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clapton_pond's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
fast-paced
3.0
lizawall's review against another edition
4.0
I read this book while in a haze of pain/painkillers, after having been holed up for several days after having spilled some coffee on my legs and gotten some crazy burns. I have to assume these circumstances affected my impression of it which is extreme and immediate and a little bit hysterical, much like the book itself. In fact, I am pretty sure I am overidentifying in a kind of absurd way, but I have to say in my defense that the book invites it.
What struck me most while reading Agape Agape was the sense that we are all absolutely doomed with no hope of any kind of authentic experience in our lives, much less authentic art, but since we have never known anything better all we can do is pursue more, more, more mediocrity and false experience in our increasingly mechanized and soulless age, the falcon cannot hear the falconer, things fall apart, the center cannot hold, our bodies are falling apart, our life work is unaccomplished and even if it were accomplished there would be none among the duped, doped and stupefied masses to read, hear or comprehend it. I thought of, you know, American Idol, celebration of it-could-be-me mediocrity. I thought about how it seems like more people want to learn how to write than learn how to read, and don't seem to consider the latter a prerequisite for the former. I thought about my own slide into indulged, entertained, look-I'm-participating-on-by-writing-this-review-on-goodreads inanity. Then I thought about how even reading this book is kind of like playing a player piano because it's pauseless stream of consciousness enters your own so that it's as though you are thinking these thoughts yourself and participating, but actually it is just taking you over. Then I thought it was time to finish up the book, get out of the house, and lay off the vicodin for awhile.
After taking just a step back (but only a little one, I should have waited longer, I think) the strongest impression I was left with was the sense of the limitation of the author. While I was reading it felt absolutely true that the player piano was a sign and symbol of the wearing down of some previous not-exactly-delineated time when experience could have been authentic and art both true and truly appreciated, maybe here is an example:
"...what happened? What happened! Go back to that biggest thrill in music is your own participation where did it tip, where did it go from participating even in these cockneyed embraces with Beethoven and Wagner and, and Hofmann and Grieg and these ghostly hands on the, what took it from entertaining to being entertained? From this phantom entertainer to this bleary stupefied pleasure seeking, what breaks your heart. 'Discover your unsuspected talent' that's what breaks your heart, losing that whole, that loss of a kind of innocence that crept in, drifting away of that romantic intoxication that was really quite ridiculous but it was, no it was really quite wonderful, for the first time music in homes anyone's home 'every member of the household may be a performer' this ad says, discovering his unsuspected talent with his feet, this romantic illusion of participating, playing Beethoven yourself that was being destroyed by the technology that had made it possible in the first place..."
Everyone knows this feeling, right? And by coincidence I was reading Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" at the same time, and I want to write about that more. But here, even though the feeling behind his argument is so forcefully conveyed, the argument itself is not quite made. The feeling in the end is that the book has failed, and the sense of this failure was more compelling than the argument itself. It ends, "That was Youth with its reckless exuberance when all things were possible pursued by Age where we are now, looking back at what we destroyed, what we tore away from that self who could do more, and its work that's become my enemy because that's what I can tell you about, that Youth who could do anything." And THAT is what breaks your heart.
What struck me most while reading Agape Agape was the sense that we are all absolutely doomed with no hope of any kind of authentic experience in our lives, much less authentic art, but since we have never known anything better all we can do is pursue more, more, more mediocrity and false experience in our increasingly mechanized and soulless age, the falcon cannot hear the falconer, things fall apart, the center cannot hold, our bodies are falling apart, our life work is unaccomplished and even if it were accomplished there would be none among the duped, doped and stupefied masses to read, hear or comprehend it. I thought of, you know, American Idol, celebration of it-could-be-me mediocrity. I thought about how it seems like more people want to learn how to write than learn how to read, and don't seem to consider the latter a prerequisite for the former. I thought about my own slide into indulged, entertained, look-I'm-participating-on-by-writing-this-review-on-goodreads inanity. Then I thought about how even reading this book is kind of like playing a player piano because it's pauseless stream of consciousness enters your own so that it's as though you are thinking these thoughts yourself and participating, but actually it is just taking you over. Then I thought it was time to finish up the book, get out of the house, and lay off the vicodin for awhile.
After taking just a step back (but only a little one, I should have waited longer, I think) the strongest impression I was left with was the sense of the limitation of the author. While I was reading it felt absolutely true that the player piano was a sign and symbol of the wearing down of some previous not-exactly-delineated time when experience could have been authentic and art both true and truly appreciated, maybe here is an example:
"...what happened? What happened! Go back to that biggest thrill in music is your own participation where did it tip, where did it go from participating even in these cockneyed embraces with Beethoven and Wagner and, and Hofmann and Grieg and these ghostly hands on the, what took it from entertaining to being entertained? From this phantom entertainer to this bleary stupefied pleasure seeking, what breaks your heart. 'Discover your unsuspected talent' that's what breaks your heart, losing that whole, that loss of a kind of innocence that crept in, drifting away of that romantic intoxication that was really quite ridiculous but it was, no it was really quite wonderful, for the first time music in homes anyone's home 'every member of the household may be a performer' this ad says, discovering his unsuspected talent with his feet, this romantic illusion of participating, playing Beethoven yourself that was being destroyed by the technology that had made it possible in the first place..."
Everyone knows this feeling, right? And by coincidence I was reading Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" at the same time, and I want to write about that more. But here, even though the feeling behind his argument is so forcefully conveyed, the argument itself is not quite made. The feeling in the end is that the book has failed, and the sense of this failure was more compelling than the argument itself. It ends, "That was Youth with its reckless exuberance when all things were possible pursued by Age where we are now, looking back at what we destroyed, what we tore away from that self who could do more, and its work that's become my enemy because that's what I can tell you about, that Youth who could do anything." And THAT is what breaks your heart.
evetoi's review against another edition
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
zach_collins's review against another edition
3.0
As much as I enjoyed JR, this thin volume was fairly underwhelming. Intelligence, wit, and passion, but no substance. From what little I have read, it is obvious Agape offers nothing new, but instead revisits the style and substance of Gaddis' earlier works. Flash in a pan.
On the other hand, as it is a product of the enviable Gaddis, Agape is still a brilliant flash.
On the other hand, as it is a product of the enviable Gaddis, Agape is still a brilliant flash.
eli7eb's review against another edition
challenging
mysterious
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.25
I did not get it :(
masonanddixon's review against another edition
4.0
The last will and testament of a dying man desperately seeking authenticity in a world that shuns it. Written so close to Gaddis' own death, one can't help but think of this as more a memoir than a fiction. Immensely sad.
casbee's review against another edition
informative
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
4.0
breadandmushrooms's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
patkohn's review against another edition
challenging
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0