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.

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