Irony is a delight. Irresistible, at times. And for some temperaments, essential. But it is difficult not to see where it leads, or rather, it is difficult not to see the effects of its prolonged, regular practice on the practitioner’s personality. To understand this, it is enough to investigate where one’s motivation stems from. There are forms of irony that, in short, uplift; others degenerate. And this is perceived not by the reactions they provoke, but by the sentiment the ironist nurtures within himself. To always sit at the table, to center one’s life on scathing criticism, is something that should only be done with a constructive and purifying purpose.
Category: Notes
It Does Not Seem at All Reliable…
It does not seem at all reliable to try to draw parallels between writers’ physical fitness and their intellectual character, and the proof of this is that, based solely on their writing, one can hardly glean any clues about the former. However, it is very interesting when we discover that a writer was also an athlete during his lifetime. The fact is less interesting for the possible feats achieved, and more for the importance of the athletic habit in daily life: for the necessity of it, and for reaping the benefits of exercise. There are, of course, different kinds of exercise; however, it is clear that, provided they are performed with some intensity, work flows much better afterward. The difference is noticeable: physical work is followed by a sense of relaxation, a positive serenity that benefits intellectual activity.
Perhaps Only Poetry Can Be Compared…
Perhaps only poetry can be compared to historiography in Brazil, both boasting a long tradition of authors of the highest caliber, representing the most varied styles and approaches. And it is curious to note that, despite this vast and excellent body of literature available, the average Brazilian is completely unaware of Brazil’s history. It is one of those paralyzing ironies. The average American has his opinion about all the major events in American history: he knows them, at least. And in the United States, one need only walk into any bookstore, at either end of this vast country, to observe the following: in none of them is there a section larger than that of American history. In Brazil, despite the great authors, this is not the case. And the great authors, it must be said, are as great as they are unknown to the general public. So, here we are: the machinery of culture already seems to exist; what is missing, however, is something to force the engine to start.
Sometimes It Is Difficult to Overcome…
Sometimes it is difficult to overcome the sense of vertigo and exhaustion that arises in those moments when the inexhaustible vastness of the fields of literature and the social sciences seems to reveal itself. A single interesting read puts five, ten others on the waiting list, which multiply into another twenty or thirty, leaving the poor student on his knees before the impossibility of reading them all at once or, worse, before the justified expectation of a new exponential surge. But then, driven by necessity, he has to return to those old principles: the first, which teaches him to value the moment; the second, which recommends starting with what is most important. After all, he experiences the relief that, for the rest of his life, he will have worthy company.