Unbearable Lightness of Being Shitty Lit

[Archived from deleted myspace account]

April 1, 2006

So, I read Milan Kundera's The Unberable Lightness of Being because it's the "book to read", or something--everyone's doing it--(even Hipsters-gasp!) and I'll jump off a bridge if you do, so I bought me a copy and it was all downhill from there.

What the fuck. 

Why do people love this book and want to make out with it so hard? Probably the same people who go out and buy some Tom Waits. At least Kundera gave me a hankering to read the Tolstoy that's been on my nightstand for ever. That's cool...

These characters do not resemble any real person, but they resemble real weaknesses, and so is that why people like this book? Because they want to feel camaraderie in weakness? I dont know. Are some people drawn to the lameness of these characters because they see some reflection of themselves in them? There is no triumph here, the characters do not learn or grow. 

Also, it's a really very fucking boring read. 

Maybe I just don't appreciate "high-art and metaphysical intrigue" (that was sarcasm, ahem). If you really want to get some brain activity, without all the pretentiousness, try Camus or Baldwin or Jon Stewart.

Kundera's continuos interjections to contemplate "philosophical issues" disturbed the story's momentum. He also kept telling us what the character was thinking, what the impact was on the character or what something meant to the character, instead of demonstrating it through the character's actions and dialogue. Don't tell me, show me. That's Writing the Novel 101. 

Any antipathy a reader might feel toward a character turns into disinterested disdain. 

There is one way in which the author's writing puts the reader in the shoes of the characters: by feeling the dulled senses of someone in depression. Not much in the way of peaks or valleys of emotion or energy. Just slogging through life (and this book). 

(Overrated) Rhetorical games, combined with recurrent references to Nietzsche and Beethoven, create an intellectual facade that seems much weightier than it really is. Built on many false presumptions and bolstered by an epic, scholarly tone, the novel has potential to be interesting in its musings, but just can't be taken seriously as a work of philosophical or psychological depth. It's fakery, but fakery that's working since it's on everyone's Fav Read list. 

[Sabina] happened to be in Paris on the anniversary of the Russian invasion of her country. A protest march had been scheduled, and she felt driven to take part. Fists raised high, the young Frenchman shouted out slogans condemning Soviet imperialism. She liked the slogans, but to her surprise she found herself unable to shout along with them. She lasted no more than a few minutes in the parade. 

When she told her friends about it, they were amazed. 'You mean you dont want to fight the occupation of your country?' She would have liked to tell them that behind Communism, Fascism, behind all occupations and invasions lurks a more basic, pervasive evil and that the image of that evil was a parade of people marching with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison. But she knew she would never be able to make them understand. Embarrassed, she changed the subject.

...Man, how convenient! This passage totally reminded me about my idea to write an essay about how Hipsters hate democracy! Thanks, Kundera!

Am I the only reader who found this book contrived, soulless, meandering, egotistical and overrated? Really? But if it's so POPULAR wouldn't all the Hipsters actually hate this book? (What?! Am I suggesting that Hipsters are mindless sheep, too, just with less body fat and more pretentiousness?!)

BOOOOOooooooooooooo.......