So, in spite of my best experiments, investigations into useless help topics, and an unanswered plea for assistance sent out into the void, my reply to the last visible comment on the post titled "The Struggle That Wasn't" refuses to show up in any nook and cranny of this particular forum. Hence, Sean, I offer my reply to you via a separate post. Behold:
I copied down that same passage about writing and the "there"!
I'll
grant your point about the bleakness, and admit that I'm not quite
objective when it comes to making judgements about more darkly toned
endeavors; though not prone to dismal moods myself, I'm a sucker for
artistic gloom, and need a regular fix of Bergman films, cloudy days,
and sad jazz to keep a level head. I'm guessing this is at least partly a
reaction to ubiquitous and saccharine pop culture, but I'll wager that
pre-adolescent revelry among the German Romantics also has something to
do with it.
At any rate, if I do continue with the series, I'll
most assuredly post my thoughts. In the meantime, drop by anytime and
share yours with me!
Now that I've taken matters into my own hands, I'm sure the damn comment will now show up right where it was originally supposed to have been, looking innocent as the proverbial lamb. I've got my eye on you, Blogger. An impotent eye, but an eye nonetheless.
The odd part of all this is that I also usually love dark tones in literature. In fact, I love dark tones in all forms of creativity. I am most comfortable amidst the gloom! That is why I am somewhat mystified by my own reaction to the book. But I think that perhaps some of it hit too close to home, felt way too familiar, and hence, made me weary.
ReplyDeleteHave you read Per Petterson at all? He is another kind of gloomy Norwegian writer, but with a completely different style.
I haven't read Petterson-- but after doing a bit of research, his stuff looks right up my alley. Anyone who counts Knut Hamsun as an influence has to be worthwhile.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the recommendation!