Kidnapped

 I have mixed feelings about this book. On the one hand I enjoyed it so much because I was brought back to Scotland, I was reminded of all the beautiful things that I lived there. I enjoyed learning so many new words: 127 new words in a book that is relatively short (my copy had only 314 pages). Yet, I was not really interested in the storyline and it took me much longer to finish reading the novel than it really should have. Yes, some of it was due to my characteristic procrastination, but in this case I strongly believe the core reason must have been that I failed to find something meaningfully interesting in the book.

Call Me by Your Name

 I was not expecting to like this book, mainly because I have seen the movie and did not particularly like it. But it was a cute story. It was a cute book. Now, they say that standards are good but double standards are better. There are multiple sex passages and sex references in this book. Normally I would be put off by that. I find modern descriptions of sex in contemporary literature rather gratuitous. That, for example, is part of the reason why I tend not to like things written by Haruki Murakami. But I have mostly read books that deal with heterosexual sex. For that reason, it feels somewhat unfair that this book, with its various descriptions of homosexual sex between men, did not elicit in me a similar criticism of the prose. I wonder whether Hannah Fidell, the creator behind FX on Hulu's series "A Teacher", would also hold this book to a double standard. A quick reminder: "A Teacher" is scathingly critical of sexual relationships between adults and minors. The female teacher in that series was severely punished and there was no mercy shown to her for the sexual relationship she had with a male minor. I wonder what Hannah Fidell would think of a sexual relationship between an adult male graduate student and a male minor. Clearly, André Aciman thinks there is nothing wrong with that. Quite the opposite. Am I missing something? Is there an argument I am not seeing that explains why the creator of "A Teacher" and the author of Call Me by Your Name reach polar opposite conclusions about the same kind of sexual relationship? Or could it be that Elon Musk is at least partly right in saying that there is a woke mind virus that is infecting the minds of many in the United States? I would like to know. Verdict on the relationship between Emmanuel Macron and his wife: pending—it will depend on whether the judge is Hannah Fidell or André Aciman.

Mrs Dalloway

Reading Mrs Dalloway was a much nicer experience than reading To the Lighthouse. I found several passages very beautiful. I loved the descriptions of London. And I saw a lot of myself reflected in Peter Walsh—at least my previous self, a self that I am trying very hard to leave behind. Despite that, I have sadly decided that I do not like Virginia Woolf's writing style, at least not her stream of thought style of those two novels. I find it extremely confusing, extremely difficult to follow. So much so that it opaques the beauty of several masterfully written sentences. It is almost like Virginia Woolf thought that beauty could only exist in immensely complex and incomprehensible narratives. I do not think I dislike things only because I do not understand them. I do not understand the stars in the sky, yet I admire them greatly. In this case, however, I do not understand her writing style, which happens to greatly contribute to my dislike of her novels.

How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia

There is not really much one can say about this book. At least it had the decency of being so short that you do not really have to spend much time with it. I read The Reluctant Fundamentalist in 2009, before I started this blog so I do not have a record of my opinion on that book. But from what I can remember, it was a more interesting read, which renders How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia a disappointment.

Anna Karenina

 There is a rumour going around that says that when William Faulkner was asked which were the three best novels of all time his reply was: "Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina, and Anna Karenina". That is high praise from an author I do not know. I have heard of him. I have not read any of his novels, but his reply now makes me very sceptical of anything he might have written. Not that I think that Anna Karenina is bad, it is just that it is not even the best Leo Tolstoy. War and Peace is a masterpiece that is far superior to Anna Karenina. But let us leave it at that.
  Now, when I think of the past I usually think of it as atavistic. I say that in a negative way. We should not be fooled by the splendor of empires, the unchecked power of the nobility, the palaces and the superstitious religious rituals. Think of the rigid social hierarchy, of the oppressive classism, of the unbending gender roles and consequently of sexism and the invisible misogyny. Invisible to the eyes of most of the members of past societies. Now, of course, all of that is still very much present in contemporary societies. But Anna Karenina is testament of how much worse it was in the past. Who killed Anna Karenina? Let me answer the question: it was the patriarchy. Interestingly—yet completely as expected from someone who was born in the third decade of the nineteenth century—the word "patriarchy" appears exactly zero times in Anna Karenina. I know very little of Leo Tolstoy but I am choosing to believe that he joins me in sympathising with Anna Karenina. Not because she was an exemplary human being—we know that like all of us she was deeply flawed. But because of the cruel way that she was treated by society. Some of the characters in Anna Karenina behave in a way that, to me, they are evidence that at least there were some people who had a nagging sense that there was something wrong with the double standards between men and women. That is what, in turn, makes me believe that Leo Tolstoy was one of them, and that hence this novel was at least in part critical of society. Assuming that I am right in saying that, it is therefore impressive that a man of the nineteenth century could write a novel that, however tangentially, was aware of the problems that women faced in the society he lived in. I say "man of the nineteenth century" but in reality, I wonder if is possible for a man of the twenty-first century to be that aware of the struggles that women nowadays go through every single day. Perhaps we are more aware of them now. Hence us now using words like "patriarchy" to refer to something that was left unsaid in Anna Karenina. That awareness is what makes Anna Karenina so special, and so worth reading and recommending to others.

Postwar

 Here might be a bold statement: this is the most important book I have ever read in my life. I believe anyone wanting to understand the world we live in would find this book massively edifying, but that would be especially the case for those living in Europe. As my mathematics teacher, Elina Beliaeva, once said in class: "History opens your eyes". I gasped, I cried, I shivered, and I was overcome with passion learning about the peoples of Europe, their struggles, their beliefs. I was impressed by how much better I could understand the contemporary scene in Europe by reading this book. At times it felt uncannily prophetic, and that feeling was enhanced when I reminded myself that Postwar was published in 2005 and that Tony Judt, sadly, passed away in 2010.
  I am reminded of what my friend Emily Krüger once tried to explain to me about the differences between the ways in which a State can punish its people and those in which international justice deals with conflicts between States: there is no way in which a State can put another State in prison. But there is more to that. This book made me think of the limits of "cancel culture". Of how it is virtually impossible to rid a whole population of their ideology—I am thinking here of the failed efforts of "de-Nazification". We are stuck in a world with so many ways of thinking, and we have to come to terms with that.
  Postwar's epilogue's essay "From the House of the Dead" is a masterpiece in its own right. I would like us to think a little more about the following quote:

"Unlike memory, which confirms and reinforces itself, history contributes to the disenchanment of the world. Most of what it has to offer is discomforting, even disruptive—which is why it is not always politically prudent to weild the past as a moral cudgel with which to beat and berate a people for its past sins."

(Judt, T. Postwar. p. 840. United Kindgom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: Penguin Books, 2006). That discomfort is typically overwhelming, and I am sure it is a major contributor to us sometimes choosing to remember the past in a way that may minimise that discomfort. That is a natural human weakness, one which we must vigilantly fight against every day of our life. 

The MANIAC

Having read When We Cease to Understand the World first, I am even less sure I like Mr Labatut's writing style. At least when it comes to narrating the life of well-known scientists like John von Neumann. I guess I am torn in two. On the one hand, I am happy that books like The MANIAC exist as they help more readers become aware of people and events that I believe enrich one's knowledge. On the other hand, I do not like how much of the text is based on speculation and, even worse, exaggeration to the point that may be harmful for the academic development of the younger generation. My biggest quarrel with the book lies in the way Mr von Neumann's intelect is exaggerated. By that I do not mean to deny that John von Neumann was a genius, but I do want to make clear that anyone has the potential for greatness—including, of course, academic greatness—and that John von Neumann was not as unique as the book tries really hard to convince the reader that he was. People, especially young people, might be misled into believing that one has to be born a genius, and may be discouraged to put the necessary effort to achieve great scientific discoveries. Furthermore, Mr Labatut's never ending insistence on delivering high praise for John von Neumann gets really tiresome and makes for a difficult read.
  Fortunately, even though the vast majority of the book is dedicated to John von Neumann, the short last part of the book brilliantly pivots to another topic: the boardgame go and AlphaGo. Mr Labatut's writing style is perfect in this last section of the book. Mixing mythology and fact in a way that the line between those two is never blurry, which consequently made me confident that I was learning new things without the need to worry that I might be misled into believing that fictional parts of the book might be real. The last part of the book was so compelling that I read it in just one go, as I was unable to stop reading. That was a refreshing change, especially after the tedious litany on how great John von Neumann's intelect was.