10.23
This whole week is a disaster. I feel like I have been through a month. So many unpleasant things happened, so many tasks unfinished, so little time for sleep, so many inner struggles went on, so much to talk about.
This week I have been thinking about a question. What on earth is the position of books in my life? It seems like I have always been distracted by other interesting things, like basketball, like debating. I’ve asked myself to be a down-to-earth, diligent, and passionate book lover, but when things show up, I can’t always stick to my principle. I may choose to watch a basketball match, and totally forget my plan of reading. I may choose to search a lot of information on the Internet thus get fully prepared for a debating contest, and leave my book reading schedule alone. I may do meaningless reviewing work for the sake of the mid-term, or my GPA would suffer. Anyways, it has been several days that I don’t read. It is a very sad living style. No wonder why I feel low, spiritless, and sleepy every day. Books are my nutrition. I have to adjust my life.
My kindle arrived this Monday. It was very useful and beautiful. I have to admit that I was being too cynical about this invention. But I won’t give up my principle that as long as printed books are available, leave the e-book alone. I read a lot of critic essays this week, mainly about Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, and Sons and Lovers. Some of them are enlightening, but some are being unique for the sake of being unique. As to the question if evaluating Sons and Lovers in a Oedipus Complex approach is reasonable or not, it is beyond me. I think the modern psychological approach of defining Paul Morel’s tragedy as an unsolvable conflict between his own aspiration and the responsibility to his mother is reasonable, but I also believe that Freud’s theory about Oedipus complex is onto something and the evaluation of Sons and Lovers can be independent of it.
I also changed my previous ideas about The Great Gatsby. I once considered him an immoral person who pursued an immoral dream. But after I listened to four lectures and read several essays about the book, I found myself divert from the true essence. Actually, why Gatsby was different from all the other American dreamers was that he truly believed in his dream. He created himself and he believed in the created man. He had infinite hope and dream. He climbed upward not for the sake of money or love, but purely for the dream itself. He was the most obsessive seeker and thus a true dreamer.
Last night, I went to a literature salon with Richie and Cynthia. We talked about the book 1984, one of my favorites. When Cynthia asked me if I thought George Orwell really had faith in Communism, I responded yes. I believe in the bright future of human beings, though the book nearly smashed my faith. I believe that even the most cynical, angry, and astringent writers are hoping for a better world. I believe that everything is going to be fine, though we may not see that day, though that day cannot be reached in the foreseeable future.
This week I have been thinking about a question. What on earth is the position of books in my life? It seems like I have always been distracted by other interesting things, like basketball, like debating. I’ve asked myself to be a down-to-earth, diligent, and passionate book lover, but when things show up, I can’t always stick to my principle. I may choose to watch a basketball match, and totally forget my plan of reading. I may choose to search a lot of information on the Internet thus get fully prepared for a debating contest, and leave my book reading schedule alone. I may do meaningless reviewing work for the sake of the mid-term, or my GPA would suffer. Anyways, it has been several days that I don’t read. It is a very sad living style. No wonder why I feel low, spiritless, and sleepy every day. Books are my nutrition. I have to adjust my life.
My kindle arrived this Monday. It was very useful and beautiful. I have to admit that I was being too cynical about this invention. But I won’t give up my principle that as long as printed books are available, leave the e-book alone. I read a lot of critic essays this week, mainly about Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, and Sons and Lovers. Some of them are enlightening, but some are being unique for the sake of being unique. As to the question if evaluating Sons and Lovers in a Oedipus Complex approach is reasonable or not, it is beyond me. I think the modern psychological approach of defining Paul Morel’s tragedy as an unsolvable conflict between his own aspiration and the responsibility to his mother is reasonable, but I also believe that Freud’s theory about Oedipus complex is onto something and the evaluation of Sons and Lovers can be independent of it.
I also changed my previous ideas about The Great Gatsby. I once considered him an immoral person who pursued an immoral dream. But after I listened to four lectures and read several essays about the book, I found myself divert from the true essence. Actually, why Gatsby was different from all the other American dreamers was that he truly believed in his dream. He created himself and he believed in the created man. He had infinite hope and dream. He climbed upward not for the sake of money or love, but purely for the dream itself. He was the most obsessive seeker and thus a true dreamer.
Last night, I went to a literature salon with Richie and Cynthia. We talked about the book 1984, one of my favorites. When Cynthia asked me if I thought George Orwell really had faith in Communism, I responded yes. I believe in the bright future of human beings, though the book nearly smashed my faith. I believe that even the most cynical, angry, and astringent writers are hoping for a better world. I believe that everything is going to be fine, though we may not see that day, though that day cannot be reached in the foreseeable future.