So here’s the thing about excellent art…it disturbs the comfortable and comforts the disturbed. Right?
Nope. It disturbs and comforts those who are porous yet washes unchanged over those who have no capability for human feeling.
And since this month has broken pieces off my psyche, I’m feeling particularly porous.
Unfortunately, I’ve been reading exactly the wrong books this year. By the end of January I was hopping back and forth frequently between Neverwhere and The Bone Clocks.
Want to know what you should avoid when feeling a bit…off?
Novels whose primary effect on you might, perhaps, be
OH MY GOD THE WORLD IS A LIE AND SENTIENCE IS ILLUSION AND THE DARKEST, MOST SINISTER PARTS OF US WILL BE THE THREADS THAT RISE ABOVE AND DOMINATE OUR BETTER IMPULSES, FOR THIS IS THUNDERDOME!
are not the best choice.
Excellent books, though. Look into them when life is all sunshine and buttercups. Or if you’re not easily swayed by minor apocalypses.
Then, I can never read them.
Love you, friend.
I stopped both a couple of times and the panic resolved. But then I continued reading. Stupid, really. But they are both compelling books. Ill-advised when your head is a mess, but brilliantly conceived and written.
For a lovely, slow, engaging read try Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. Not upsetting or Thunderdome-y at all.
Thanks for the recommendations!
I recommend a strict diet of Georgette Heyer. Start with Frederica.
Okay. Its been added to the queue.