The dissatisfaction of literature
October 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
Having settled in a beautiful and convenient but boring place — with no museums, or performing arts worth mentioning — I set about reading with the intention of catching up on the backlog of literature. I have read piles of science, philosophy, history, and art; literature, I felt, was now the major remaining mountain of knowledge needing to be conquered.
Alas, it will remain unconquered.
With very few exceptions I am finding reading literature a dull and depressing experience: literary authors simply do not know enough about life (spending all day writing prevents them from living — they are as unknowledgeable about life as every other desk-bound full-time employee); nor do they have the theoretical foundations which stem from rigorous acquisition of facts. Their lack of insight is glaring; their life theories naive; their psychology, for the most part, wishful thinking. Except for some deft story telling techniques (fancy language, beautiful metaphor, a sudden narrative switcharoo) I find little reward in literature; and what I find is too weak a reward for the time spent reading.
So, I have changed my project and turned to music. I now spend hours listening (intently) to music.