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spo0kyayden's reviews
336 reviews
A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa
4.0
This novel just slapped me in the face and told me "Your talentless and will never be able to write something this beautiful!"
“literature composed by women was stored not in books but in female bodies, living repositories of poetry and song. I have come across a line of argument in my reading, which posits that, due to the inherent fallibility of memory and the imperfect human vessels that held it, the Caoineadh cannot be considered a work of single authorship. Rather, the theory goes, it must be considered collage, or, perhaps, a folky reworking of older keens. This, to me --- in the brazen audacity of one positioned far from the tall walls of the university --- feels like a male assertion pressed upon a female text. After all, the etymology of the word ‘text’ lies in the Latin verby ‘texere’: to weave, to fuse, to braid. The Caoineadh form belongs to a literary genre worked and woven by women, entwining strands of female voices that were carried in female bodies, a phenomenon that seems to me cause for wonder and admiration, rather than suspicion of authorship.”
― Doireann Ní Ghríofa, A Ghost in the Throat
“literature composed by women was stored not in books but in female bodies, living repositories of poetry and song. I have come across a line of argument in my reading, which posits that, due to the inherent fallibility of memory and the imperfect human vessels that held it, the Caoineadh cannot be considered a work of single authorship. Rather, the theory goes, it must be considered collage, or, perhaps, a folky reworking of older keens. This, to me --- in the brazen audacity of one positioned far from the tall walls of the university --- feels like a male assertion pressed upon a female text. After all, the etymology of the word ‘text’ lies in the Latin verby ‘texere’: to weave, to fuse, to braid. The Caoineadh form belongs to a literary genre worked and woven by women, entwining strands of female voices that were carried in female bodies, a phenomenon that seems to me cause for wonder and admiration, rather than suspicion of authorship.”
― Doireann Ní Ghríofa, A Ghost in the Throat
チェンソーマン 14 [Chainsaw Man 14] by Tatsuki Fujimoto
4.0
I'm caught up, it's finally getting good again!
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
4.0
This cured my reading slump and hydrated my skin.
“The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
“Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflexion, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come -- ”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
“The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
“Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflexion, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come -- ”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
Slowness by Milan Kundera
4.0
This was definitely one of his most audacious piece of literature.
"Ass Hole."
“Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared? Ah, where have they gone, the amblers of yesteryear? Where have they gone, those loafing heroes of folk song, those vagabonds who roam from one mill to another and bed down under the stars? Have they vanished along with footpaths, with grasslands and clearings, with nature? There is a Czech proverb that describes their easy indolence by a metaphor: “They are gazing at God’s windows.” A person gazing at God’s windows is not bored; he is happy. In our world, indolence has turned into having nothing to do, which is a completely different thing: a person with nothing to do is frustrated, bored, is constantly searching for the activity he lacks.”
― Milan Kundera, Slowness
"Ass Hole."
“Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared? Ah, where have they gone, the amblers of yesteryear? Where have they gone, those loafing heroes of folk song, those vagabonds who roam from one mill to another and bed down under the stars? Have they vanished along with footpaths, with grasslands and clearings, with nature? There is a Czech proverb that describes their easy indolence by a metaphor: “They are gazing at God’s windows.” A person gazing at God’s windows is not bored; he is happy. In our world, indolence has turned into having nothing to do, which is a completely different thing: a person with nothing to do is frustrated, bored, is constantly searching for the activity he lacks.”
― Milan Kundera, Slowness
The Flowers of Buffoonery by Osamu Dazai
4.0
4.8
Loved the authors insight sprinkled throughout
"These boys never really argue. Ever SO careful with each other's feelings, they tiptoe from one comment to the next, taking great pains to shelter their own feelings in the process. They'll do anything to avoid being ridiculed. Truly, they're convinced that if they ever did do something hurtful, they'd either have to kill the other guy Or die themselves. It's why they avoid conflict as a rule. These friends know all kinds of expressions that could smooth things over. At least ten different gradations for conveying what essentially means no. Long before any type of conflict can emerge, they're exchanging gestures of diplomacy. And while they dance across the surface with their smiles and their handshakes, in their minds they're both saying the same thing: what an idiot!"
"If only you could understand the sadness of the ones
who grow the delicate flowers of buffoonery, protecting
them from but the slightest gust of wind and always on
the verge of despair!"
Loved the authors insight sprinkled throughout
"These boys never really argue. Ever SO careful with each other's feelings, they tiptoe from one comment to the next, taking great pains to shelter their own feelings in the process. They'll do anything to avoid being ridiculed. Truly, they're convinced that if they ever did do something hurtful, they'd either have to kill the other guy Or die themselves. It's why they avoid conflict as a rule. These friends know all kinds of expressions that could smooth things over. At least ten different gradations for conveying what essentially means no. Long before any type of conflict can emerge, they're exchanging gestures of diplomacy. And while they dance across the surface with their smiles and their handshakes, in their minds they're both saying the same thing: what an idiot!"
"If only you could understand the sadness of the ones
who grow the delicate flowers of buffoonery, protecting
them from but the slightest gust of wind and always on
the verge of despair!"