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gjram's review against another edition
dark
reflective
sad
slow-paced
5.0
A terrible book I will deeply consider for the rest of my life.
"I am nothing, obviously, but since for so long I wanted to be something, I fail to smother that aspiration, that will: It exists because it has existed, it belabours me and prevails, though I reject it."
" Each time I have a lapse of memory, I think of the anguish which must
"I am nothing, obviously, but since for so long I wanted to be something, I fail to smother that aspiration, that will: It exists because it has existed, it belabours me and prevails, though I reject it."
" Each time I have a lapse of memory, I think of the anguish which must
afflict those who know they no longer remember anything. But something
tells me that after a certain time a secret joy possesses them, a joy they would not agree to trade for any of their memories, even the most stirring..."
constance2705's review against another edition
1.0
this man had depression and insomnia and it shows
arcanumxiii's review against another edition
2.0
Honestly, it's well written. But the overall feeling I got is very similar to what an angry, depressed teenager would say on Twitter now a day. There's some high point, but so many low one... And that's coming from someone that is not described as having a jolly spirit!
My take? Skim it.
My take? Skim it.
racheltheripper's review against another edition
4.0
This was a fun read for the little absurdist in me.
blackoxford's review against another edition
5.0
Life Inside the Bubble
I feel entitled to interpret and respond to Cioran’s aphoristic mode with some of the same chiastic development (even if not nearly as witty):
Homo sapiens, uniquely in the animal kingdom, lives in a bubble of language. He (and she) is so immured in this bubble that language and experience are inextricably confounded. The consequence of this involuntary universal peonage is that everyone substitutes things with words and responds to words as if they were things. It’s the cost of living in the bubble.
Reality is what happens. Everything else is literature.
Literature is an evolved form of language. It is constituted by an ideal philosophy, and ideal religion, and an ideal politics. Or at least as ideal as can be reached by Homo sapiens.
The philosophy of literature is empirically grounded on observation: human beings are the only story-telling animal. Other sentient beings use gestures, sounds, words, phrases, even sentences to communicate with each other. Only people connect words in complex creative ways. This is a blessing and a curse. It makes life inside the language bubble bearable but more or less isolates story-tellers from experience since the stories they tell create their own experience. No one has ever found a way to untangle the two (the attempt is the failed science of epistemology).
To compensate for the consequences of entrapment inside the bubble human beings have invented a religion of language (and a language of religion) that tells the story (actually many stories) of what exists outside the bubble. This of course is paradoxical since that which is beyond the bubble is reality, which as soon as it is brought inside the bubble becomes literature. Prompted by this contradiction, some people declare their language about things outside the bubble to be sacred, thus making life inside the bubble toxic. These people are idolatrous and call those who are not idolaters: atheists, agnostics, non-conformists, dreamers, and sometimes artists, by which they mean useless.
Those who recognise the existence of the bubble and its implications strive to keep story-telling free from such ossification. Feeling in need of support in a hostile world, they too have succumbed to the religious impulse but in a very different way. Their alternative religion is a kind of ethical politics which allows any story to be told and heard. They make no claims to knowing what is outside the bubble or approaching closer to it by working hard at story-telling within the bubble. Their life consists of the unrestricted exchange of words in unusual and unexpected combinations. They often allude to what they imagine might be outside the bubble but remain interested in the imaginations of others. From this they derive pleasure from which many other inhabitants of the bubble take offence.
Typically, those who take offence, whether religious or not, claim that the imaginative new stories are not reflections of reality and should be ignored or even banned as dangerous. This, of course, is a story of limited imagination (and probably a restricted vocabulary; they tend to occur together). Such stories have little weight unless accompanied by violence. Violence - physical, psychological, and spiritual - is the only effective method which allows reality to enter the bubble. Violence shatters the bubble completely. This those offended perceive as satisfying.
Literature has no defense against violence. The bubble is an aberration, as fragile, ephemeral, and temporary as the language upon which it is based.
In the end violence, that is to say, reality prevails.
Of course Cioran is a laconic genius; so he summarises the situation much more compactly: "As long as you live on this side of the terrible, you will find words to express it; once you know it from inside, you will no longer find a single one." It is difficult to cope with such terseness, even among the literate. Such is the character of good literature.
I feel entitled to interpret and respond to Cioran’s aphoristic mode with some of the same chiastic development (even if not nearly as witty):
Homo sapiens, uniquely in the animal kingdom, lives in a bubble of language. He (and she) is so immured in this bubble that language and experience are inextricably confounded. The consequence of this involuntary universal peonage is that everyone substitutes things with words and responds to words as if they were things. It’s the cost of living in the bubble.
Reality is what happens. Everything else is literature.
Literature is an evolved form of language. It is constituted by an ideal philosophy, and ideal religion, and an ideal politics. Or at least as ideal as can be reached by Homo sapiens.
The philosophy of literature is empirically grounded on observation: human beings are the only story-telling animal. Other sentient beings use gestures, sounds, words, phrases, even sentences to communicate with each other. Only people connect words in complex creative ways. This is a blessing and a curse. It makes life inside the language bubble bearable but more or less isolates story-tellers from experience since the stories they tell create their own experience. No one has ever found a way to untangle the two (the attempt is the failed science of epistemology).
To compensate for the consequences of entrapment inside the bubble human beings have invented a religion of language (and a language of religion) that tells the story (actually many stories) of what exists outside the bubble. This of course is paradoxical since that which is beyond the bubble is reality, which as soon as it is brought inside the bubble becomes literature. Prompted by this contradiction, some people declare their language about things outside the bubble to be sacred, thus making life inside the bubble toxic. These people are idolatrous and call those who are not idolaters: atheists, agnostics, non-conformists, dreamers, and sometimes artists, by which they mean useless.
Those who recognise the existence of the bubble and its implications strive to keep story-telling free from such ossification. Feeling in need of support in a hostile world, they too have succumbed to the religious impulse but in a very different way. Their alternative religion is a kind of ethical politics which allows any story to be told and heard. They make no claims to knowing what is outside the bubble or approaching closer to it by working hard at story-telling within the bubble. Their life consists of the unrestricted exchange of words in unusual and unexpected combinations. They often allude to what they imagine might be outside the bubble but remain interested in the imaginations of others. From this they derive pleasure from which many other inhabitants of the bubble take offence.
Typically, those who take offence, whether religious or not, claim that the imaginative new stories are not reflections of reality and should be ignored or even banned as dangerous. This, of course, is a story of limited imagination (and probably a restricted vocabulary; they tend to occur together). Such stories have little weight unless accompanied by violence. Violence - physical, psychological, and spiritual - is the only effective method which allows reality to enter the bubble. Violence shatters the bubble completely. This those offended perceive as satisfying.
Literature has no defense against violence. The bubble is an aberration, as fragile, ephemeral, and temporary as the language upon which it is based.
In the end violence, that is to say, reality prevails.
Of course Cioran is a laconic genius; so he summarises the situation much more compactly: "As long as you live on this side of the terrible, you will find words to express it; once you know it from inside, you will no longer find a single one." It is difficult to cope with such terseness, even among the literate. Such is the character of good literature.
deardostoevsky's review against another edition
5.0
Rust Cohle, in True Detective quotes,
'I think human consciousness was a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist, by natural law.'
It is one of the most talked about quote from the season, however what is not talked about is what follows, which is, his partner, very normally, shrugging off this idea as awful.
This human tendency of being unable to relate with the realities of life and then enwrapping it with shallow meanings in the guise of happiness and countenance is also a very depressing thought, which is hardly shrugged off.
Cioran also has a similar distaste for consciousness,
'Consciousness is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in the flesh.'
and
'Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy.'
The title of Cioran's masterpiece is questioning the question which arises with the gift of life; 'the trouble of it'. And Cioran answers it perfectly.
These collections of aphorisms, quite blatantly despairing through the existence of man and his quest of importance and meaning, explains the dread of it all, perhaps pointing towards an existence of non-existence, by just being.
"You are against everything that's been done since the last war," said the very up-to-date lady.
"You've got the wrong date: I'm against everything that's been done since Adam."
I would need every quote to completely justify the infinite magnitude of brilliance carried throughout the book.
Also, one of the most outstanding thing was that it was a very easy read, quite unexpected given the heavy meanings the two hundred pages carried.
This was my first dialogue with Cioran and I will definitely keep visiting it.
'I think human consciousness was a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist, by natural law.'
It is one of the most talked about quote from the season, however what is not talked about is what follows, which is, his partner, very normally, shrugging off this idea as awful.
This human tendency of being unable to relate with the realities of life and then enwrapping it with shallow meanings in the guise of happiness and countenance is also a very depressing thought, which is hardly shrugged off.
Cioran also has a similar distaste for consciousness,
'Consciousness is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in the flesh.'
and
'Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy.'
The title of Cioran's masterpiece is questioning the question which arises with the gift of life; 'the trouble of it'. And Cioran answers it perfectly.
These collections of aphorisms, quite blatantly despairing through the existence of man and his quest of importance and meaning, explains the dread of it all, perhaps pointing towards an existence of non-existence, by just being.
"You are against everything that's been done since the last war," said the very up-to-date lady.
"You've got the wrong date: I'm against everything that's been done since Adam."
I would need every quote to completely justify the infinite magnitude of brilliance carried throughout the book.
Also, one of the most outstanding thing was that it was a very easy read, quite unexpected given the heavy meanings the two hundred pages carried.
This was my first dialogue with Cioran and I will definitely keep visiting it.
stoness2112's review against another edition
3.0
Was surprised by but grew to like the form of continuous, separated, short quotations. Some I deeply related to, other entire sections passed me by.
suchaprettyhouse's review against another edition
4.0
most of the religious references went over my head but i really liked it regardless