frogwithlittlehammer's reviews
265 reviews

“I’m a typist and a virgin, and I like coca-cola.” Enough said.

A lot to like here but overshadowed by how much there is to be skipped. I hate to see a rigorously well written book that loses the plot, which is not always going to be a bad thing, but in this case every time the good samurai parried the blow, the reading experience became a little more hackneyed. The dynamic between child prodigy and renegade single mother was very intriguing at first, but towards the middle, the mutual disappointing of either protagonist’s expectations felt too sad and the bursts of linguistic/artistic/mechanistic/mathematical erudition too awkward. Maybe if I had read it on the tube. 

I am like Sofia Petrovna bc her mind could not be kept off of Granada.

The prose is groundbreakingly creative and exquisitely colored (literally) but I feel like I did the book such a disservice by skipping the footnotes (bc they were in the index and I’m not about to catch carpal tunnel flipping to and fro!!!) so I cannot accurately review the novel. It will get a reread for sure, when I’m in a more modernist mood. 

Thank you to my bookstore crush at Troubled Sleep for the recommendation <3

The false and dysfunctional demagogue of the free market created fascism. Plur. 

I mean seriously though, how can one expect society to reach peace or be just under profit-oriented ideology? There will always be protectionism put in place, and institutionalized privatization that is “justified” over others’ freedoms. 

Mostly a lot of the economic stuff went over my head but overall the book still deeply impressed on me. I will reread perhaps when my crow’s feet start to come in. 

“Nothing is more hypocritical than liberal universalism, because the principles of freedom and human rights are only valuable for those who enjoy the required class privilege or race supremacy. The political reality is that the so-called free world uses universalism to protect its own particular interests, and it wields the universal criterion of human rights as an instrument of aggression against those who threaten the interest of the dominators. Threat, aggression, and violence are justified in the name of a universal philosophy that imperialist have systematically, violated and used for the purposes of systemic violation.”

Everything I could never explain to a therapist!!!! Bifo doesn’t know it but me and the crazy old man are linked at the noggin. I am in awe that this book exists, that all my beliefs about my (lack of) depression have at last been taken to the press. I am tired of being seen as a doomer, because I understand that the ideals of democracy and activism today have been violated past a point of logical retrieval. I am a fan of experimentation, it is the main reason for my fascination with the ideological ambition of the USSR. And as I’m reading this along side Polanyi’s The Great Transformation, I think this idea of the economic becoming undetachable from the political which is what comprises our culture, has been one insane experiment, and the most natural reaction in the world is to resign and remove and at last, tip that premier domino in the enchaînement of exoduses. 

“At a certain point, the idea that depressive psychosis is the effect of some physical disturbance or neurological dysfunction, found traction, and became hegemonic. Too little of this, and too much of that ingredient, as if it were the recipe for soup. But the human mind is not soup. The brain can be compared to soup if you want, but the emotional mind is more complicated than the already hyper-complicated soup called the brain.”

Soup’s uppppppp. Of course, the ending gets a little mad- scientist, as is par for the course for Bifo. His classic twist of pessimistic optimism, or perhaps nonchalant stoicism… something or other that leaves an achey sore feeling in my tummy. But I am walking away from the book with a stronger assurance in my praxis Marxism, which I facilitate through kissing and conversation. These are the last two last tenets of humanity (along with psychedelia and insurrection and resignation, which I haven’t been quite as active about yet.) 

The writing sucked hard hahah but I loved his character, I was very interested by how futile his behavior was, despite his neurotic intentionality. What is more fascinating is that one of the kindest boys I’ve ever known gave this book to me to borrow. Intrigue. 

None of those guns were Chekhovian… Which is alright because I think I’m more for his short stories than his plays, probably because I can’t imagine live performers doing his work justice. After all, J.D. Salinger did point out, “Have you ever seen a really beautiful production of, say, The Cherry Orchard? Don't say you have. Nobody has. You may have seen 'inspired' productions, 'competent' productions, but never anything beautiful. Never one where Chekhov's talent is matched, nuance for nuance, idiosyncrasy for idiosyncrasy, by every soul on-stage.” In my mind his stories are perfect, nowhere to go, nowhere to be reproduced. This translation is strange, probably extremely great, but reads rather awkward in a humorous way. But his musings on happiness are too good to let that get in the way. 

Boy do I need a stiff drink after reading all that in transatlantic.

This was in a different language, probably in a good way to many, but to me it felt too fiction-y. 

It was interesting how much the novel highlighted that Selin is Turkish despite the fact she was born in the US and she doesn’t find the fact that she is Turkish all too remarkable herself? Is this how first generations are supposed to feel/are perceived? Anyway, I liked how she questioned things, especially the debunking of the Sapir Whorf hypothesis and why she remained in Hungary when the reason for how she ended up there was no longer in the picture. I have felt similar things.

What was troubling was that I feel as though everyday I loosen my grasp on the concept of humor. What is so funny and not funny about things? This novel tested me especially. As a first gen college Russophile who also dabbles in linguistics and had an elusive relationship with a tall bespectacled senior her freshman year, I wonder if Selin and I have shared any other similarities in the future.