My Favorite Genre of Literature
Not that anybody asked but I really like a specific kind of existentialist literature where the main character is deranged and partakes in a really mundane plot but the story is told through intricate and artistically superior (relatively, compared to the majority of books) prose. The examples I can think of right now are The Stranger by Albert Camus, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov , Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, and my current read No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. Do not be fooled: although I may seem as such I am not as avid of a reader as I’d like to be, which is why I reference the same four books in all of my blog posts but still I have much to talk about all of them SO let’s get into it ->
In my opinion none of these books have an interesting plot, however the prose is extremely entertaining. Lolita’s, in my humble opinion, remains incomparable. Lolita’s plot is boring and quite predictable if a reader (me) truly thinks about it, but what sets it apart is not necessarily the content but its humor and sophistication. I failed to understand its many nuances even after reading multiple analyses, maybe that was Nabokov making fun of me. Or maybe I am just underqualified, my vocabulary isn’t that great. There is probably nobody on this planet who would deny that Nabokov is a genius- and probably the funniest man on earth. I caught myself laughing insensibly at many excerpts while reading and caught myself taking pictures of quotes to send to friends. Brainless baba? Miss Beard? Mauve Mail? Who even thinks of that?
As for The Stranger, I barely remember the plot yet I recall the book to be very easily digestible. I finished it on a plane and sat looking out the window thinking about what it meant to actually care about one’s state of living - and came to the conclusion that regardless nothing matters anyway (in true existential fashion). To be fair I am probably biased as I have a hormonal imbalance in my brain that causes me to be a natural nihilist and cannot help but believe this state of being is normal, but Monsieur Meursault would probably agree with me. He probably didn’t care about anything, he didn’t care what happened to him or why because he had a very low standard of fulfillment. I don’t think it’s fair to say he was psychologically detached from the world around him, maybe it’s true, but from how I perceived it he just simply didn’t care. Assign a diagnosis to it if you want, but just because someone chooses not to be particular to all of the trials and tribulations of life doesn’t mean there is something wrong with them. Maybe it speaks more to how society can be sensitive, sometimes to the point where it overrides practicality. Maybe he doesn’t care that his mom died because it was an expectation instilled into him from the beginning, it is only logical for any human to die at some point. And maybe he just didn’t love Marie back, that is not a crime.
No Longer Human is similar but vastly different in the sense that while the protagonist doesn’t understand the ways of the world, he is deathly afraid of it. Or at least the implications of it. It is undeniable he is very coherent, intelligent, and observational, but the root of the issue in which he lives in fear remains somewhat nebulous to me. Maybe that’s just because I haven’t finished the book yet, but in my opinion, there is nothing wrong with being a “fraud” or “abnormality”. I personally dont mind being the only one with a certain opinion even if I am labeled with certain adjectives like “unpredictable” or “pretentious” or “arrogant”. Why is it not normal to be pretentious? That is a relative, very subjective term. You can’t be confident and self-assured without being at least a little bit pretentious. But I digress.
Perhaps it is the circumstances I was born into that has made me in a way where I am not really fearful of much, like the opinions of others or taxes or death. I’m not trying to sound different or special but I am more afraid of things like a deity punishing me for my actions after I die because I didn’t believe in a certain way of living. But that’s something I’ll worry about later, and as for right now, I like to be authentic and honest. Even if it pisses people off, even if it garners popularity. The difference in Meursault and I is probably that he didn’t even care to think that he liked to be authentic, he just didn’t know or care to know of an alternative. It’s probably easier that way, anyway.
Lastly I have no strong opinions of Norwegian Wood’s Toru Watanabe. He kind of seemed like a pleb, letting the wind blow him in whatever direction, Forrest Gumping his way through odd decisions and even odder comrades. It truly felt like a neutral perspective, not controversial like The Stranger and not polarized like Lolita. The motive behind many of his actions remained vague until the very end, and I got very bored in some parts (again, predictable and banal plot points) but it was a solid read. I don’t agree with the public opinion that he is a misogynist just because the book centered around important women in his life, but the story was written well even if it had no purpose. Most books are that way, in my experience.
If anyone else has recommendations similar to the kind of book I just described please send me an email. I like to be more cultured and the more nuanced the references I make in everyday life the better. I like to live a certain kind of lifestyle, if you haven’t noticed yet.
