Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.49 AVERAGE
3.49 AVERAGE
This book was profoundly disturbing to me on so many levels. At various points in the book, I almost had to put it down because I was so heartsick. (Before I begin my praise of this amazing work - I do have to ask...this is a work for young adults? Seriously?)
When I added this book to my LT list - I tagged it as Fiction and Science Fiction. When I started the book - I was sure I was reading some sort of Gothic, maybe post-apocalyptic cautionary tale. When I found out the book was set in pre-Revolutionary Boston - I was shocked.
Once I got over that...I was then shocked to find out that Octavian and his mother were slaves. I kept having to change my mindset as I went through the book...one of the reasons I think I was so affected by it. I was just starting to wrap my mind around the "knowledge for knowledge's sake - consequences be damned" philosophy of the "college" when the sickening reality of Octavian and his mother's imprisonment set in. The frills and finery were torn away to reveal the true inhumanity of their situation.
Again - this book was disturbing on so many levels. Was I more bothered by Octavian's defense mechanisms when confronted by despicable acts" "...after I saw the philosophers of this college acquire a docile child deprived of reason and speech...beat her to the point of gagging and swooning; after such experiments as these, I became most wondrous observant, and often stared unmoving at a wall for some hours together." (Reading that passage again turns my stomach.)
Or was I more disturbed by the complete lack of hope that permeates the book: "Do you feel it child?" he asked. "The wall is gone. Space is gone from behind us." I could feel nothing. "He said, "All that is there now is the eye of God." He shivered. "The pupil is black, and as large as a world." And later, "At long last, you may no longer distinguish what binds you from what is you."
Or was I most saddened by the hideous irony that the men who gave Octavian freedom of the mind were the ones that denied him the freedom of his body. "They gave me a tongue; and the stopped it up, so they would not have to hear it crying." And "...they told me of color, that it was an illusion of the eye, an event in the perceiver's mind, not in the object, they told me that color had no reality...And then they imprisoned me in darkness; and though there was no color there, I still was black, and they still were white; and for that, they bound and gagged me."
And I don't even have the words to address the powerful juxtaposition of the colonists struggle and cries for "Freedom from tyranny!" against the silent reality of slavery.
The way that Anderson phrases the most hideous of realities in the most matter of fact ways is by turns, startling and beautiful. It makes me think that there are no other ways these words could be put together - that the way they are set upon the page is the only way they can exist together.
"What have you observed?"
"The solidity of shackles. They increase the solidity of the body. When I walk free, I am not conscious of my solidity."
"Yes. Shackles, like all matter, are defined by resistance."
"Do not tell me," I said to them, "what is defined by resistance."
As I start into the above paragraph, I am observing as Octavian does. Then I am considering the truth of what he observes - that one does not FEEL freedom until one loses it. That it is difficult to experience a positive without knowing the negative. And then - with a killing blow - my eyes absorb that final sentence...and I feel ridiculous for not mourning Octavian's shackles with him...and then I feel a fierce admiration of his spirit and his refusal to accept shackles of the mind along with shackles of the body. All this - in under 50 words.
I am in awe.
This book made me feel like I do when watching movies like "Schindler's List" or "Saving Private Ryan". Every molecule in my body and soul rebels against the horror I am a witness to. All I can think about is turning my eyes away, making it stop, which is the one thing I am not allowed to do. These atrocities existed, they were real. Humans were and are capable of such evil, such cruelty, such viciousness. It is important to me that every once in a while, I remind myself of this. I am so incredibly lucky to have been born in the circumstances I was, and to have been given the privileges I have, and to have lived in the time an place I do. The least I can do is to acknowledge the pain of those who are not as lucky as I.
This book, like those movies, is one where the reader cannot put aside after finishing and think, "It was just a movie/book." These times and events were real. These things happened, even if details have been changed.
Octavian, and those real people he is representative of, experienced horrors I hope I never do. Horrors that most of our world would say happened in the past..and yet we all know are happening every day - somewhere, to someone. My soul aches for those who are robbed of their humanity by beings inhuman themselves.
Because I am who I am, I must end this review with a beautiful and tragic set of passages - mirror images of the same truth:
"I lifted up the first, blank, page, and surveyed those beneath, to see, as Bono quoth, what the man on the street was wearing. It was a catalogue of horrors. Page after page of Negroes in bridles, strapped to walls,...masks of iron with metal mouth bits...razored necklaces...collars of spikes that supported the head..."
"...Mr. Gitney burned Bono's fashion catallogue an hour later."
"Let us rid ourselves," he said, "of this noisome object."
"But I could not rid myself of it. It was the common property of us all."
Previous to this - there was one of the few glimmers of hope in the book:
"Music hath its land of origin; and yet it is also its own country, its own sovereign power, and all make take refuge there, and all, once settled, may claim it as their own, and all may meet there in amity; and these instruments, as surely as instruments of torture, belong to all of us."
Octavian and his story belongs to all of us. Though not as fully to those who experience such events in their lifetime...it belongs to those of us who must make sure that the realities contained within the fiction become less and less prevalent. We need these "noisome objects" today more than ever.
Any time I find myself feeling complacent about our world? I need only look at the cover of this book.
When I added this book to my LT list - I tagged it as Fiction and Science Fiction. When I started the book - I was sure I was reading some sort of Gothic, maybe post-apocalyptic cautionary tale. When I found out the book was set in pre-Revolutionary Boston - I was shocked.
Once I got over that...I was then shocked to find out that Octavian and his mother were slaves. I kept having to change my mindset as I went through the book...one of the reasons I think I was so affected by it. I was just starting to wrap my mind around the "knowledge for knowledge's sake - consequences be damned" philosophy of the "college" when the sickening reality of Octavian and his mother's imprisonment set in. The frills and finery were torn away to reveal the true inhumanity of their situation.
Again - this book was disturbing on so many levels. Was I more bothered by Octavian's defense mechanisms when confronted by despicable acts" "...after I saw the philosophers of this college acquire a docile child deprived of reason and speech...beat her to the point of gagging and swooning; after such experiments as these, I became most wondrous observant, and often stared unmoving at a wall for some hours together." (Reading that passage again turns my stomach.)
Or was I more disturbed by the complete lack of hope that permeates the book: "Do you feel it child?" he asked. "The wall is gone. Space is gone from behind us." I could feel nothing. "He said, "All that is there now is the eye of God." He shivered. "The pupil is black, and as large as a world." And later, "At long last, you may no longer distinguish what binds you from what is you."
Or was I most saddened by the hideous irony that the men who gave Octavian freedom of the mind were the ones that denied him the freedom of his body. "They gave me a tongue; and the stopped it up, so they would not have to hear it crying." And "...they told me of color, that it was an illusion of the eye, an event in the perceiver's mind, not in the object, they told me that color had no reality...And then they imprisoned me in darkness; and though there was no color there, I still was black, and they still were white; and for that, they bound and gagged me."
And I don't even have the words to address the powerful juxtaposition of the colonists struggle and cries for "Freedom from tyranny!" against the silent reality of slavery.
The way that Anderson phrases the most hideous of realities in the most matter of fact ways is by turns, startling and beautiful. It makes me think that there are no other ways these words could be put together - that the way they are set upon the page is the only way they can exist together.
"What have you observed?"
"The solidity of shackles. They increase the solidity of the body. When I walk free, I am not conscious of my solidity."
"Yes. Shackles, like all matter, are defined by resistance."
"Do not tell me," I said to them, "what is defined by resistance."
As I start into the above paragraph, I am observing as Octavian does. Then I am considering the truth of what he observes - that one does not FEEL freedom until one loses it. That it is difficult to experience a positive without knowing the negative. And then - with a killing blow - my eyes absorb that final sentence...and I feel ridiculous for not mourning Octavian's shackles with him...and then I feel a fierce admiration of his spirit and his refusal to accept shackles of the mind along with shackles of the body. All this - in under 50 words.
I am in awe.
This book made me feel like I do when watching movies like "Schindler's List" or "Saving Private Ryan". Every molecule in my body and soul rebels against the horror I am a witness to. All I can think about is turning my eyes away, making it stop, which is the one thing I am not allowed to do. These atrocities existed, they were real. Humans were and are capable of such evil, such cruelty, such viciousness. It is important to me that every once in a while, I remind myself of this. I am so incredibly lucky to have been born in the circumstances I was, and to have been given the privileges I have, and to have lived in the time an place I do. The least I can do is to acknowledge the pain of those who are not as lucky as I.
This book, like those movies, is one where the reader cannot put aside after finishing and think, "It was just a movie/book." These times and events were real. These things happened, even if details have been changed.
Octavian, and those real people he is representative of, experienced horrors I hope I never do. Horrors that most of our world would say happened in the past..and yet we all know are happening every day - somewhere, to someone. My soul aches for those who are robbed of their humanity by beings inhuman themselves.
Because I am who I am, I must end this review with a beautiful and tragic set of passages - mirror images of the same truth:
"I lifted up the first, blank, page, and surveyed those beneath, to see, as Bono quoth, what the man on the street was wearing. It was a catalogue of horrors. Page after page of Negroes in bridles, strapped to walls,...masks of iron with metal mouth bits...razored necklaces...collars of spikes that supported the head..."
"...Mr. Gitney burned Bono's fashion catallogue an hour later."
"Let us rid ourselves," he said, "of this noisome object."
"But I could not rid myself of it. It was the common property of us all."
Previous to this - there was one of the few glimmers of hope in the book:
"Music hath its land of origin; and yet it is also its own country, its own sovereign power, and all make take refuge there, and all, once settled, may claim it as their own, and all may meet there in amity; and these instruments, as surely as instruments of torture, belong to all of us."
Octavian and his story belongs to all of us. Though not as fully to those who experience such events in their lifetime...it belongs to those of us who must make sure that the realities contained within the fiction become less and less prevalent. We need these "noisome objects" today more than ever.
Any time I find myself feeling complacent about our world? I need only look at the cover of this book.
The pure artistry was amazing; the word choice, the similes, and the characters. The words where like magic to the ears. Though the word where amazing, the plot was at first confusing at the beginning, understandable, then at last slightly boring.
It has a bit of a violent beginning. Within about the first twenty pages, I had read about scientists who threw cats of scaffolding to see at what height they could not reorient themselves and timed how long it took a dog to drown. I wouldn't recommend it if you're really squeamish. Other than that, I really enjoy the plot so far.
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
inspiring
lighthearted
mysterious
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Tried listening to the audiobook, but I couldn't get into it.
Very dense book with a lot of historical references. It is written from the voice of someone in Colonial times and uses a lot of old vocabulary too. It’s a very confusing book that I was able to get through from conversations in class that helped me comprehend the complexity. I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, so someone more familiar with this genre may enjoy it more.
Very readable...darker than I thought I would be. Definitely a different take on American history during this period.
Anderson showcases deft skill in writing outside of personal experience and the power of creating a unique emotional-linguistic lexicon to carry heavy weight in this kind of tricky endeavor. By writing within a strict set of emotional parameters, Anderson is able to leverage language through the narration by Octavian Nothing that might otherwise be criticized as belonging too much to the author, rather than the character. Instead, the abrupt loss of this personal lexicon at the dissection of Octavian’s mother demonstrates for any doubters that the texture and language of the novel have been specific to Octavian’s telling of his own story all along. Aside from the clear research skill and empathetic imagination that Anderson put into the craft of the novel, one of the biggest technical lessons that can be learned as a writer from Octavian Nothing is about the necessity of using that research and that empathy to create a protagonist in rich fullness through perspective and voice.