|
Sometimes I feel stupid.
Sometimes I feel like books are written with academics in mind, and
I'm on the outside looking in. Sometimes I like to eat salty things,
sometimes sweet. That said, I'm torn about this book. Bellow's protagonist
is a literature quoting, thesis spewing blow-hard. He wants to be
high-minded, but can't separate himself from the young ladies, his
Mercedes and his Italian loafers. Think Frasier with a Pulitzer. The
thing I can't figure out is whether Bellow feels this character is
not a complete ass (the way the writers on Frasier feel about him),
and this is what has me on the fence. Granted, many other characters
in the book comment about how they can't take his snobby rants, but
you can feel Bellow siding with him more often than not. Although,
I'm hardly smart enough to figure out if this is the case. He quotes
medieval poetry and every classic under the sun. He claims to love
his friend, Humboldt Fleisher, an award-winning poet who lost his
ability both to write and to reason after starting to show the effects
of manic depression. Our main character finds his own success after
his mentor and friend Humboldt begins to go down hill. In his success
he essentially forgets about who got him there. He becomes complacent
and fat (not literally, but on money, luxury and easy fame). The book
is this character's struggle to come to terms with how he treated
his now deceased friend, how he has lost his way and what is truly
important in his life. The book itself deals with some interesting
issues, and is extremely well written, but a lot of the more intellectual,
literary material went over my head. I just hope it wasn't Bellow
trying to show us all how smart he is, and how it must be tough on
him dealing with the rest of us undereducated, philistine dumbfucks.
|
Booze
& Grub
Hipster Movie Reviews
Music