A man goes in search of undiscovered sand beetles and ends up captive in a dune-bound house where his only task is to help the owner shovel sand into buckets to be removed from the dune-bottom.
This is a semi-surreal existentialist novel is generally about the search for meaning in our work (both independent and collective) and how it relates to our sense of belonging. But it also provides a propulsive plot and an interesting scenario, along with some information about sand and beetles. Needless to say, a lot is packed into this fairly short and very strange novel. It presents both as utterly bizarre and unsettlingly familiar.
This novel was a breath of fresh air and has earned a spot among my favorites–next to “The Box Man.”
This is a tough little novel capturing scenes from a few points in young Stephen Dedalus’s life relating to his decision/conviction to become an artist.
In between arguments full of slang/references to events in turn-of-the-century Ireland and highly technical musings on certain details of theologians (much of which was lost on me, even with the copious footnotes) there was some of the most unique and lyrical prose I have ever come across and some of the most stunning chunks of writing generally.
This novel deals with duty, shame, and the role of the artist (both inward and outward). It is thematically rich without feeling preachy and it contains a lot of very inventive writing without seeming overdone.
Admittedly, much of the plot is quite vague and it takes a minute to really catch up with what is going on, especially between chapters. Of course, here it isn’t terribly important to the work as a whole but it adds a level of difficulty to an already challenging novel.
I’m glad I read this and enjoyed many parts of it–but this might have been a little beyond me to tackle without guidance.
A sluggish starter countered with a long banneton proof at room temperature before the overnight fridge ferment. Correct or not I was impatient and it seemed to work out alright.
This week really got ahead of me so the starter was a bit underfed and not terribly active. Long fermentation without a ton of volume. Nice crust color but a bit uneven.
Without intending to, I read these short fiction works successively in just a few days.
Both works are tales of intellectual obsession that give rise to some combination of madness and genius occurring within the milieu of the World Wars.
“Chess Story” details the passage of a chess champion to Argentina during which a few of the passengers become interested in challenging him to a match. They have poor luck until a strange man who, claiming not to have touched a chess piece in 25 years, is able to outwit the master. The work goes on to focus mainly on events in the past that contributed to his chess skills.
This is a sensitive and seemingly simple short story that contains a lot of humanity below the surface (mostly related to how poor treatment, in various forms, contributes to less than desirable personality traits).
“When We Cease to Understand the World” is an interesting construction of several fictionalized (maybe narrativized) stories following the great discoveries of several scientific and mathematical geniuses. The stories often focus on periods of dangerously intensive, hermetic work leading to major breakthroughs that shape how we understand reality (quantum physics being the namesake section).
I have mixed feelings about this work. Generally, I like the experiment of constructing fictionalized accounts of very real events in a way that feels very humanizing and doesn’t take such clear opinions as most biographical accounts will take. Really there is seemingly an effort here to include many of the bad traits along with the good, both in terms of their place in history but also in what is known about their personalities.
One major aspect that I don’t tend to like is the way that fictionalization takes a stock standard approach in lauding the sort of hermetic/obsessive genius who is so caught up in their work that they work non-stop in fits of inspiration to come up with their masterpiece. Of course these are stories that we like to read and conceptions of genius that people are often fascinated by (along with what is probably some selection bias towards famously hermetical mathematicians). But I am often not thrilled with this being the major narrative for important scientific discoveries as this is much more the exception than the rule. I find this narrative a bit stale and wishes that it received a little more scrutiny.
Anna Louie Sussman writes here in the New York Times about progressing research in human embryology. I am usually skeptical going into these types of articles because I’m not often a fan of the science writing in major news imprints. But Sussman does a fantastic job of weaving together the research and the ethics of using IVF-derived embryos for scientific research along with the difficulties of determining clear ethical limitations for research.
A bit of a mess this week as I forgot to feed my starter until ~12 hours before I wanted to bake. Threw in some poolish to compensate. Got sidetracked and the bulk went a bit too far. The dough was a bit stuck in the banneton. One of those times you’re happy that you ended up with anything edible.
I’ve certainly never read anything else like this. This book follows Ferdinand from Paris to the trenches of WWI, to the Colonial African jungles, to New York, Detroit, and back to Paris. Written as somewhat of a reflection on these events, this novel is an insane, raving barrage of wonderful writing, keen social observation pertaining largely to class and power, and certain “French characteristics.”
This was by no means an easy book. The writing itself doesn’t make things easy as there is very limited dialogue (and very little of it is very coherent), the plot points are sparsely detailed, and the observations/reflections and nuanced and verbose. The content is also incredibly nihilistic about nearly all aspects of human character and action.
It is one of the most depressing books I’ve read–the other being “White Noise.” The difference being that DeLillo writes about a man coming to realize that he will die and can do nothing about it while Céline’s protagonist is keenly aware of this from the beginning and struggles to find any reason to keep on going after the music has gone.
One of the most interesting characteristics here parallels Doestoevsky’s “The Idiot” in that the protagonist struggles to get ahead despite having skills/resources because they realize that to do so necessarily requires immoral actions. Ferdinand simply cannot bring himself to charge his patients or refuse service to those he knows cannot pay. He is also unable to assist the Henrouille’s in their attempt to send a seemingly crazed mother-in-law to senior care. Ferdinand also feels some sort of affinity for Robinson who he cares for and cannot kick out despite not liking him. These traits of strong nearly Christian ethics are certainly offset by many opposing actions in his relationships.
This was an interesting one and a worthwhile read that I’ve been putting off for quite some time. It wasn’t really what I expected and took some time to get through. But I’ve glad to have read this but also glad to move on to something a little more upbeat.
Similar recipe to the last couple of weeks but the fermentations have been optimized a little bit to give a bit more spring. Haven’t really played around with hydration as I’d planned so we’ll see if I start wanting a slightly different crumb texture. In terms of looks, this is nearly perfect besides a slightly patchy browning caused by an overzealous heating cycle.
