Laith
Overthrow: America's Century of Regime Change is a bit of mixed bag, a piece of journalism that was better received by its contemporaries than it has a right to be by the modern reader. This is a not-quite comprehensive overview of US interventionist actions that resulted in regime change starting with Hawaii (1893) and concluding with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan (2003). While still a critical piece this trades away a lot of the nuance and depth surrounding these subjects for the sake of accessibility.
Overthrow is more of an introductory text than anything else: the prose is exceptionally clear, well paced and easy to understand. Read this for the names, the dates, and a basic understanding of the motivations behind why our country raises its sword. I'll give Kinzer credit because he's generally evenhanded and calls the play correctly when it comes to the "why", naming the big 2 motivations clearly: capitalist interest and missionary/paternalist racism. For nearly 150 years the US opinion of much of the rest world has been that it is uncivilized and in desperate need of democracy and high yield explosives; that is the main take away here. He correctly points out that in most cases of US intervention we have overthrown governments that had principals similar to ours and replaced them with autocratic regimes that made us less safe in the long run, those changes made to serve the purposes of capital and not the people.
However, the closer he gets to contemporary events, the less reliable the commentary. Generally this is true of most things as they are divorced from hindsight and the facts get obscured by the fog of war and in the case of Overthrow, it means Kinzer is unwilling to call out/ascribe responsibility for more recent cases of US overreach and does not contemplate theoretical alternatives to the status quo. This text is deeply guilty of oversimplifying geopolitics, (which is admittedly a grossly complex subject) leading the reader to make many systemic assumptions about the way the world works which go largely unchallenged. In the interest of tying up each chapter with a bow, Kinzer provides summaries and counterfactuals that I'll generously describe as shallow and un-nuanced. A common thread across the whole book is that some interventions were worth it, taking sides without really explaining why or how he arrived at his conclusions.
There is one major sticking point that needs to be addressed: the complicity of American press and media conglomerates in all of these events. A true ironic chord is struck as Kinzer takes time to highlight the role of propagandist journalism in much of the Latin American coups of the 20th century while personally participating in that same system in his professional journalistic career. It's plain that Kinzer wants to support some of the interventions mentioned in this book, and that carries over to his more modern reporting on current imperialist interventions (Syria, Ukraine) for the NYT. He has written extensive pieces that defend practices/abuses perpetrated by all manner of autocrats- at a minimum he is guilty of lacking skepticism in his coverage. Whether he sides with Washington, or Moscow, or Damascus he does take sides in the press, and he does it at the behest of a media conglomerate which profits from upholding the status quo. As in the case of the US occupation of Nicaragua the media's choices of topics and issues, the unquestioned premises on which that coverage rests remains in the hands of corporate interests and are constrained to reinforce the state's ideology.
If you don't know why Hawaii is a state, or that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens then this is a book you should read, but I don't recommend that anyone stop here, particularly if they are interested in the subject of imperialism or US covert actions.
Overthrow: America's Century of Regime Change is a bit of mixed bag, a piece of journalism that was better received by its contemporaries than it has a right to be by the modern reader. This is a not-quite comprehensive overview of US interventionist actions that resulted in regime change starting with Hawaii (1893) and concluding with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan (2003). While still a critical piece this trades away a lot of the nuance and depth surrounding these subjects for the sake of accessibility.
Overthrow is more of an introductory text than anything else: the prose is exceptionally clear, well paced and easy to understand. Read this for the names, the dates, and a basic understanding of the motivations behind why our country raises its sword. I'll give Kinzer credit because he's generally evenhanded and calls the play correctly when it comes to the "why", naming the big 2 motivations clearly: capitalist interest and missionary/paternalist racism. For nearly 150 years the US opinion of much of the rest world has been that it is uncivilized and in desperate need of democracy and high yield explosives; that is the main take away here. He correctly points out that in most cases of US intervention we have overthrown governments that had principals similar to ours and replaced them with autocratic regimes that made us less safe in the long run, those changes made to serve the purposes of capital and not the people.
However, the closer he gets to contemporary events, the less reliable the commentary. Generally this is true of most things as they are divorced from hindsight and the facts get obscured by the fog of war and in the case of Overthrow, it means Kinzer is unwilling to call out/ascribe responsibility for more recent cases of US overreach and does not contemplate theoretical alternatives to the status quo. This text is deeply guilty of oversimplifying geopolitics, (which is admittedly a grossly complex subject) leading the reader to make many systemic assumptions about the way the world works which go largely unchallenged. In the interest of tying up each chapter with a bow, Kinzer provides summaries and counterfactuals that I'll generously describe as shallow and un-nuanced. A common thread across the whole book is that some interventions were worth it, taking sides without really explaining why or how he arrived at his conclusions.
There is one major sticking point that needs to be addressed: the complicity of American press and media conglomerates in all of these events. A true ironic chord is struck as Kinzer takes time to highlight the role of propagandist journalism in much of the Latin American coups of the 20th century while personally participating in that same system in his professional journalistic career. It's plain that Kinzer wants to support some of the interventions mentioned in this book, and that carries over to his more modern reporting on current imperialist interventions (Syria, Ukraine) for the NYT. He has written extensive pieces that defend practices/abuses perpetrated by all manner of autocrats- at a minimum he is guilty of lacking skepticism in his coverage. Whether he sides with Washington, or Moscow, or Damascus he does take sides in the press, and he does it at the behest of a media conglomerate which profits from upholding the status quo. As in the case of the US occupation of Nicaragua the media's choices of topics and issues, the unquestioned premises on which that coverage rests remains in the hands of corporate interests and are constrained to reinforce the state's ideology.
If you don't know why Hawaii is a state, or that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens then this is a book you should read, but I don't recommend that anyone stop here, particularly if they are interested in the subject of imperialism or US covert actions.
Added to listFull Reviewswith 156 books.
Overthrow: America's Century of Regime Change is a bit of mixed bag, a piece of journalism that was better received by its contemporaries than it has a right to be by the modern reader. This is a not-quite comprehensive overview of US interventionist actions that resulted in regime change starting with Hawaii (1893) and concluding with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan (2003). While still a critical piece this trades away a lot of the nuance and depth surrounding these subjects for the sake of accessibility.
Overthrow is more of an introductory text than anything else: the prose is exceptionally clear, well paced and easy to understand. Read this for the names, the dates, and a basic understanding of the motivations behind why our country raises its sword. I'll give Kinzer credit because he's generally evenhanded and calls the play correctly when it comes to the "why", naming the big 2 motivations clearly: capitalist interest and missionary/paternalist racism. For nearly 150 years the US opinion of much of the rest world has been that it is uncivilized and in desperate need of democracy and high yield explosives; credit to Kinzer that is the main take away here. He correctly points out that in most cases of US intervention we have overthrown governments that had principals similar to ours and replaced them with autocratic regimes that made us less safe in the long run, those changes made to serve the purposes of capital and not the people.
However, the closer he gets to contemporary events, the less reliable the commentary. Generally this is true of most things as they are divorced from hindsight and the facts get obscured by the fog of war and in the case of Overthrow, it means Kinzer is unwilling to call out/ascribe responsibility for more recent cases of US overreach and does not contemplate theoretical alternatives to the status quo. This text is deeply guilty of oversimplifying geopolitics, (which is admittedly a grossly complex subject) leading the reader to make many systemic assumptions about the way the world works which go largely unchallenged. In the interest of tying up each chapter with a bow, Kinzer provides summaries and counterfactuals that I'll generously describe as shallow and un-nuanced. A common thread across the whole book is that some interventions were worth it, taking sides without really explaining why or how he arrived at his conclusions.
There is one major sticking point that needs to be addressed: the complicity of American press and media conglomerates in all of these events. A true ironic chord is struck as Kinzer takes time to highlight the role of propagandist journalism in much of the Latin American coups of the 20th century while personally participating in that same system in his professional journalistic career. It's plain that Kinzer wants to support some of the interventions mentioned in this book, and that carries over to his more modern reporting on current imperialist interventions (Syria, Ukraine) for the NYT. He has written extensive pieces that defend practices/abuses perpetrated by all manner of autocrats- at a minimum he is guilty of lacking skepticism in his coverage. Whether he sides with Washington, or Moscow, or Damascus he does take sides in the press, and he does it at the behest of a media conglomerate which profits from upholding the status quo. As in the case of the US occupation of Nicaragua the media's choices of topics and issues, the unquestioned premises on which that coverage rests remains in the hands of corporate interests and are constrained to reinforce the state's ideology.
If you don't know why Hawaii is a state, or that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens then this is a book you should read, but I don't recommend that anyone stop here, particularly if they are interested in the subject of imperialism or US covert actions.
Overthrow: America's Century of Regime Change is a bit of mixed bag, a piece of journalism that was better received by its contemporaries than it has a right to be by the modern reader. This is a not-quite comprehensive overview of US interventionist actions that resulted in regime change starting with Hawaii (1893) and concluding with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan (2003). While still a critical piece this trades away a lot of the nuance and depth surrounding these subjects for the sake of accessibility.
Overthrow is more of an introductory text than anything else: the prose is exceptionally clear, well paced and easy to understand. Read this for the names, the dates, and a basic understanding of the motivations behind why our country raises its sword. I'll give Kinzer credit because he's generally evenhanded and calls the play correctly when it comes to the "why", naming the big 2 motivations clearly: capitalist interest and missionary/paternalist racism. For nearly 150 years the US opinion of much of the rest world has been that it is uncivilized and in desperate need of democracy and high yield explosives; credit to Kinzer that is the main take away here. He correctly points out that in most cases of US intervention we have overthrown governments that had principals similar to ours and replaced them with autocratic regimes that made us less safe in the long run, those changes made to serve the purposes of capital and not the people.
However, the closer he gets to contemporary events, the less reliable the commentary. Generally this is true of most things as they are divorced from hindsight and the facts get obscured by the fog of war and in the case of Overthrow, it means Kinzer is unwilling to call out/ascribe responsibility for more recent cases of US overreach and does not contemplate theoretical alternatives to the status quo. This text is deeply guilty of oversimplifying geopolitics, (which is admittedly a grossly complex subject) leading the reader to make many systemic assumptions about the way the world works which go largely unchallenged. In the interest of tying up each chapter with a bow, Kinzer provides summaries and counterfactuals that I'll generously describe as shallow and un-nuanced. A common thread across the whole book is that some interventions were worth it, taking sides without really explaining why or how he arrived at his conclusions.
There is one major sticking point that needs to be addressed: the complicity of American press and media conglomerates in all of these events. A true ironic chord is struck as Kinzer takes time to highlight the role of propagandist journalism in much of the Latin American coups of the 20th century while personally participating in that same system in his professional journalistic career. It's plain that Kinzer wants to support some of the interventions mentioned in this book, and that carries over to his more modern reporting on current imperialist interventions (Syria, Ukraine) for the NYT. He has written extensive pieces that defend practices/abuses perpetrated by all manner of autocrats- at a minimum he is guilty of lacking skepticism in his coverage. Whether he sides with Washington, or Moscow, or Damascus he does take sides in the press, and he does it at the behest of a media conglomerate which profits from upholding the status quo. As in the case of the US occupation of Nicaragua the media's choices of topics and issues, the unquestioned premises on which that coverage rests remains in the hands of corporate interests and are constrained to reinforce the state's ideology.
If you don't know why Hawaii is a state, or that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens then this is a book you should read, but I don't recommend that anyone stop here, particularly if they are interested in the subject of imperialism or US covert actions.
Published in 1943 and structured as 3 lectures (Men Without Chests, The Way, The Abolition of Man) that focus on a concept of natural laws and a defense of objectivism, Lewis sought to warn of the dangers of modern attempts to do away with parts of traditional morality. Not at all a novel, this is a collection of essays about the trend of reduction and definition that he was noticing as we became entrenched in the scientific age. Lewis was concerned with how we were to live our lives as we came to consider ourselves in an increasingly quantifiable sense, nothing more than collections of cells and molecules, mere creatures of needs and nature. He frets about the future of a humanity that has lost its moral compass, devoid of the traditions that in his eyes are what make us human.
The central conceit of these lectures is the concept of the Tao. In The Way, Lewis posits that there's something greater than the quantifiable about Man; that there's an order to everything- a purpose, a natural law, which exists outside of the finite. Our purpose as men bound to this natural law is to seek happiness and live lives of virtue- not lives of value as defined by whichever society we live in. In seeking to master nature, to quantify and understand all, we rob ourselves of the capacity to imagine and ponder life's mysteries. As society further focuses on efficiency and quantifying nature we in turn become a part of that quantified nature, another thing to be mastered- another system to be exploited. To Lewis the ultimate consequence of conquering nature leads us to be conquered by nature as we reduce ourselves in kind.
Another central tenet of all three lectures is a firm rejection of moral subjectivism; the concept that there is no external or objective truth and that our own mental activity is the only unquestionable fact of our experience. Lewis claims the opposite; leaning on the arguments of the ancients he proposes that the purpose of education is to ingrain in children what is good and should be loved and what is bad and should be hated. These teachings generally subscribe to a shared set of objective values that exist across the moralities of the East, West, and all major religious groups, these values he later coins as the Tao. In Men Without Chests he claims that to stray from the Tao is to rob men of their "Chests", their emotional and moral instincts; without their chests men are detached from their moral compass- the thing that makes them human.
In The Abolition of Man, the final lecture in the series, Lewis keys in on the consequence of this reduction in moral instinct. It's really about as sci-fi as a lecture can get as he envisages an dystopian future where a minority with a perfect understanding of human psychology rule over the rest, a world where masters define the morals and values of the many as they see fit. These rulers are in turn so advanced as to see through any system of morality which could seek to influence their actions, they are ruled by their base instincts, their whims- as they have surrendered their mechanisms for reflection. Divorced from the ability to reflect on their motivation these controllers cease to be human in the recognizable sense, the rest of humanity robot-like in our systemic obedience.
Lewis actually published a sci-fi novel that expands on the dystopian ideas put forth in these essays called That Hideous Strength (part of The Space Trilogy), and these ideas certainly influenced Orwell's conceptualization of Big Brother in 1984.
While I don't personally agree with all the points that Lewis made, particularly his disdain of subjectivism and his conceptualization of the Tao, I found this thought provoking and generally right in its premise and intent. If you're seeking a little philosophy to pair with your notions of sci-fi, seeking to challenge your own conceptions of morality, or if you're just generally unimpressed with the modern school curriculum I'd recommend this highly.
Published in 1943 and structured as 3 lectures (Men Without Chests, The Way, The Abolition of Man) that focus on a concept of natural laws and a defense of objectivism, Lewis sought to warn of the dangers of modern attempts to do away with parts of traditional morality. Not at all a novel, this is a collection of essays about the trend of reduction and definition that he was noticing as we became entrenched in the scientific age. Lewis was concerned with how we were to live our lives as we came to consider ourselves in an increasingly quantifiable sense, nothing more than collections of cells and molecules, mere creatures of needs and nature. He frets about the future of a humanity that has lost its moral compass, devoid of the traditions that in his eyes are what make us human.
The central conceit of these lectures is the concept of the Tao. In The Way, Lewis posits that there's something greater than the quantifiable about Man; that there's an order to everything- a purpose, a natural law, which exists outside of the finite. Our purpose as men bound to this natural law is to seek happiness and live lives of virtue- not lives of value as defined by whichever society we live in. In seeking to master nature, to quantify and understand all, we rob ourselves of the capacity to imagine and ponder life's mysteries. As society further focuses on efficiency and quantifying nature we in turn become a part of that quantified nature, another thing to be mastered- another system to be exploited. To Lewis the ultimate consequence of conquering nature leads us to be conquered by nature as we reduce ourselves in kind.
Another central tenet of all three lectures is a firm rejection of moral subjectivism; the concept that there is no external or objective truth and that our own mental activity is the only unquestionable fact of our experience. Lewis claims the opposite; leaning on the arguments of the ancients he proposes that the purpose of education is to ingrain in children what is good and should be loved and what is bad and should be hated. These teachings generally subscribe to a shared set of objective values that exist across the moralities of the East, West, and all major religious groups, these values he later coins as the Tao. In Men Without Chests he claims that to stray from the Tao is to rob men of their "Chests", their emotional and moral instincts; without their chests men are detached from their moral compass- the thing that makes them human.
In The Abolition of Man, the final lecture in the series, Lewis keys in on the consequence of this reduction in moral instinct. It's really about as sci-fi as a lecture can get as he envisages an dystopian future where a minority with a perfect understanding of human psychology rule over the rest, a world where masters define the morals and values of the many as they see fit. These rulers are in turn so advanced as to see through any system of morality which could seek to influence their actions, they are ruled by their base instincts, their whims- as they have surrendered their mechanisms for reflection. Divorced from the ability to reflect on their motivation these controllers cease to be human in the recognizable sense, the rest of humanity robot-like in our systemic obedience.
Lewis actually published a sci-fi novel that expands on the dystopian ideas put forth in these essays called That Hideous Strength (part of The Space Trilogy), and these ideas certainly influenced Orwell's conceptualization of Big Brother in 1984.
While I don't personally agree with all the points that Lewis made, particularly his disdain of subjectivism and his conceptualization of the Tao, I found this thought provoking and generally right in its premise and intent. If you're seeking a little philosophy to pair with your notions of sci-fi, seeking to challenge your own conceptions of morality, or if you're just generally unimpressed with the modern school curriculum I'd recommend this highly.
A group of interstellar travelers, ordinary people, find themselves stranded after their starship suffers a warp-drive malfunction and disintegrates way off course. The scant survivors are stranded on a barren planet with no hope of rescue; equipped with dwindling resources and no sure method of obtaining more, the survivors band together to overcome the odds and tame the vast wilderness for future generations. All but one survivor, that is. The narrator has done the math: if thirst doesn't kill them, hunger will, and if hunger doesn't kill them, then in a few generations, inbreeding will; they are doomed. The narrator decides she'd rather die with dignity, opting to flee from the others as it becomes increasingly clear that they intend for her to carry out the mission of populating the planet whether she wants to or not.
There's no way to get around it, this is an unpleasant book to read. I'll be upfront, whether you find some enjoyment in this will hinge entirely on how much you buy into the premise and the prose because it's unlike most other books I've read. We Who Are About To is delivered as a transcript of an audio diary, with all the weird punctuation, ramblings, and cut off thoughts that go along with such an idea. It's not comfortable to be locked into the perspective of a suicidal pessimist who by the end of the novel is/is going insane. Opinions are generally split, some people hate it and others think it's a work of genius that plays by its own rules- I'm not sure which camp I personally fall into because I while didn't hate the prose I do agree that it's a bit boring and difficult to read. But I give it a pass because so much of what's "wrong" with the book is clearly by design.
We're going to get into spoiler territory now. Because I buried the lede, while our narrator flees the group seeking to survive on rations and eventually transition to death in her own time she is not left unmolested. The surviving men of the group track her down, aiming to impregnate her on their return so they can begin their colonization attempt. She resists, brutally murdering her pursuers and returning to the camp where she kills the remaining survivors, her fellow women and a 12 year old child. Left alone she begins to lose her grasp on sanity, suffering hallucinations she is haunted by her victims and specters of her past. Weak from hunger she kills herself, the final line "well it's time".
It's odd to characterize a Novella as a slow burn, but that's what this is. It's a slow, cold, burn- and a lot of that has to do with the narration, how seemingly detached her perspective is from the present moment. Given the narrative device (the transcription of an audio diary) at nearly all times it is a story told from hindsight- it lends a reflective element and psychological edge to even the most horrifically violent moments. Initially told with only a slight delay between event and transcription there is a significant shift towards the midpoint where most of the story is being back-filled, given color by the time that has passed since the narrator committed herself to the project of dying.
So much of the second half of the book is devoted to the ennui the Narrator experiences, to her and to the reader it is torturous to get through. This is of course by design, while this is not the first book to explore boredom as torture it is one of the few (if not the only) that turns into a slog to prove its own point. It's really quite bleak by the end and as we're increasingly left alone with the narrator and her thoughts you can't help but to ruminate on the hopeless realities at play. Whether it's the narrator philosophizing with her past self or reflecting on the morals of her actions, you get a visceral sense of their absolute desolation by the time you reach the final page.
This is hailed as "Feminist Science Fiction" and I get that label, but I more so saw this as a reflection on this genre and these types of stranded/colony stories writ large. I think it's totally a matter of time and progress that I don't find this all that feminist, to me the narrator's desire for bodily autonomy and outright refusal to be raped/impregnated is more of a cut and dry "you shouldn't do that to people AND of course she gets to make that decision" sort of thing; that probably wasn't the prevailing sensibility in 1975- particularly within the conventions of Sci Fi. More-so I saw this as commentary on the types of books in this genre that would largely forgive the delusion of the group, the manifest destiny impulse that causes them to shed their civilized clothes and rush in beastly and feudalistic directions. If you asked me what I found most feminist about the book id say it's Russ' outlook on the point of living and reproducing, the break from the mainstream view that the reason we exist is to reproduce, because that's patently not the point of living to the narrator. She views reproduction as a means to perpetuate and mend our present mode of civilization, that to reproduce means choosing to continue life at is it; if life as it is is not worth living, neither is reproduction.
I think this is a worthy if difficult read, difficult because of the style but also because of the content. It will leave you grappling with quite a bit or it may put you off entirely. It came highly recommended to me, so despite rather liking it, I thought I would love it and I didn't.
A group of interstellar travelers, ordinary people, find themselves stranded after their starship suffers a warp-drive malfunction and disintegrates way off course. The scant survivors are stranded on a barren planet with no hope of rescue; equipped with dwindling resources and no sure method of obtaining more, the survivors band together to overcome the odds and tame the vast wilderness for future generations. All but one survivor, that is. The narrator has done the math: if thirst doesn't kill them, hunger will, and if hunger doesn't kill them, then in a few generations, inbreeding will; they are doomed. The narrator decides she'd rather die with dignity, opting to flee from the others as it becomes increasingly clear that they intend for her to carry out the mission of populating the planet whether she wants to or not.
There's no way to get around it, this is an unpleasant book to read. I'll be upfront, whether you find some enjoyment in this will hinge entirely on how much you buy into the premise and the prose because it's unlike most other books I've read. We Who Are About To is delivered as a transcript of an audio diary, with all the weird punctuation, ramblings, and cut off thoughts that go along with such an idea. It's not comfortable to be locked into the perspective of a suicidal pessimist who by the end of the novel is/is going insane. Opinions are generally split, some people hate it and others think it's a work of genius that plays by its own rules- I'm not sure which camp I personally fall into because I while didn't hate the prose I do agree that it's a bit boring and difficult to read. But I give it a pass because so much of what's "wrong" with the book is clearly by design.
We're going to get into spoiler territory now. Because I buried the lede, while our narrator flees the group seeking to survive on rations and eventually transition to death in her own time she is not left unmolested. The surviving men of the group track her down, aiming to impregnate her on their return so they can begin their colonization attempt. She resists, brutally murdering her pursuers and returning to the camp where she kills the remaining survivors, her fellow women and a 12 year old child. Left alone she begins to lose her grasp on sanity, suffering hallucinations she is haunted by her victims and specters of her past. Weak from hunger she kills herself, the final line "well it's time".
It's odd to characterize a Novella as a slow burn, but that's what this is. It's a slow, cold, burn- and a lot of that has to do with the narration, how seemingly detached her perspective is from the present moment. Given the narrative device (the transcription of an audio diary) at nearly all times it is a story told from hindsight- it lends a reflective element and psychological edge to even the most horrifically violent moments. Initially told with only a slight delay between event and transcription there is a significant shift towards the midpoint where most of the story is being back-filled, given color by the time that has passed since the narrator committed herself to the project of dying.
So much of the second half of the book is devoted to the ennui the Narrator experiences, to her and to the reader it is torturous to get through. This is of course by design, while this is not the first book to explore boredom as torture it is one of the few (if not the only) that turns into a slog to prove its own point. It's really quite bleak by the end and as we're increasingly left alone with the narrator and her thoughts you can't help but to ruminate on the hopeless realities at play. Whether it's the narrator philosophizing with her past self or reflecting on the morals of her actions, you get a visceral sense of their absolute desolation by the time you reach the final page.
This is hailed as "Feminist Science Fiction" and I get that label, but I more so saw this as a reflection on this genre and these types of stranded/colony stories writ large. I think it's totally a matter of time and progress that I don't find this all that feminist, to me the narrator's desire for bodily autonomy and outright refusal to be raped/impregnated is more of a cut and dry "you shouldn't do that to people AND of course she gets to make that decision" sort of thing; that probably wasn't the prevailing sensibility in 1975- particularly within the conventions of Sci Fi. More-so I saw this as commentary on the types of books in this genre that would largely forgive the delusion of the group, the manifest destiny impulse that causes them to shed their civilized clothes and rush in beastly and feudalistic directions. If you asked me what I found most feminist about the book id say it's Russ' outlook on the point of living and reproducing, the break from the mainstream view that the reason we exist is to reproduce, because that's patently not the point of living to the narrator. She views reproduction as a means to perpetuate and mend our present mode of civilization, that to reproduce means choosing to continue life at is it; if life as it is is not worth living, neither is reproduction.
I think this is a worthy if difficult read, difficult because of the style but also because of the content. It will leave you grappling with quite a bit or it may put you off entirely. It came highly recommended to me, so despite rather liking it, I thought I would love it and I didn't.
Added to listFull Reviewswith 155 books.
A group of interstellar travelers, ordinary people, find themselves stranded after their starship suffers some type of warp-drive malfunction and the ship disintegrates way off course. The scant survivors are stranded on a barren planet with no hope of rescue; equipped with dwindling resources and no sure method of obtaining more the survivors band together to overcome the odds and tame the vast wilderness for future generations. All but one survivor that is; the narrator has done the math, if thirst doesn't kill them hunger will, and if hunger doesn't kill them then in a few generations inbreeding will- they are doomed to death. The narrator decides that she'd rather die with dignity, opting to run away from the others as it becomes increasingly clear that they intend for her to carry out the mission of populating the planet whether she wants to or not.
There's no way to get around it, this is an unpleasant book to read. I'll be upfront, whether you find some enjoyment in this will hinge entirely on how much you buy into the premise and the prose because it's unlike most other books I've read. We Who Are About To is delivered as a transcript of an audio diary, with all the weird punctuation, ramblings, and cut off thoughts that go along with such an idea. It's not comfortable to be locked into the perspective of a suicidal pessimist who by the end of the novel is/is going insane. Opinions are generally split, some people hate it and others think it's a work of genius that plays by its own rules- I'm not sure which camp I personally fall into because I while didn't hate the prose I do agree that it's a bit boring and difficult to read. But I give it a pass because so much of what's "wrong" with the book is clearly by design.
We're going to get into spoiler territory now. Because I buried the lede, while our narrator flees the group seeking to survive on rations and eventually transition to death in her own time she is not left unmolested. The surviving men of the group track her down, aiming to impregnate her on their return so they can begin their colonization attempt. She resists, brutally murdering her pursuers and returning to the camp where she kills the remaining survivors, her fellow women and a 12 year old child. Left alone she begins to lose her grasp on sanity, suffering hallucinations she is haunted by her victims and specters of her past. Weak from hunger she kills herself, the final line "well it's time".
It's odd to characterize a Novella as a slow burn, but that's what this is. It's a slow, cold, burn- and a lot of that has to do with the narration, how seemingly detached her perspective is from the present moment. Given the narrative device (the transcription of an audio diary) at nearly all times it is a story told from hindsight- it lends a reflective element and psychological edge to even the most horrifically violent moments. Initially told with only a slight delay between event and transcription there is a significant shift towards the midpoint where most of the story is being back-filled, given color by the time that has passed since the narrator committed herself to the project of dying.
So much of the second half of the book is devoted to the ennui the Narrator experiences, to her and to the reader it is torturous to get through. This is of course by design, while this is not the first book to explore boredom as torture it is one of the few (if not the only) that turns into a slog to prove its own point. It's really quite bleak by the end and as we're increasingly left alone with the narrator and her thoughts you can't help but to ruminate on the hopeless realities at play. Whether it's the narrator philosophizing with her past self or reflecting on the morals of her actions, you get a visceral sense of their absolute desolation by the time you reach the final page.
This is hailed as "Feminist Science Fiction" and I get that label, but I more so saw this as a reflection on this genre and these types of stranded/colony stories writ large. I think it's totally a matter of time and progress that I don't find this all that feminist, to me the Narrator's desire for bodily autonomy and outright refusal to be raped/impregnated is more of a cut and dry "you shouldn't do that to people AND of course she gets to make that decision" sort of thing; that probably wasn't the prevailing sensibility in 1975- particularly within the conventions of Sci Fi. More-so I saw this as commentary on the types of books in this genre that would largely forgive the delusion of the group, the manifest destiny impulse that causes them to shed their civilized clothes and rush in beastly and feudalistic directions. If you asked me what I found most feminist about the book id say it's Russ' outlook on the point of living and reproducing, the break from the mainstream view that the reason we exist is to reproduce, because that's patently not the point of living to the narrator. She views reproduction as a means to perpetuate and mend our present mode of civilization, that to reproduce means choosing to continue life at is it; if life as it is is not worth living, neither is reproduction.
I think this is a worthy if difficult read, difficult because of the style but also because of the content. It will leave you grappling with quite a bit or it may put you off entirely. It came highly recommended to me, so despite rather liking it, I thought I would love it and I didn't.
A group of interstellar travelers, ordinary people, find themselves stranded after their starship suffers some type of warp-drive malfunction and the ship disintegrates way off course. The scant survivors are stranded on a barren planet with no hope of rescue; equipped with dwindling resources and no sure method of obtaining more the survivors band together to overcome the odds and tame the vast wilderness for future generations. All but one survivor that is; the narrator has done the math, if thirst doesn't kill them hunger will, and if hunger doesn't kill them then in a few generations inbreeding will- they are doomed to death. The narrator decides that she'd rather die with dignity, opting to run away from the others as it becomes increasingly clear that they intend for her to carry out the mission of populating the planet whether she wants to or not.
There's no way to get around it, this is an unpleasant book to read. I'll be upfront, whether you find some enjoyment in this will hinge entirely on how much you buy into the premise and the prose because it's unlike most other books I've read. We Who Are About To is delivered as a transcript of an audio diary, with all the weird punctuation, ramblings, and cut off thoughts that go along with such an idea. It's not comfortable to be locked into the perspective of a suicidal pessimist who by the end of the novel is/is going insane. Opinions are generally split, some people hate it and others think it's a work of genius that plays by its own rules- I'm not sure which camp I personally fall into because I while didn't hate the prose I do agree that it's a bit boring and difficult to read. But I give it a pass because so much of what's "wrong" with the book is clearly by design.
We're going to get into spoiler territory now. Because I buried the lede, while our narrator flees the group seeking to survive on rations and eventually transition to death in her own time she is not left unmolested. The surviving men of the group track her down, aiming to impregnate her on their return so they can begin their colonization attempt. She resists, brutally murdering her pursuers and returning to the camp where she kills the remaining survivors, her fellow women and a 12 year old child. Left alone she begins to lose her grasp on sanity, suffering hallucinations she is haunted by her victims and specters of her past. Weak from hunger she kills herself, the final line "well it's time".
It's odd to characterize a Novella as a slow burn, but that's what this is. It's a slow, cold, burn- and a lot of that has to do with the narration, how seemingly detached her perspective is from the present moment. Given the narrative device (the transcription of an audio diary) at nearly all times it is a story told from hindsight- it lends a reflective element and psychological edge to even the most horrifically violent moments. Initially told with only a slight delay between event and transcription there is a significant shift towards the midpoint where most of the story is being back-filled, given color by the time that has passed since the narrator committed herself to the project of dying.
So much of the second half of the book is devoted to the ennui the Narrator experiences, to her and to the reader it is torturous to get through. This is of course by design, while this is not the first book to explore boredom as torture it is one of the few (if not the only) that turns into a slog to prove its own point. It's really quite bleak by the end and as we're increasingly left alone with the narrator and her thoughts you can't help but to ruminate on the hopeless realities at play. Whether it's the narrator philosophizing with her past self or reflecting on the morals of her actions, you get a visceral sense of their absolute desolation by the time you reach the final page.
This is hailed as "Feminist Science Fiction" and I get that label, but I more so saw this as a reflection on this genre and these types of stranded/colony stories writ large. I think it's totally a matter of time and progress that I don't find this all that feminist, to me the Narrator's desire for bodily autonomy and outright refusal to be raped/impregnated is more of a cut and dry "you shouldn't do that to people AND of course she gets to make that decision" sort of thing; that probably wasn't the prevailing sensibility in 1975- particularly within the conventions of Sci Fi. More-so I saw this as commentary on the types of books in this genre that would largely forgive the delusion of the group, the manifest destiny impulse that causes them to shed their civilized clothes and rush in beastly and feudalistic directions. If you asked me what I found most feminist about the book id say it's Russ' outlook on the point of living and reproducing, the break from the mainstream view that the reason we exist is to reproduce, because that's patently not the point of living to the narrator. She views reproduction as a means to perpetuate and mend our present mode of civilization, that to reproduce means choosing to continue life at is it; if life as it is is not worth living, neither is reproduction.
I think this is a worthy if difficult read, difficult because of the style but also because of the content. It will leave you grappling with quite a bit or it may put you off entirely. It came highly recommended to me, so despite rather liking it, I thought I would love it and I didn't.
What a weird short story, I mean even for Le Guin this is strange, but I oddly wish there was more. Nine Lives is about a clone who has to bear the pain of becoming an individual, originally one of ten, an accident happens on a far flung planet that leaves him the sole survivor.
This is really off beat from Le Guin's other work SF work, this might be the hardest SF i've read by this author. It's also thematically distinct, more an exploration of man and individuality than it is an observation of an alien species or culture.
It's excellently written to boot, some fantastic imagery and character work in such a short piece.
What a weird short story, I mean even for Le Guin this is strange, but I oddly wish there was more. Nine Lives is about a clone who has to bear the pain of becoming an individual, originally one of ten, an accident happens on a far flung planet that leaves him the sole survivor.
This is really off beat from Le Guin's other work SF work, this might be the hardest SF i've read by this author. It's also thematically distinct, more an exploration of man and individuality than it is an observation of an alien species or culture.
It's excellently written to boot, some fantastic imagery and character work in such a short piece.
Added to listFull Reviewswith 154 books.
I won't actually be reviewing this book suffice to say it reads like an Andrew Tate fueled fever dream. Our main character, Adam, finds a magic book and turns his friend into a fish. Instead of immediately trying to turn him back he gets blackout drunk- his friend swims away and he loses the book in a home invasion. The majority of the book is about him stealing back the book and covering up the disappearance of his friend while having sex with literally every female character that is ever mentioned. It's atrocious, and not in a so bad it's good kind of way either. It's like reading a book about a Harry Enfield character, I only finished it because it was a literary car crash I couldn't turn my eyes away from.
Rather, I want to just take a moment to bask in how totally ignored this title is here on Hardcover. I'm pretty sure this made it onto my TBR because of the Goodreads algorithm and honestly take one look at the reviews on there (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48581248-get-rich-or-get-lucky), what a bot ridden shit show.
Terrible. 0/10.
I won't actually be reviewing this book suffice to say it reads like an Andrew Tate fueled fever dream. Our main character, Adam, finds a magic book and turns his friend into a fish. Instead of immediately trying to turn him back he gets blackout drunk- his friend swims away and he loses the book in a home invasion. The majority of the book is about him stealing back the book and covering up the disappearance of his friend while having sex with literally every female character that is ever mentioned. It's atrocious, and not in a so bad it's good kind of way either. It's like reading a book about a Harry Enfield character, I only finished it because it was a literary car crash I couldn't turn my eyes away from.
Rather, I want to just take a moment to bask in how totally ignored this title is here on Hardcover. I'm pretty sure this made it onto my TBR because of the Goodreads algorithm and honestly take one look at the reviews on there (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48581248-get-rich-or-get-lucky), what a bot ridden shit show.
Terrible. 0/10.
Pedro Páramo is exactly the type of book I love to stumble across, it's a trip and a half with some serious literary chops to boot. It begins with the story of Juan Preciado's visit to Comala in search of Pedro Paramo, his father, a trip he promised his mother he would make on her death bed. Things start to dissolve from there as Comala is a literal ghost town, Juan finds it occupied by the spirits of the former townspeople. Juan and his story are swallowed up by Pedro and Comala's story as Juan searches amid the ghosts for anything still living. All the while the stories of the townspeople are delivered in non-linear hallucinatory segments, these stories are told by ghosts and seemingly the stones of the town itself, the dialogue purposely disintegrating along with Juan's mental state. The details of what's happened/happening resolve towards the midway point as enough of the story is told, but it definitely required backtracking to make sense of the whole.
The story of Pedro Páramo is really about the town of Comala- Juan, Pedro, the town, their stories wrap around each other in a dreamy vortex. There is an overwhelming sensation that life and death are interconnected in Comala, that time doesn't move quite as it should. That's largely thanks to the prose- in the middle when you realize that much of the first half of the book is delivering flashbacks you realize that Rulfos disintegrating prose is emulating this subversion of time. You cannot help but to admire how Rulfo's use of voice is used to communicate Juan Preciados devolving grasp on reality, you even begin to appreciate those confusing moments where a speaker cannot be identified as it reminds us that the story is told from Juan's perspective despite the narrative's increasing distance from him.
I'll be honest, I didn't love this book on my first read, it took a lot of back and forth to get a handle on the story, and as much as I adore the craft of the book now, I was put out with it taking like 60 pages to realize I was in a flashback. A lot of my appreciation of this book came in hindsight, particularly when I started to do research for this review. For a novel published in 1955 is it astoundingly modern in its fragmentary structure and mimetic style, it's a stylistic precursor to so much of postmodernist lit, not to mention its place in the genesis of the magical realism sub-genre. This book was so far ahead of its time and I think that's part of why it was received so poorly upon its release, there's a direct line from Kafka and Surrealism to Borges to this work and on and it was very much not in keeping with the literary trends of the 50s- only beginning to gain ground in the 60s (largely thanks to Gabriel Marquez).
The other reason for its cool reception had to be the early Kemp translation, which made significant cuts to the narrative and disregarded localized or linguistically complex details (which interestingly enough was done at the behest of the CIA and their the Congress for Cultural Freedom- a front which aimed to push western ideals and the American plain style on South America). I read the Peden translation, and I am sure the newer Weatherford is also a marked improvement to that 60's Kemp edition- that said- all translations seem to struggle with Rulfo's unconventional and hard to make sense of writing style. No matter which translation you opt to read just know you will have to backtrack and reread this book a few times before you get a complete sense of what's happening (but it's not too much of a chore at just 144 pages).
Overall this is a masterpiece, and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge- but I will admit that it is nearly incomprehensible the first time through, if you're a native Spanish speaker that still may be the case.
Pedro Páramo is exactly the type of book I love to stumble across, it's a trip and a half with some serious literary chops to boot. It begins with the story of Juan Preciado's visit to Comala in search of Pedro Paramo, his father, a trip he promised his mother he would make on her death bed. Things start to dissolve from there as Comala is a literal ghost town, Juan finds it occupied by the spirits of the former townspeople. Juan and his story are swallowed up by Pedro and Comala's story as Juan searches amid the ghosts for anything still living. All the while the stories of the townspeople are delivered in non-linear hallucinatory segments, these stories are told by ghosts and seemingly the stones of the town itself, the dialogue purposely disintegrating along with Juan's mental state. The details of what's happened/happening resolve towards the midway point as enough of the story is told, but it definitely required backtracking to make sense of the whole.
The story of Pedro Páramo is really about the town of Comala- Juan, Pedro, the town, their stories wrap around each other in a dreamy vortex. There is an overwhelming sensation that life and death are interconnected in Comala, that time doesn't move quite as it should. That's largely thanks to the prose- in the middle when you realize that much of the first half of the book is delivering flashbacks you realize that Rulfos disintegrating prose is emulating this subversion of time. You cannot help but to admire how Rulfo's use of voice is used to communicate Juan Preciados devolving grasp on reality, you even begin to appreciate those confusing moments where a speaker cannot be identified as it reminds us that the story is told from Juan's perspective despite the narrative's increasing distance from him.
I'll be honest, I didn't love this book on my first read, it took a lot of back and forth to get a handle on the story, and as much as I adore the craft of the book now, I was put out with it taking like 60 pages to realize I was in a flashback. A lot of my appreciation of this book came in hindsight, particularly when I started to do research for this review. For a novel published in 1955 is it astoundingly modern in its fragmentary structure and mimetic style, it's a stylistic precursor to so much of postmodernist lit, not to mention its place in the genesis of the magical realism sub-genre. This book was so far ahead of its time and I think that's part of why it was received so poorly upon its release, there's a direct line from Kafka and Surrealism to Borges to this work and on and it was very much not in keeping with the literary trends of the 50s- only beginning to gain ground in the 60s (largely thanks to Gabriel Marquez).
The other reason for its cool reception had to be the early Kemp translation, which made significant cuts to the narrative and disregarded localized or linguistically complex details (which interestingly enough was done at the behest of the CIA and their the Congress for Cultural Freedom- a front which aimed to push western ideals and the American plain style on South America). I read the Peden translation, and I am sure the newer Weatherford is also a marked improvement to that 60's Kemp edition- that said- all translations seem to struggle with Rulfo's unconventional and hard to make sense of writing style. No matter which translation you opt to read just know you will have to backtrack and reread this book a few times before you get a complete sense of what's happening (but it's not too much of a chore at just 144 pages).
Overall this is a masterpiece, and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge- but I will admit that it is nearly incomprehensible the first time through, if you're a native Spanish speaker that still may be the case.
What a weird short story, I mean even for Le Guinn this is strange, but I oddly wish there was more. Nine Lives is about a clone who who has to bear the pain of becoming an individual, originally one of ten, an accident happens on a far flung planet that leaves him the sole survivor.
This is really off beat from Le Guinn's other work SF work, this might be the hardest SF i've read by this author. It's also thematically distinct, more an exploration of man and individuality than it is an observation of an alien species or culture.
It's excellently written to boot, some fantastic imagery and character work in such a short piece.
What a weird short story, I mean even for Le Guinn this is strange, but I oddly wish there was more. Nine Lives is about a clone who who has to bear the pain of becoming an individual, originally one of ten, an accident happens on a far flung planet that leaves him the sole survivor.
This is really off beat from Le Guinn's other work SF work, this might be the hardest SF i've read by this author. It's also thematically distinct, more an exploration of man and individuality than it is an observation of an alien species or culture.
It's excellently written to boot, some fantastic imagery and character work in such a short piece.
Pedro Páramo is exactly the type of book I love to stumble across, it's a trip and a half with some serious literary chops to boot. It begins with the story of Juan Preciado's visit to Comala in search of Pedro Paramo, his father, a trip he promised his mother he would make on her death bed. Things start to dissolve from there as Comala is a literal ghost town, Juan finds it occupied by the spirits of the former townspeople. Juan and his story are swallowed up by Pedro and Comala's story as Juan searches amid the ghosts for anything still living. All the while the stories of the townspeople are delivered in non-linear hallucinatory segments, these stories are told by ghosts and seemingly the stones of the town itself, the dialogue purposely disintegrating along with Juan's mental state. The details of what's happened/happening resolve towards the midway point as enough of the story is told, but it definitely required backtracking to make sense of the whole.
The story of Pedro Páramo is really about the town of Comala- Juan, Pedro, the town, their stories wrap around each other in a dreamy vortex. There is an overwhelming sensation that life and death are interconnected in Comala, that time doesn't move quite as it should. That's largely thanks to the prose- in the middle when you realize that much of the first half of the book is delivering flashbacks you realize that Rulfos disintegrating prose is emulating this subversion of time. You cannot help but to admire how Rulfo's use of voice is used to communicate Juan Preciados devolving grasp on reality, you even begin to appreciate those confusing moments where a speaker cannot be identified as it reminds us that the story is told from Juan's perspective despite the narrative's increasing distance from him.
I'll be honest, I didn't love this book on my first read, it took a lot of back and forth to get a handle on the story, and as much as I adore the craft of the book now, I was put out with it taking like 60 pages to realize I was in a flashback. A lot of my appreciation of this book came in hindsight, particularly when I started to do research for this review. For a novel published in 1955 is it astoundingly modern in its fragmentary structure and mimetic style, it's a stylistic precursor to so much of postmodernist lit, not to mention its place in the genesis of the magical realism sub-genre. This book was so far ahead of its time and I think that's part of why it was received so poorly upon its release, there's a direct line from Kafka and Surrealism to Borges to this work and on and it was very much not in keeping with the literary trends of the 50s- only beginning to gain ground in the 60s (largely thanks to Gabriel Marquez).
The other reason for its cool reception had to be the early Kemp translation, which made significant cuts to the narrative and disregarded localized or linguistically complex details (which interestingly enough was done at the behest of the CIA and their the Congress for Cultural Freedom- a front which aimed to push western ideals and the American plain style on South America). I read the Peden translation, and I am sure the newer Weatherford is also a marked improvement to that 60's Kemp edition- that said- all translations seem to struggle with Rulfo's unconventional and hard to make sense of writing style. No matter which translation you opt to read just know you will have to backtrack and reread this book a few times before you get a complete sense of what's happening (but it's not too much of a chore at just 144 pages).
Overall this is a masterpiece, and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge- but I will admit that it is nearly incomprehensible the first time through, if you're a native Spanish speaker that still may be the case.
Pedro Páramo is exactly the type of book I love to stumble across, it's a trip and a half with some serious literary chops to boot. It begins with the story of Juan Preciado's visit to Comala in search of Pedro Paramo, his father, a trip he promised his mother he would make on her death bed. Things start to dissolve from there as Comala is a literal ghost town, Juan finds it occupied by the spirits of the former townspeople. Juan and his story are swallowed up by Pedro and Comala's story as Juan searches amid the ghosts for anything still living. All the while the stories of the townspeople are delivered in non-linear hallucinatory segments, these stories are told by ghosts and seemingly the stones of the town itself, the dialogue purposely disintegrating along with Juan's mental state. The details of what's happened/happening resolve towards the midway point as enough of the story is told, but it definitely required backtracking to make sense of the whole.
The story of Pedro Páramo is really about the town of Comala- Juan, Pedro, the town, their stories wrap around each other in a dreamy vortex. There is an overwhelming sensation that life and death are interconnected in Comala, that time doesn't move quite as it should. That's largely thanks to the prose- in the middle when you realize that much of the first half of the book is delivering flashbacks you realize that Rulfos disintegrating prose is emulating this subversion of time. You cannot help but to admire how Rulfo's use of voice is used to communicate Juan Preciados devolving grasp on reality, you even begin to appreciate those confusing moments where a speaker cannot be identified as it reminds us that the story is told from Juan's perspective despite the narrative's increasing distance from him.
I'll be honest, I didn't love this book on my first read, it took a lot of back and forth to get a handle on the story, and as much as I adore the craft of the book now, I was put out with it taking like 60 pages to realize I was in a flashback. A lot of my appreciation of this book came in hindsight, particularly when I started to do research for this review. For a novel published in 1955 is it astoundingly modern in its fragmentary structure and mimetic style, it's a stylistic precursor to so much of postmodernist lit, not to mention its place in the genesis of the magical realism sub-genre. This book was so far ahead of its time and I think that's part of why it was received so poorly upon its release, there's a direct line from Kafka and Surrealism to Borges to this work and on and it was very much not in keeping with the literary trends of the 50s- only beginning to gain ground in the 60s (largely thanks to Gabriel Marquez).
The other reason for its cool reception had to be the early Kemp translation, which made significant cuts to the narrative and disregarded localized or linguistically complex details (which interestingly enough was done at the behest of the CIA and their the Congress for Cultural Freedom- a front which aimed to push western ideals and the American plain style on South America). I read the Peden translation, and I am sure the newer Weatherford is also a marked improvement to that 60's Kemp edition- that said- all translations seem to struggle with Rulfo's unconventional and hard to make sense of writing style. No matter which translation you opt to read just know you will have to backtrack and reread this book a few times before you get a complete sense of what's happening (but it's not too much of a chore at just 144 pages).
Overall this is a masterpiece, and I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge- but I will admit that it is nearly incomprehensible the first time through, if you're a native Spanish speaker that still may be the case.
Added to listFull Reviewswith 151 books.
I'm at risk of over reviewing here. These are 109 fantastic, tight, well crafted pages and what I want to talk about is delivered so effectively by the story that discussing them feels like spoiling. There's so much inside of such a short story, and when told by Zweig's incredibly direct prose it means that not a sentence is wasted, it is a story that captivates for its entire length while building an atmosphere that's distinctly 1930/40s. Chess Story leaves the reader with so much to contemplate- chess, torture and isolation, focus and deliverance.
While chess is the subject of this piece, it reads as more of a character study and exploration of trauma. The story is narrated by an observer- The main character, Dr. B, is a former lawyer to the Austrian Nobility and is imprisoned and tortured by the Nazis. Rather than pulling teeth and nails, they leave him in total isolation- waiting for his eventual mental collapse. Dr. B is rescued from his torture when he steals a book of chess games, and despite having never played he quickly learns the game. At first chess delivers him from his isolation and boredom, he finally has something to do, but he begins to obsess and eventually fractures his psyche from playing games against himself. After escaping the Nazis we meet Dr. B aboard a freighter to Buenos Aires, where Dr. B interrupts a group of men playing a consultation game against Czentovic- a Yugoslav chess savant and world master. He prevents a disastrous blunder and the group persuades Dr. B to play against Czentovic.
I'll leave what happens next for other reviews to further spoil. What I will do is tell you more about Zweig because knowing his story frames so much of the atmosphere and better contextualizes the suffering of Dr. B. Zweig was like the Stephen King or J.K. Rowling of 1930s Europe, one of- if not the most translated authors of his time. He's a character out of time, part of the last generation of affluent and prominent German-Jewish intellectuals before Hitler came to power and the persecution of Jews became a priority of the state. He escaped to England in 1934 and later to the US and then Brazil in the early 1940s. Zweig watched the world crumble around him, marked for death by the SS he found himself pushed further and further into exile, torn from the European identity that he had embraced so totally in his youth. It's in this spiral that he published Chess Story and his memoir The World of Yesterday before he and his wife committed suicide in their Brazilian home.
This is a wonderful story and time capsule, and I recommend it to basically anyone.
I'm at risk of over reviewing here. These are 109 fantastic, tight, well crafted pages and what I want to talk about is delivered so effectively by the story that discussing them feels like spoiling. There's so much inside of such a short story, and when told by Zweig's incredibly direct prose it means that not a sentence is wasted, it is a story that captivates for its entire length while building an atmosphere that's distinctly 1930/40s. Chess Story leaves the reader with so much to contemplate- chess, torture and isolation, focus and deliverance.
While chess is the subject of this piece, it reads as more of a character study and exploration of trauma. The story is narrated by an observer- The main character, Dr. B, is a former lawyer to the Austrian Nobility and is imprisoned and tortured by the Nazis. Rather than pulling teeth and nails, they leave him in total isolation- waiting for his eventual mental collapse. Dr. B is rescued from his torture when he steals a book of chess games, and despite having never played he quickly learns the game. At first chess delivers him from his isolation and boredom, he finally has something to do, but he begins to obsess and eventually fractures his psyche from playing games against himself. After escaping the Nazis we meet Dr. B aboard a freighter to Buenos Aires, where Dr. B interrupts a group of men playing a consultation game against Czentovic- a Yugoslav chess savant and world master. He prevents a disastrous blunder and the group persuades Dr. B to play against Czentovic.
I'll leave what happens next for other reviews to further spoil. What I will do is tell you more about Zweig because knowing his story frames so much of the atmosphere and better contextualizes the suffering of Dr. B. Zweig was like the Stephen King or J.K. Rowling of 1930s Europe, one of- if not the most translated authors of his time. He's a character out of time, part of the last generation of affluent and prominent German-Jewish intellectuals before Hitler came to power and the persecution of Jews became a priority of the state. He escaped to England in 1934 and later to the US and then Brazil in the early 1940s. Zweig watched the world crumble around him, marked for death by the SS he found himself pushed further and further into exile, torn from the European identity that he had embraced so totally in his youth. It's in this spiral that he published Chess Story and his memoir The World of Yesterday before he and his wife committed suicide in their Brazilian home.
This is a wonderful story and time capsule, and I recommend it to basically anyone.
