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3.81 AVERAGE
3.81 AVERAGE
Not sure how to formulate my thoughts on books in general right now, but needless to say this bleak and depressing, but all too encompassing, novel was fantastic even if it is a huge downer but so immaculately written and conveyed.
challenging
dark
reflective
sad
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
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:
Yes
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I liked the writing style a and i honestly relate to Oba Yozo and some of the things he says in this book. I think the book was good but maybe my expectations were too high. I’m willing to read another book by him.
Mine has been a life of much shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.
It never occurred to me that they had been invented out of practical necessity; I could only suppose that riding underground instead of on the surface must be a novel and delightful past time.
People have told me, really more times than I can remember, ever since I was a small boy, how lucky I was, but I have always felt as if I were suffering in hell. It has seemed to me, in fact that those who called me lucky were incomparably more fortunate than I.
If my neighbours managed to survive without killing themselves, without going mad, maintaining an interest in political parties, not yielding to despair, resolutely pursuing the fight for existence, can their griefs really be genuine? Am I wrong in thinking that these people have become such complete egoists and are so convinced of the normality of their way of life that they have never once doubted themselves?
All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest.
This is how I happened to invent my clowning. It was the last quest for love I was to direct at human beings.
I was obsessed with the idea that since I lacked the strength to act in accordance with the truth, I might already have been disqualified from living among human beings.
As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be all right. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.
During the course of my life, I have wished innumerable times that I might meet with a violent death, but I have never once desired to kill anybody. I thought that in killing a dreaded adversary, I might actually be bringing him happiness.
The masters through their subjective perceptions created beauty out of trivialities. They did not hide their interest, even in things which were nauseatingly ugly, but soaked themselves in the pleasure of depicting them.
In dealings with other people I had always been on my guard lest those frightful silences occur, but since I was naturally slow of speech, I could only stave them off by a desperate recourse to clowning.
People talk of “ social outcasts.” The words, apparently denote the miserable losers of the world, the vicious ones, but I feel as though I have been a social outcast from the moment I was born. If ever I meet someone society has designated as an outcast, I invariably feel affection for him, an emotion which carries me away in melting tenderness.
The night I spent with that criminal’s wife was for me a night of liberation and happiness. But it lasted only one night in the morning when I woke and got out of bed, I was again the shallow poser of a clown.
She died. I was saved.
The Inglourious prophecy that women would fall for me, turned out just as he said, but the happy one, that I should certainly become a great artist, failed to materialize.
I suddenly became nostalgic for the days when I used to go from bar to bar drinking, and even for Horiki. I yearned with such desperation for freedom that I became weak and tearful.
I want to be a painter.
One of my tragic flaws is the compulsion to add some sort of embellishment to every situation a quality which has made people call me at times a liar, but I have almost never embellished in order to bring myself any advantage; it was rather that I had a strangulating fear of that cataclysmic change in the atmosphere, the instant the flow of a conversation flagged, and even when I knew that it would later turn to my disadvantage, I frequently felt obliged to add, almost inadvertently, my word of embellishment, out of a desire to please, born of my usual desperate mania for service.
I have always made it my practice to be pleasant to everybody, but I have not once actually experienced friendship.
I know that I’m liked by other people, but I seem to be deficient in the faculty to love others.
I’d marry her. I wanted once in my lifetime to know that great savage joy, no matter how immense the suffering that might ensue.
He could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost. His friendship had no other purpose, but to utilize me in whichever way would most further his own pleasures.
My happiness never stemmed entirely from my own vices, and I had no way of fighting anybody.
I feel so on edge I can’t stand it. I’m afraid I’m no good for anything.
I want to die. I want to die more than ever before. There’s no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it’s sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame. That dream of going on bicycles to see a waterfall framed in summer leaves it was not for the likes of me. All that can happen now is that one foul, humiliating sin will be piled on another, and my suffering will become only the more acute. I want to die. I must die. Living itself is the source of sin.
My unhappiness was the unhappiness of a person who could not say no. I had been intimidated by the fear that if I declined, something offered to me, a yawning crevice would open between the other person’s heart and myself, which could never be mended through all eternity.
Everything passes.
It just felt like watching Mad Men, in a bad way.
I guess I just don't get it like others do.
I guess I just don't get it like others do.
Este libro me ha dejado sin palabras, no sé muy bien qué decir. Siento que es lo que quiso ser (y fracasó estrepitosamente) A million little pieces.
Indigno de ser humano es un relato crudo y fascinante. Se trata de una lectura muy corta, pero me ha gustado muchísimo, aunque no sé si “gustar” es la palabra adecuada porque resulta continuamente angustioso y desesperante.
La historia es cruda, pero especialmente la manera que tiene el protagonista de ver el mundo te hace perder la paciencia y casi odiarle, casi no sentir compasión.
Lo recomiendo un motón
Indigno de ser humano es un relato crudo y fascinante. Se trata de una lectura muy corta, pero me ha gustado muchísimo, aunque no sé si “gustar” es la palabra adecuada porque resulta continuamente angustioso y desesperante.
La historia es cruda, pero especialmente la manera que tiene el protagonista de ver el mundo te hace perder la paciencia y casi odiarle, casi no sentir compasión.
Lo recomiendo un motón
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Bleak, introspective, and deeply unsettling. Dazai dives into alienation and self destruction with brutal honesty. It’s not an easy read, and I felt more disturbed than connected but that’s kind of the point. Haunting, if not entirely enjoyable.