Scan barcode
samue_l's reviews
131 reviews
Das Kapital: A Critique of Political Economy [Abridged] by Karl Marx
challenging
slow-paced
3.25
Facts.
So, I didn't enjoy reading this book. Marx is not eloquent and neither is the subject matter. But it is an extremely important work that is well worth the slog for anyone who cares about history or the working class, or the forces that dictate our lives under the capitalistic yoke of political economy. I do not think everyone should read this book, but I fully submit that its message should be spread through the minds of everyone who handles money.
The heart of capitalism is surplus value. It is infected with an STD called exploitation.
Here is an illustration of the main message of the book:
Surplus value is value in the form of money that is produced by labor after labor reproduces its own value. I.e., If I work in the factory for 40 hrs/wk, and my labor matches the value of my paycheck at the 15th hour, then 25 hours of my time and labor every week serves only to produce value for the capitalist who runs the factory. Because 25 hours of my time and labor serve the capitalist and only the capitalist—who runs the factory—rather than me or my community, and because I am forced either to work these 25 hours or starve, I am exploited. This principle of exploitation is intrinsic to and inseparable from capitalism. Exploitation is immoral. Thus, capitalism is immoral.
So, I didn't enjoy reading this book. Marx is not eloquent and neither is the subject matter. But it is an extremely important work that is well worth the slog for anyone who cares about history or the working class, or the forces that dictate our lives under the capitalistic yoke of political economy. I do not think everyone should read this book, but I fully submit that its message should be spread through the minds of everyone who handles money.
The heart of capitalism is surplus value. It is infected with an STD called exploitation.
Here is an illustration of the main message of the book:
Surplus value is value in the form of money that is produced by labor after labor reproduces its own value. I.e., If I work in the factory for 40 hrs/wk, and my labor matches the value of my paycheck at the 15th hour, then 25 hours of my time and labor every week serves only to produce value for the capitalist who runs the factory. Because 25 hours of my time and labor serve the capitalist and only the capitalist—who runs the factory—rather than me or my community, and because I am forced either to work these 25 hours or starve, I am exploited. This principle of exploitation is intrinsic to and inseparable from capitalism. Exploitation is immoral. Thus, capitalism is immoral.
Bluets by Maggie Nelson
5.0
In March of 2024, I say Bluets is my favorite volume of poetry written in this century.
Someone said they were glad they read this after the psych ward instead of in it. And I can verify the verity of that sentiment. Bluets is a deep, dark dive into an ocean of griefy blue "propositions" of which there are 240 numbered in the book. The way in which Nelson numbers these brief prose-poems follows how Wittgenstein numbered his propositions in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, the juiciest depository of the 20th Century philosophy in content, but also, as we see with BLUETS, experimentation with form.
And speaking of form, I never understood the attraction to prose-poetry before reading this book. Now it is quite clear, at least for now in my head, that prose-poetry can deliver some very potent stuff. Prose-poetry, for example, requires rhythm to carry a lot of weight. Conventional poetry dices up the content with line breaks, while prose-poetry, without that luxury, must shoulder the content as one or at least carry central consolidated weight. Thus, rhythm and sound as they rush along the page and the ideas and the tone and cleverness do the work for the prose-poem. So for me it's easier to discern whether this writing is actually poignant and profound since the writer has less tricks to make us think at their disposal.
The concept behind this book is genius. But it's not 'just blue'. That can't make something brilliant. What we have here is a fractured ensemble of grief, heartbreak, history, musings both innocuous and barbed, and the occasional profound quip or monostich, all connected by a big blue web of craft and eloquence. It's just so obvious what an incredible knack for words Maggie Nelson has. 'Command' of the language is not enough to describe it—her writing surpasses such fundamental considerations and launches itself above and beyond into a place where 'command' is a given, and she can just play. And when she does, Bluets blossoms, and you find yourself circling this or that proposition. There are certainly a dozen or so that have been on replay in my head. Here is one (yeah it's kind of silly).
12. And don't talk to me about about "things as they are" being changed upon any "blue guitar." What can be changed upon a blue guitar is not of interest here.
Someone said they were glad they read this after the psych ward instead of in it. And I can verify the verity of that sentiment. Bluets is a deep, dark dive into an ocean of griefy blue "propositions" of which there are 240 numbered in the book. The way in which Nelson numbers these brief prose-poems follows how Wittgenstein numbered his propositions in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, the juiciest depository of the 20th Century philosophy in content, but also, as we see with BLUETS, experimentation with form.
And speaking of form, I never understood the attraction to prose-poetry before reading this book. Now it is quite clear, at least for now in my head, that prose-poetry can deliver some very potent stuff. Prose-poetry, for example, requires rhythm to carry a lot of weight. Conventional poetry dices up the content with line breaks, while prose-poetry, without that luxury, must shoulder the content as one or at least carry central consolidated weight. Thus, rhythm and sound as they rush along the page and the ideas and the tone and cleverness do the work for the prose-poem. So for me it's easier to discern whether this writing is actually poignant and profound since the writer has less tricks to make us think at their disposal.
The concept behind this book is genius. But it's not 'just blue'. That can't make something brilliant. What we have here is a fractured ensemble of grief, heartbreak, history, musings both innocuous and barbed, and the occasional profound quip or monostich, all connected by a big blue web of craft and eloquence. It's just so obvious what an incredible knack for words Maggie Nelson has. 'Command' of the language is not enough to describe it—her writing surpasses such fundamental considerations and launches itself above and beyond into a place where 'command' is a given, and she can just play. And when she does, Bluets blossoms, and you find yourself circling this or that proposition. There are certainly a dozen or so that have been on replay in my head. Here is one (yeah it's kind of silly).
12. And don't talk to me about about "things as they are" being changed upon any "blue guitar." What can be changed upon a blue guitar is not of interest here.
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
4.75
'I must sow poppies in my garden,' sighed Dorian.
'There is no necessity,' rejoined his companion, "Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity.'
OSCAR WILDE threw some mustard on this book, to be sure. I found it very enjoyable. It could be because this is the first fiction book I've read after a long hiatus, which has spiraled into reading a lot of beautiful things. Lord Henry is a fabulous character. Like the Judge from Blood Meridian, if the Judge was a philosophical hedonist.
'There is no necessity,' rejoined his companion, "Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity.'
OSCAR WILDE threw some mustard on this book, to be sure. I found it very enjoyable. It could be because this is the first fiction book I've read after a long hiatus, which has spiraled into reading a lot of beautiful things. Lord Henry is a fabulous character. Like the Judge from Blood Meridian, if the Judge was a philosophical hedonist.
The Wild Iris by Louise Glück
reflective
3.0
Great ensemble dealing with a number of themes including nature, grief, and god. Some real zingers. This is the sort of collection you could put a lot of effort into reading and it would pay off. I did not do that, but it was still enjoyable. Only fuss with Glück is, she doesn’t do much with sound. While she is a master of imagery and ideas, I did not quite pick up on music to match it, which is what really attracts me to poetry on a craft level.
Thanks Mikey
Thanks Mikey
Bucolics by Maurice Manning
fast-paced
3.75
Every poem is addressed to a being called Boss and there is no punctuation and I had a lot of fun parsing out who or what Boss was and who or what the narrator was. Sweet collection. Thanks Mikey
Intercourse by Andrea Dworkin
challenging
informative
reflective
slow-paced
2.75
To read this book, for the male gaze, would be to stare directly into the sun.
And it is a book every man should read, because men ought to be confronted with the reality of their status with regard to intercourse—privileged, possessive, and in power through several very real, yet to many men vague and trivial, dimensions of our culture, legislation, and society. This is not a comfortable reality, for anyone who acknowledges it. Nor is it nebulous, if you take the time to engage thoughtfully with the text. But I can only write this reflection as someone with that status, so certainly my views will be colored differently than those of the author and any reader who does not identify as straight and cis and man. And the thing about this status retained by straight cis men is that, in most cases, they personally have done nothing active to obtain it. We only perpetuate it, oblivious to our position, by acting as agents of the status quo.
Dworkin exhibits to the reader's abhorrence the violence of normal behavior. She isn't talking about acute violence such as an instance of battery, although that too lies under the canopy of abuse. No, Dworkin speaks of hybrid warfare, waged and raged against women and their bodies on civil, cultural, historical, and inter-and-intrapersonal planes, as well as the physical. She deconstructs the interaction we call sex and shows us its qualities. And underneath the fervor is a complicated, abject brutality. Whatever your opinion of the text, her message is clear: fucking's fucked up. Our conceptions of intercourse have been constructed by forces that overlay our thinking, and our thinking directs our behavior. And it doesn't take the sharpest knife in the kitchen to stab a 20th Century history book in a place where humans behave in heinous ways.
The prose is as violent as the picture Dworkin paints with it. Literature, law, art, biography, and more, are all employed in demonstration of her thesis. She tears down whatever monument of thought you may harbor involving intercourse, and instead of erecting a more ideal conception, she leaves you to lie with the ruins. Intercourse really is an immense project, and while I did crave more elucidation throughout the book, I found it difficult not to admire Dworkin for the work she did here, as it forced me to very seriously consider a new perspective that I otherwise wouldn’t, and probably does for every other reader too.
And it is a book every man should read, because men ought to be confronted with the reality of their status with regard to intercourse—privileged, possessive, and in power through several very real, yet to many men vague and trivial, dimensions of our culture, legislation, and society. This is not a comfortable reality, for anyone who acknowledges it. Nor is it nebulous, if you take the time to engage thoughtfully with the text. But I can only write this reflection as someone with that status, so certainly my views will be colored differently than those of the author and any reader who does not identify as straight and cis and man. And the thing about this status retained by straight cis men is that, in most cases, they personally have done nothing active to obtain it. We only perpetuate it, oblivious to our position, by acting as agents of the status quo.
Dworkin exhibits to the reader's abhorrence the violence of normal behavior. She isn't talking about acute violence such as an instance of battery, although that too lies under the canopy of abuse. No, Dworkin speaks of hybrid warfare, waged and raged against women and their bodies on civil, cultural, historical, and inter-and-intrapersonal planes, as well as the physical. She deconstructs the interaction we call sex and shows us its qualities. And underneath the fervor is a complicated, abject brutality. Whatever your opinion of the text, her message is clear: fucking's fucked up. Our conceptions of intercourse have been constructed by forces that overlay our thinking, and our thinking directs our behavior. And it doesn't take the sharpest knife in the kitchen to stab a 20th Century history book in a place where humans behave in heinous ways.
The prose is as violent as the picture Dworkin paints with it. Literature, law, art, biography, and more, are all employed in demonstration of her thesis. She tears down whatever monument of thought you may harbor involving intercourse, and instead of erecting a more ideal conception, she leaves you to lie with the ruins. Intercourse really is an immense project, and while I did crave more elucidation throughout the book, I found it difficult not to admire Dworkin for the work she did here, as it forced me to very seriously consider a new perspective that I otherwise wouldn’t, and probably does for every other reader too.
The Basic Works of Aristotle by Aristotle
Massive book comprised of smaller books. Did not read all of them. Focused on and enjoyed the most his "Nicomachean Ethics", which I would heartily recommend to anyone who desires an understanding of the ideas that provided the foundation for ethics as we know them today.
The Varieties of Religious Experience by William James
informative
reflective
medium-paced
3.5
So I'd definitely recommend William James to anyone wary of philosophy. He's very accessible through warm, clear, inviting prose, free of the elitism you often find in these types. I can't really find anything off-putting to say about the guy.
If you're interested in the topics in the book, go ahead and see if you want to read the whole thing. But really, you can get a valuable experience out of reading only a handful of the lectures. (If you go this route, definitely read the one on 'the sick soul' and the one on mysticism). One thing to consider is that James and a guy named Pierce founded a school of philosophy called pragmatism, and pragmatism underscores pretty much every substantial conclusion he draws in these lectures. But, being James, he is extremely careful to draw conclusions at all.
All in all, this had been on my list for a while so I'm glad I read it. It was kind of hard, but not nearly as dry as you'd imagine. William James is the man.
If you're interested in the topics in the book, go ahead and see if you want to read the whole thing. But really, you can get a valuable experience out of reading only a handful of the lectures. (If you go this route, definitely read the one on 'the sick soul' and the one on mysticism). One thing to consider is that James and a guy named Pierce founded a school of philosophy called pragmatism, and pragmatism underscores pretty much every substantial conclusion he draws in these lectures. But, being James, he is extremely careful to draw conclusions at all.
All in all, this had been on my list for a while so I'm glad I read it. It was kind of hard, but not nearly as dry as you'd imagine. William James is the man.