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parmyc's Reviews (271)
“The room was dark and cold. Like my soul.”
I should’ve dropped this book the second he said this because ain’t no way something good would come out of someone THAT cringe. Disgusting. Disrespectful. Cringe. Stupid. An absolute dumb fuck.
I should’ve dropped this book the second he said this because ain’t no way something good would come out of someone THAT cringe. Disgusting. Disrespectful. Cringe. Stupid. An absolute dumb fuck.
به نظر میرسه قرار نیست هیچ یک از اثار تولستوی چیزی بیش از ۳ ستاره از من بگیرن.
شبهای بسیاری بود که با خود گفتم «سیاهچاله خواهم شد.»
یکی از دوستانم به من گفته بود هر وقت حجم انبوهی از انرژی در یک نقطه فشرده شوند، تشکیل سیاهچاله خواهند داد.
شبهای بسیاری، پس از ساعتها بغض و گریه، درست همان زمانی که از درد ذهنی عضلات بدنم درد میکرد، اطمینان داشتم که سیاهچاله خواهم شد.
مگر انسان چقدر کشش دارد؟ این مفاصلِ به ظاهر خستگی ناپذیر تا کجا میتوانند بار هستی را به دوش بکشند؟ مگر میشود این حجم از غم را به درون راه داد و زنده ماند؟ مگر نه اینکه هر ظرفی ظرفیتی دارد؟ این حجم از غصه یک جا از من بیرون خواهد زد. من را در خود خواهد بلعید. گوشت تنم به دیوار اتاق خواهد پاشید.
نابود خواهم شد.
اما هیچکس به من نگفته بود که سیاهچاله شدنی در کار نیست. کسی نمیدانست انسان تا کی میتوانست هر روز غصه بخورد و غصه بخورد تا درنهایت، در نقطه‌ای از تاریخ، سیاهچاله شود. ظرف تنِ ما ظرفیتی نداشت.
ما، جسمی بی نهایت برای گنجایش غم داشتیم.
سالها بعد، زمانی که شاید در نقطه‌ای از تاریخ با سیاهچاله شدن فاصله داشتم، به این فکر خواهم کرد که چطور سال ۲۰۲۲ میلادی به مو رسیدم اما سیاهچاله نشدم. که چطور با وجود تمام غم هایی که هر روز بر سرم میریخت، ناامیدی هایی که به صورتم میزد و اشک هایی که از قلبم جاری میشد خوابیدم، بیدار شدم و فردا روز دیگری بود.
شاید روزی خوابیدم، بیدار نشدم.
شاید روزی نخوابیدم، بیدار شدم.
شاید روزی بیدار ماندم، سیاهچاله شدم.
امروز اما، میخوابم، بیدار که شدم، به من بگو که امروز دیروز نیست.
بیدار که شدم، به من بگو غصه ها سیاهچاله شده اند و ما مانده ایم.
به من بگو فردا، روز تازه‌ای خواهد بود.
پ.ن: در راستای فشار وارده به جسم و روحم، امسال بیش از هرسالی کتاب خواندم. کاستی های جهان یک جا باید برای ذهن مجروحم جبران میشد. ۱۰۰ جلد کتاب برای من چیز کمی نبود. در کنار درس و دانشگاه، برنامه های غیرقابل پیش بینی خانواده، فروپاشی های روانی پیاپی و سردردهای تحمل ناپذیر، همیشه جایی برای کتاب بود و به قول عزیزترینم، داستایفسکی، اگر آدمی در زندگی فقط برای ۱ دقیقه خوشحال باشد، میتوان گفت که خوشبخت بوده. من این خوشبختیِ کوچک اما قابل تحسین را مدیون همین ۱۰۰ جلد کتابِ ناقابل ام.
یکی از دوستانم به من گفته بود هر وقت حجم انبوهی از انرژی در یک نقطه فشرده شوند، تشکیل سیاهچاله خواهند داد.
شبهای بسیاری، پس از ساعتها بغض و گریه، درست همان زمانی که از درد ذهنی عضلات بدنم درد میکرد، اطمینان داشتم که سیاهچاله خواهم شد.
مگر انسان چقدر کشش دارد؟ این مفاصلِ به ظاهر خستگی ناپذیر تا کجا میتوانند بار هستی را به دوش بکشند؟ مگر میشود این حجم از غم را به درون راه داد و زنده ماند؟ مگر نه اینکه هر ظرفی ظرفیتی دارد؟ این حجم از غصه یک جا از من بیرون خواهد زد. من را در خود خواهد بلعید. گوشت تنم به دیوار اتاق خواهد پاشید.
نابود خواهم شد.
اما هیچکس به من نگفته بود که سیاهچاله شدنی در کار نیست. کسی نمیدانست انسان تا کی میتوانست هر روز غصه بخورد و غصه بخورد تا درنهایت، در نقطه‌ای از تاریخ، سیاهچاله شود. ظرف تنِ ما ظرفیتی نداشت.
ما، جسمی بی نهایت برای گنجایش غم داشتیم.
سالها بعد، زمانی که شاید در نقطه‌ای از تاریخ با سیاهچاله شدن فاصله داشتم، به این فکر خواهم کرد که چطور سال ۲۰۲۲ میلادی به مو رسیدم اما سیاهچاله نشدم. که چطور با وجود تمام غم هایی که هر روز بر سرم میریخت، ناامیدی هایی که به صورتم میزد و اشک هایی که از قلبم جاری میشد خوابیدم، بیدار شدم و فردا روز دیگری بود.
شاید روزی خوابیدم، بیدار نشدم.
شاید روزی نخوابیدم، بیدار شدم.
شاید روزی بیدار ماندم، سیاهچاله شدم.
امروز اما، میخوابم، بیدار که شدم، به من بگو که امروز دیروز نیست.
بیدار که شدم، به من بگو غصه ها سیاهچاله شده اند و ما مانده ایم.
به من بگو فردا، روز تازه‌ای خواهد بود.
پ.ن: در راستای فشار وارده به جسم و روحم، امسال بیش از هرسالی کتاب خواندم. کاستی های جهان یک جا باید برای ذهن مجروحم جبران میشد. ۱۰۰ جلد کتاب برای من چیز کمی نبود. در کنار درس و دانشگاه، برنامه های غیرقابل پیش بینی خانواده، فروپاشی های روانی پیاپی و سردردهای تحمل ناپذیر، همیشه جایی برای کتاب بود و به قول عزیزترینم، داستایفسکی، اگر آدمی در زندگی فقط برای ۱ دقیقه خوشحال باشد، میتوان گفت که خوشبخت بوده. من این خوشبختیِ کوچک اما قابل تحسین را مدیون همین ۱۰۰ جلد کتابِ ناقابل ام.
“آیا خدا اگر اشتباه کند همچنان خداست؟”
تو مقصری، نه مزدورانت. علیه توست که من سر به عصیان بر می‌دارم، نه علیه آنها. تو میلیون ها دنیا داری ولی نمیدانی چه باید بکنی؟ قدرت مطلقت چه بی اثر است! آیا کوهی از وظایف بر گردنت است و نمی توانی آنها را از هم تفکیک کنی؟ عجب خدایی هستی! آیا قساوتت حکمتی است که ما از آن سر در نمی آوریم؛ پس چه ناقص خلقمان کرده ای!
اگر محکوم بر رنج بردنیم چگونه است که همه یکسان رنج نمی بریم؟ اگر رحمتت برای همه کافی نیست، دست کم عادلانه تقسیمش کن! اگر گناهی مرتکب شدم، نیتم آن بوده که کار خوبی انجام دهم! چرا نگذاشتی به پرنده های کوچک غذا بدهم؟ اگر تو خود به آنها غذا میدهی پس چه بد این کار را میکنی. آه ای کاش که هنوز می توانستم انکارت کنم. اما تو اینجایی. تنها، بی رحم، ابدی، توانا بر همه چیز، قادر مطلق و بالاترین مرجع؛ و هیچ امیدی نیست که مجازات شامل حال خودت شود، که مرگ تو را فرا بخواند، که دلت به رحم بیاید.
من لطفت را نمیخواهم! مرا به جهنم بفرست!
— یک اثر نسبتاً کوتاه از نویسنده ای که ابداً در رسوندن منظورش کوتاهی نکرده.
تو مقصری، نه مزدورانت. علیه توست که من سر به عصیان بر می‌دارم، نه علیه آنها. تو میلیون ها دنیا داری ولی نمیدانی چه باید بکنی؟ قدرت مطلقت چه بی اثر است! آیا کوهی از وظایف بر گردنت است و نمی توانی آنها را از هم تفکیک کنی؟ عجب خدایی هستی! آیا قساوتت حکمتی است که ما از آن سر در نمی آوریم؛ پس چه ناقص خلقمان کرده ای!
اگر محکوم بر رنج بردنیم چگونه است که همه یکسان رنج نمی بریم؟ اگر رحمتت برای همه کافی نیست، دست کم عادلانه تقسیمش کن! اگر گناهی مرتکب شدم، نیتم آن بوده که کار خوبی انجام دهم! چرا نگذاشتی به پرنده های کوچک غذا بدهم؟ اگر تو خود به آنها غذا میدهی پس چه بد این کار را میکنی. آه ای کاش که هنوز می توانستم انکارت کنم. اما تو اینجایی. تنها، بی رحم، ابدی، توانا بر همه چیز، قادر مطلق و بالاترین مرجع؛ و هیچ امیدی نیست که مجازات شامل حال خودت شود، که مرگ تو را فرا بخواند، که دلت به رحم بیاید.
من لطفت را نمیخواهم! مرا به جهنم بفرست!
— یک اثر نسبتاً کوتاه از نویسنده ای که ابداً در رسوندن منظورش کوتاهی نکرده.
Every good review, in my opinion, needs a good start. A catchy headline is needed to make people go “hmm, so what next?” Or “wow, that sounds like a good critique.”
Ladies and gentlemen, here’s my intellectually quick to impress headline for TSH: WHAT THE FUCK?
The Secret History, undoubtedly, wins the “Most boring, uninteresting, overrated, totally not worth the hype, the writer had zero idea what she was talking about, what a waste of fucking time and money” Award of the year which is something, really. This book had no fucking plot besides killing off an annoying bitch and still, somehow, managed to be 700 pages long. I had never, in my professional reading life, came across a book that used so many words but actually said nothing. So, what the fuck even happened for 700 pages?
| Characters: Stereotypes. Everyone’s obsessed with Henry Winter but you can’t be as obsessed with him as Donna Tartt was. The amount of energy she put describing this boy is beyond me. He was such a cliché i can’t even describe his features without laughing. Glasses! Suits! Dark and mysterious! Knows it all! Good at everything! Cold and intelligent! Moral compass currently on a vacation! Knows 78 languages because why not! Probably got a degree at age 12! Meanwhile all the others share one braincell all together, there’s not much to talk about really, a bunch of minions, by some standards they look good too, some are rich some are broke, one got temper issues,one is an absolute arse, one looks kinda fem, the supposed MC is not even worth having a bold feature, whatever man, Henry loves his coffee black, write that down. There’s also this one girl in their group, Camila, that is only ever sexualized and apparently has no other reason to exist besides being pretty so that Richard can drool over in any chance given. Everyone has slept with everyone. there’s no end to that. You can’t really connect with any of these bitches because they’re either too shallow or badly described that they don’t even feel like a real character. Richard, you can sometimes feel related to, but definitely not when he thought about RAPING Camila because what the actual fuck was that. The guy that gets murdered, y’all know who he is, is constantly characterized as a sexist, racist, homophobe, annoying piece of trash that you never even “like” him. So you don’t feel shit when he’s finally dead. (A good murder case, in my opinion, are the ones that they kill off someone you had a reason to like at least. in some cases even those you loved! That makes it way more interesting than killing someone everyone already hated. What happened to mixed feelings in murder mysteries, Donna?) Wrapping up this category, sometimes you can tolerate a bad plot for good-written characters. In this case, abandon hope all ye who enter here.
| Plot: bitch, what plot? A group of fools kill another fool and that’s it. No sub-plots.No interesting turns of events. Nothing. It’s not even about the Latin classes you were promised it’ll be about! Richard was like “Yeah there’s this class that everyone looks interesting in it and they study Latin. I really wanna know what happens in those classes! What are they learning about?!?!?! Okay so i entered the classes now! I’m one of them! *fuck everything that happens in it i ain’t gonna speak about what makes this class and the professor so special you’re not gonna get any context here* so anyway we killed our mutual friend.” So no, you’re not gonna know anything about those classes beside that “What is beauty? Terror” shit that used to be a thing for a while on Dark Academia boards. But!!!! You’re gonna read about the boy’s funeral for 19 fucking pages!!! Details!!! Of all the grandkids and great grandparents!!! So important and worth reading about!! At some point, i started taking notes, making a list of all the sub-plots that were worth mentioning, and believe it or not, i ended up listing out 16 sub-plots only! 16 sub-plots for a 700 pages book! How is that even possible??? I am speechless in a George Costanza way.
For me, this book felt like something Donna Tartt was trying to prove to the world. Everytime i was reading it, i couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s only trying to use hard-to-pronounce words to show the audience how well-educated she is. Because unfortunately, as beautiful as those words were, they had nothing more to offer. No plot, no actual story, nothing to make me like this book. You read about it online and think “hmm. This sounds intense.” But when you actually read the book, you’ll realize that was all it was. An intense looking illusion. I’m sorry but no one can convince me that this book had something deeper in it than what i just said.
Point proven Donna, you’re smarter than those you hated back at college now. ( Also, Persian and Arabic are two different languages. If you’re so into this, you ought to know it.)
Ladies and gentlemen, here’s my intellectually quick to impress headline for TSH: WHAT THE FUCK?
The Secret History, undoubtedly, wins the “Most boring, uninteresting, overrated, totally not worth the hype, the writer had zero idea what she was talking about, what a waste of fucking time and money” Award of the year which is something, really. This book had no fucking plot besides killing off an annoying bitch and still, somehow, managed to be 700 pages long. I had never, in my professional reading life, came across a book that used so many words but actually said nothing. So, what the fuck even happened for 700 pages?
| Characters: Stereotypes. Everyone’s obsessed with Henry Winter but you can’t be as obsessed with him as Donna Tartt was. The amount of energy she put describing this boy is beyond me. He was such a cliché i can’t even describe his features without laughing. Glasses! Suits! Dark and mysterious! Knows it all! Good at everything! Cold and intelligent! Moral compass currently on a vacation! Knows 78 languages because why not! Probably got a degree at age 12! Meanwhile all the others share one braincell all together, there’s not much to talk about really, a bunch of minions, by some standards they look good too, some are rich some are broke, one got temper issues,one is an absolute arse, one looks kinda fem, the supposed MC is not even worth having a bold feature, whatever man, Henry loves his coffee black, write that down. There’s also this one girl in their group, Camila, that is only ever sexualized and apparently has no other reason to exist besides being pretty so that Richard can drool over in any chance given. Everyone has slept with everyone. there’s no end to that. You can’t really connect with any of these bitches because they’re either too shallow or badly described that they don’t even feel like a real character. Richard, you can sometimes feel related to, but definitely not when he thought about RAPING Camila because what the actual fuck was that. The guy that gets murdered, y’all know who he is, is constantly characterized as a sexist, racist, homophobe, annoying piece of trash that you never even “like” him. So you don’t feel shit when he’s finally dead. (A good murder case, in my opinion, are the ones that they kill off someone you had a reason to like at least. in some cases even those you loved! That makes it way more interesting than killing someone everyone already hated. What happened to mixed feelings in murder mysteries, Donna?) Wrapping up this category, sometimes you can tolerate a bad plot for good-written characters. In this case, abandon hope all ye who enter here.
| Plot: bitch, what plot? A group of fools kill another fool and that’s it. No sub-plots.No interesting turns of events. Nothing. It’s not even about the Latin classes you were promised it’ll be about! Richard was like “Yeah there’s this class that everyone looks interesting in it and they study Latin. I really wanna know what happens in those classes! What are they learning about?!?!?! Okay so i entered the classes now! I’m one of them! *fuck everything that happens in it i ain’t gonna speak about what makes this class and the professor so special you’re not gonna get any context here* so anyway we killed our mutual friend.” So no, you’re not gonna know anything about those classes beside that “What is beauty? Terror” shit that used to be a thing for a while on Dark Academia boards. But!!!! You’re gonna read about the boy’s funeral for 19 fucking pages!!! Details!!! Of all the grandkids and great grandparents!!! So important and worth reading about!! At some point, i started taking notes, making a list of all the sub-plots that were worth mentioning, and believe it or not, i ended up listing out 16 sub-plots only! 16 sub-plots for a 700 pages book! How is that even possible??? I am speechless in a George Costanza way.
For me, this book felt like something Donna Tartt was trying to prove to the world. Everytime i was reading it, i couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s only trying to use hard-to-pronounce words to show the audience how well-educated she is. Because unfortunately, as beautiful as those words were, they had nothing more to offer. No plot, no actual story, nothing to make me like this book. You read about it online and think “hmm. This sounds intense.” But when you actually read the book, you’ll realize that was all it was. An intense looking illusion. I’m sorry but no one can convince me that this book had something deeper in it than what i just said.
Point proven Donna, you’re smarter than those you hated back at college now. ( Also, Persian and Arabic are two different languages. If you’re so into this, you ought to know it.)
I have always been obsessed with the idea of having an older man in my life. As long as I remember, boys my age were never the center of my attention. They seemed incomplete. Always lacking. Some may find this a strange statement, I know how these days being into old guys is a thing people like to joke about, but it has really been a mindset of mine since i was 10.
My Dark Vanessa was a bizarre adventure of discovering what i believe to be right, now that I’m 10 years older. I started this book thinking “I don’t find the idea false or scandalous.” Thinking it can’t be so bad. If you’re with someone twice as your age, it means they already know most of the things they’re supposed to know, so you don’t have to deal with young boys who are not yet used to their own skin. But what I never actually thought about, was that this was not the point. If you’re dating someone twice as your age, they know all the things “you” don’t, so they can easily manipulate you into thinking or doing something you have no idea how wrong is. I was totally unaware of how easy it is to be coerced by someone who seems to know everything.
As someone who’s almost used to finding out she’s being watched by random old strangers in cafés or getting more attention from her professors comparing to her classmates, I always thought it is what it is. I’m usually sure about myself. But from time to time, I come across books that make me doubt what i believe to be correct. what I believe to be normal.
So when I say this book was enlightening for me, I mean it as in, It could be me. I could be Vanessa if I was not so scared of getting out of my comfort zone. For once, I’m actually glad I never got out of it because I know this could be my story.
I loved and despised Vanessa. Mostly, I had to remind myself that she was just a child. When you’re a child, allot of things make sense in their own way and sometimes, you like to think they still do. Even as an adult.
This book reminded me why I loved literature in the first place or what I wanted from it. I wanted to be slapped in the face. I wanted to feel things I’d rather not. I wanted to believe in something, lose my faith, find something new to believe in.
A huge recommendation to those who feel the same.
My Dark Vanessa was a bizarre adventure of discovering what i believe to be right, now that I’m 10 years older. I started this book thinking “I don’t find the idea false or scandalous.” Thinking it can’t be so bad. If you’re with someone twice as your age, it means they already know most of the things they’re supposed to know, so you don’t have to deal with young boys who are not yet used to their own skin. But what I never actually thought about, was that this was not the point. If you’re dating someone twice as your age, they know all the things “you” don’t, so they can easily manipulate you into thinking or doing something you have no idea how wrong is. I was totally unaware of how easy it is to be coerced by someone who seems to know everything.
As someone who’s almost used to finding out she’s being watched by random old strangers in cafés or getting more attention from her professors comparing to her classmates, I always thought it is what it is. I’m usually sure about myself. But from time to time, I come across books that make me doubt what i believe to be correct. what I believe to be normal.
So when I say this book was enlightening for me, I mean it as in, It could be me. I could be Vanessa if I was not so scared of getting out of my comfort zone. For once, I’m actually glad I never got out of it because I know this could be my story.
I loved and despised Vanessa. Mostly, I had to remind myself that she was just a child. When you’re a child, allot of things make sense in their own way and sometimes, you like to think they still do. Even as an adult.
This book reminded me why I loved literature in the first place or what I wanted from it. I wanted to be slapped in the face. I wanted to feel things I’d rather not. I wanted to believe in something, lose my faith, find something new to believe in.
A huge recommendation to those who feel the same.