal season withholding all sorts of expectations. “Because summer isn't just a merry tale. Because there's no merry tale without darkness.” This hopeful emotion, persisting from the very beginning of the book towards the end, in changing times we can still find laughter around our family and loved ones; in separations things can still be done without much ado; in hard times help can be brought to make a change in someone else's life... I am completely awed by such a message being put forth in this book, being some sort of an identity for us to grip onto, so we will not fall apart and being beaten because of how the world is now.
In memories, past would be the exact experience we want to relive again, but does a slightly off, less merry summer fail our expectations as to what summer should have been? Is that so in the season we are living in that carries no meaning at all? Or is that once the good old days are gone and they will never be lived again?
As summer never changes, this would be the one that reminds me of the times even if they are desperately in need of a promising future.
In many ways I have found myself loving this book, cast it into my personal favourites, and closed the book as how it was closed, reminiscing the bright days, fleeting memories, the bittersweet symphony that the loved and beloved once shared, as being called in the novel.
What this book had been, surpassing standards of gay romance, delving deeply into philosophies of platonic love or not, and there came the moral obligation, plastered by the social situations, which had made none, but Clive's romance, forever a regrettable tale, laying unmoved in the darkness, and could never be revealed.
Have I to name a few things that stroke me when reading the book, first the language, the vast arrays of words, sentences, paragraphs, packed with tantamount details: the scenes in Cambridge, Penge, etc, vividly presented by Forster's words, candidly weaving out the contour lines of emotions, the inner thoughts and development of Maurice. Here are some quotations, with each attached to its own sentiments that could arouse.
“Durham could not wait. People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, ‘I love you.'“
“When they parted it was in the ordinary way; neither had an impulse to say anything special. The whole day had been ordinary. Yet it had never come to either of them, nor it was to be repeated.”
“‘I should have gone through life half awake if you'd had the decency to leave me alone. Awake intellectually, yes, and emotionally in a way; but here-‘ He pointed with his pipe stem to his heart; and both smiled. ‘Perhaps we woke up one another. I like to think that anyway.'“
“Blossom after blossom crept past them, draggled by the ungenial year: some had cankered, others would never unfold: here and there beauty triumphed, but desperately, flickering in a world of gloom.”
Secondly, the characters. Surely Alec was a very important character that provided us a happy ending as well as Maurice his future, the length in discussing the first love of Maurice, Clive, and their follow-up courses had been the main focus. Supposedly, Clive was being described by Forster himself, as a character that had annoyed him, and seen in many's eyes as too timid and cowardly to ever take course on the journey of love. Yet, to my eyes, I found him piteous in the sense that his actions, shaped by the social orders, and as obvious a choice many would have taken, to despise the love of his own sex, and try to embrace that of the other. Did he still love Maurice? I supposed the answer is still a yes, since the way he tried to make his house a home for Maurice, claiming it was as a hotel to him so that perhaps, at some point he could still guard his past love and know how he is. I felt sympathetic to Clive's ending, how he and Maurice would never see each other again with their love dimmed out slowly by one, then mutually the bonds were cut.
Perhaps the only reason I find it unable to receive a five-star rating from me, is that the novel was a bit too short in entailing Alec's story. But either way could the story end, it was perfect as it was imperfect, to each the characters had their own fates, own beliefs, own social conundrums to bound to, or revolt from. This is it. Maurice. A tale with both tragic and joyous elements.
Perhaps it was a bit too flat and too patched up with melancholy. Yet the melancholy was not in a flat but perturbing manner that got through the soul. That is in such way, I found the novel not sufficing my expectation or any kind of sadness that would feed me well.
To be frank, the story itself was fine, and there were obviously layers to the rendition of the world that the novel was based on. The basic settings and social backgrounds were revealed in a natural manner with the utmost simplicity in language, to which throughout the book was the narration of it. Yet it could not be so relatable, this sadness, in itself was in disguise but notable, just as paradoxical as the ugly truth of what the students' lives were set out to be, and how they were “sheltered” to be in Hailsham. It was fine, it really was, perhaps I was all too young to understand the magic of it. But again I could not relate to or feel the emotions as much as the characters did.
Literally, in many ways this book has wrapped its fingers around, gripping and intense, this I suppose is one of the traits of Arthur Miller's plays, which has shown itself to be very effective in grasping my attention and keep me attached to the book throughout the reading process.
Whatever this book's underlying message is about, I don't really care. The thing is whether it is about the American dream like in the Great Gatsby, it is simply not going to affect the play's awesomeness. I wasn't used to reading scripts so I thought I might be more lenient in this than others. Anyways, a lively story entailed by a load of struggles, peeling off like an onion, layer by layer, and whatever's in the core, we might never know.
This is rather uncanny and unexpected if comparing to the later works of Ali Smith. Honestly, I love her seasonal quartet and also the later novels like How to be Both, which I sought this resemblance of a parallel timeline of perspective in Like. To me, this novel sets the basal value of how her works would slowly develop into, the mingling of space and time, all in a blur within an aesthetic air.
Yet, comparatively, as her debut novel, I couldn't see anything that distinguishes itself or stands itself out from other authors' debuts. What a pity that is, as with my expectation, this fulfills none of what I anticipated. For a debut novel, it has its absolute virgin parts, raw, refreshed, with the telling of a sad tale where in the end there attaches the ending by the merely interweaving pattern of Amy and Ash. For sure, the novel itself is indeed a work of art, how the author deliberately penned and planned them out one by one. There are shadows cast around the novel, where you can pick them up piece by piece of how her prose style is, even be seen in her later works. One thing I would like to mention is how this twin story is again remade in How to be Both. But it didn't give me the chills and thrills and the poetic and beautiful prose in How to be Both. All clamped into a book, fit into that volume of 350 pages, I felt exhausted to flip through the pages with this long, dreadful, unnecessarily informative narration, especially for which appeared in the second half of the novel. The relationship of the two friends are being narrated in a more lucid and clear manner in the second part, which makes the novel loses its balance when it comes to how the implicit nature of the friendship of Amy and Ash is being portrayed. I am not utterly disappointed with Like, yet I hope to see something that could grasp my attention a bit harder when I go back for Ali Smith's works again.
It would be cruel to not love the book and mark it as a favourite.
After months of eager anticipation on Rooney's new work, I have found my anticipation not to be let down in any sense and her rise was nothing like foam, so easily shattered into pieces as the heat would die out eventually. Rather, I did a binge on this book as I was so indulged in the book that throughout the times when I was getting a break from it or having lessons in school during the day I couldn't even put it off my mind.
The novel, for sure, as it is Rooney's style to put everyday life and event into novels that turn out to be extraordinary, opposing their nature, being written and only revolved around normality. But this one, from which stands itself out of the other two, shows a predominant sense of maturity fully infused throughout the novel, from that of friendship and love to even a broader view about the peril the world is facing, and most importantly, as a key feature, we can get to know how Rooney felt when she was so young and successful just by writing two novels and rose herself to become an internationally well acclaimed novelist. This happens to be the only extraordinary bit of the novel, especially being portrayed by Alice, it did bring out the problems behind a seemingly successful life with a too-large-to-be-used amount of income, that in some sense it would be completely incomprehensible and detaching in its own way that separates herself from the normal people out there.
Another prominent element present in the novel, is again that difference between social classes. However, it was so different this time that it was not a substantial border being placed between the characters on their financial and social status-Alice was from working class background just like Felix. Through the book there are a lot of arguments, misunderstanding embedded and surrounded by the loving nature of their relationships. Sometimes, it is simply so frustrating that the characters cannot reach the common ground and keep putting themselves on the balance of contribution to sustain the friendship or courtship. Yet, it is love, and it is immeasurable. This do shine a light on the seemingly depressing or close-to-be-breaking-apart relationships and in the end, everything was not ugly but is indeed beautiful.
In this sense, the title might have proven to me, that in search of a perfect state or anywhere close to an utopia for actual beauty, which is rather improbable, perhaps it would be more advisable to simply go look after your loved ones, family members, give them your love and care, in a microscopic way of contributing to the world so that what meets us in the end is that beautifying nature of love, of any sorts of intimacy. Being mentioned in the book of those ideologies, political issues, plastics, consumerism, pollution, global warming... they are very spot on and yet, as individuals if we are to eradicate the problems, we can only try and change in that according portion which individuals are bound to contribute. Is it so selfish and unsympathetic as a human being to only look out for the close ones around us, instead of caring about the world as we are global citizens? This I fear not, as mentioned in the book, “Maybe we're just born to love and worry about the people we know, and to go on loving and worrying even when there are more important things we should be doing”. Finding emotional fulfillment in loving and being loved, in caring and being taken cared of, in living and to be lived for... No, it is never bad. “What if the meaning of life on earth is not eternal progress toward some unspecified goal—the engineering and production of more and more powerful technologies, the development of more and more complex and abstruse cultural forms? What if these things just rise and recede naturally, like tides, while the meaning of life remains the same always—just to live and be with other people?” As long as there is meaning to live for, who cares?
It would be cruel to not like the book and mark it as a favourite.
After months of eager anticipation on Rooney's new work, I have found my anticipation not to be let down in any sense and her rise was nothing like foam, so easily shattered into pieces as the heat would die out eventually. Rather, I did a binge on this book as I was so indulged in the book that throughout the times when I was getting a break from it or having lessons in school during the day I couldn't even put it off my mind.
The novel, for sure, as it is Rooney's style to put everyday life and event into novels that turn out to be extraordinary, opposing their nature, being written and only revolved around normality. But this one, from which stands itself out of the other two, shows a predominant sense of maturity fully infused throughout the novel, from that of friendship and love to even a broader view about the peril the world is facing, and most importantly, as a key feature, we can get to know how Rooney felt when she was so young and successful just by writing two novels and rose herself to become an internationally well acclaimed novelist. This happens to be the only extraordinary bit of the novel, especially being portrayed by Alice, it did bring out the problems behind a seemingly successful life with a too-large-to-be-used amount of income, that in some sense it would be completely incomprehensible and detaching in its own way that separates herself from the normal people out there.
Another prominent element present in the novel, is again that difference between social classes. However, it was so different this time that it was not a substantial border being placed between the characters on their financial and social status-Alice was from working class background just like Felix. Through the book there are a lot of arguments, misunderstanding embedded and surrounded by the loving nature of their relationships. Sometimes, it is simply so frustrating that the characters cannot reach the common ground and keep putting themselves on the balance of contribution to sustain the friendship or courtship. Yet, it is love, and it is immeasurable. This do shine a light on the seemingly depressing or close-to-be-breaking-apart relationships and in the end, everything was not ugly but is indeed beautiful.
In this sense, the title might have proven to me, that in search of a perfect state or anywhere close to an utopia for actual beauty, which is rather improbable, perhaps it would be more advisable to simply go look after your loved ones, family members, give them your love and care, in a microscopic way of contributing to the world so that what meets us in the end is that beautifying nature of love, of any sorts of intimacy. Being mentioned in the book of those ideologies, political issues, plastics, consumerism, pollution, global warming... they are very spot on and yet, as individuals if we are to eradicate the problems, we can only try and change in that according portion which individuals are bound to contribute. Is it so selfish and unsympathetic as a human being to only look out for the close ones around us, instead of caring about the world as we are global citizens? This I fear not, as mentioned in the book, “Maybe we're just born to love and worry about the people we know, and to go on loving and worrying even when there are more important things we should be doing”. Finding emotional fulfillment in loving and being loved, in caring and being taken cared of, in living and to be lived for... No, it is never bad. “What if the meaning of life on earth is not eternal progress toward some unspecified goal—the engineering and production of more and more powerful technologies, the development of more and more complex and abstruse cultural forms? What if these things just rise and recede naturally, like tides, while the meaning of life remains the same always—just to live and be with other people?” As long as there is meaning to live for, who cares?
One funny thing I have always had about Rooney's work is that I always find her characters resembling and vibing on me in a resonating way. This time, I could see myself, the people around me with their personalities being on every bit of those of the characters. It is deeply reassuring for me-perhaps that is what normality is, nothing is ever special as the masses are never special to achieve huge fame or prosperity or power.
The last bit I think that was worth-mentioning is about the ending, which was a surprise to me corresponding to lockdown, and become a little bit of a COVID novel. That relatablitiy immensely installed in almost every element of the novel... It simply blows me off and again makes Sally Rooney so appreciable in the literature world. I hope this wouldn't give her much pressure due to the fame and the fact that she has rocketed to a shattering height in the area.
This is a beautiful and meaningful masterpiece.
Last run on the series.
I regard Winter as a bit different from the others. It is still politically centred on about protests that happened in the past and now, referring to other current topics like pollution, littering, etc. What is shared in common between the four parts is that I can always find characters who dedicate themselves to work and act to change the shady bits of the world.
Yet, Winter, happens to be not so cold from what I perceive in the novel. The frozen bonds unraveled and manage to melt, being another festive season of the catch up of family members, being one of the centripetal forces that unite people, being one of the warm bonfire to light up the darkness and defense against the cold. From Art, his mother, his aunt and Lux's way of getting along, which I do have to give a round of applause to Lux, who, being a total stranger, is so willing to help build what was lost of the family and being the sheer force in solidarity when she literally could have refused from such an awkward and annoying case.
Speaking of art, Art and art, art in nature, considered by me as a nice shuffle of words. While Art himself might be in some sort of an existential crisis, or an identity crisis, in the sense which the blogs he had written, might not be real but would be the content reader wish to see and are able to relate. In the light of this, there is also shoutouts to Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Charles Chaplin, etc. Again, it makes winter less unapproachable and rather, with a pair of welcoming arms in the air silently shouting a “you're always welcome here” with warmth while the outside is suffused in dormancy.
I do like the blithe atmosphere during the conversations in the Cornwall cottage. Yes, it might be annoying to have your seniors debating against each other just for the sake of being antagonistic while you are trying to think some things through, or finding the household with immense dread in itself simply because you find that irreparable generational gap slowly becoming an abyss that you cannot find any way to get across, ending up with a rendition of the circumstance that it is simply the lack of common interests which induce that abyss.
Winter, cold, fearful, dark, prolonged night, lessened day, petrified by winter tales, terrified by horror and the never ending darkness, depression, melancholy, isolation, loneliness... As with every review I have done about the quartet, ending it with the final season of the year is considering a bliss to myself. Again, a few more words, a few more sentences, a few more questions.
Take yourself out for a walk in winter and despite that clarity of bleakness, of everything covered in white, too sharpening to have your eyes on them for long, try to infiltrate yourself with some warmth-not from the nature perhaps, but with our species who do share the same amount of heat as we all do.
Winter, the end, the symbolic farewell to a year. “That's what winter is: an exercise remembering how to still yourself then how to come pliantly back to life again. An exercise in adapting yourself to whatever frozen or molten state it brings you.” To die, so we can be more alive, so we do know what means life.
Third catch I've managed to grip on the series.
Candidly speaking, I do not feel as strong as with Summer and Spring on how the themes are correlated, and especially the way they are projected throughout the storyline. Again, typically Smith, we can see Brexit, misogyny and more current issues being scribbled and scattered from one paragraph to another paragraph in the book. Yet, as with the other books in the series, arts, the perfect means of escapism, the perfect means of dealing with life, the perfect means of emotional attachment to get through all the troubles you have. This is, again, in my perspective, very truthful and guarantee as the best means to cope with life, to seek for the ideals while the reality is never so.
Autumn, though it is the title, it was not as declining as this season ought to be as shown in the book. Perhaps for Daniel Gluck it is, that with more a century of a lifetime, his vitals are not as great as before. But this transitional period, similar to spring but in an opposite direction, from bloom to regression, from climax to falling action, from prime to decrepitude. Seemingly bleak, but is it really so?
Autumn, the season before winter, the last golden period before the arrival of darkness, when there are still more leaves to fall.
Would it be rather some cliché to talk about relationship in a book? Honestly, shift that position of Connell and Marianne onto other types of relationships you have in life. Well, then you will end up finding some resemblance between yours and theirs.
In a modern society, on-and-off relationships are never any rare scenes. However, being centred as mostly sexual, yet friendly kind of relationship, it would be rather difficult to define its nature, and conventionalists might call this inappropriate and certainly, unadvised.
If all of the above is exactly what this chart-topping, bestselling book want to tell us, I would hardly give it a go. But now, on the second ride, I feel like there is something prominent enough for it to enter that position. It is not my Rooney favourite, obviously, but there is resonance of the relationship itself, happy mixing with unhappy moments, silent treatment and negligence with fervid conversations, misunderstanding with understanding, replaceability with irreplaceablility... This obfuscating sort of relationship is nothing abnormal or too fictional to get personal. Rather, I would think this is a perfect rendition of the modern definition of relationships.
So Normal People, is perfectly normal.
Immediately after reading Summer, I went straight to my local bookshop and purchased Spring as it was the only one being available out of the Seasonal Quartet series.
Spring, a lovely season, full of life springing back from death, revival, hopeful, in midst of a drastic change, a transition between winter and summer, right in the middle... Perhaps it is that fervid yet depressing Summer that pumps my expectations too high to give Spring a five, or it is out of personal prejudice in which my favourite season remains Summer all along. This is a much hopeful novel in comparison to our status quo which Summer has summed it up in a very satisfying and hit-on way.
Having known that this novel will still revolve around some current issues (back in 2019), the portrayal of that influence Internet has on us-what's to be known of and what's not, climate change-how much the mother earth has endured of human's devastation in rapid urbanisation and development, Brexit, that old voting system and oh also the phenomenon that people just want to know your stance, but never it is about your opinions that matter to them. In spite of this, we have also caught a glimpse on the story of Richard and Paddy, a seemingly desolate one, yet is it death that stops us from getting to know and be with that person we have in mind? Is it really worrisome to live in your memories to savour the times you have spent with that particular someone so it would carry on eternally beyond death? Or is it death merely a transitional period as spring itself is, that it allows the entrance of us into another world which provides us a more promising and brighter future? How are we to know of all this? Yet, it is, to live through spring, to carry ourselves onward, to meet each other at the ends of these ongoing turmoils.
Spring, it is, spring forward and onward, until the light of summer shines on you, to drag yourself out of the abyss of winter.
I didn't give this a 5 stars simply because I think Tess can be less silly to fall into the traps, didn't she? It's gotten me very frustrated to see her being “won” by Alec again and again. It is simply a preventable mess, in my opinion. And surely, we mustn't blame an unsophisticated woman for all faults being laid upon her. But as I said, she could've gone away without undergoing so many troubles especially when she recognised what a man Alec was.