Luciano Duarte | Literature and philosophy

The Sopranos, by David Chase

I lost, some time ago, the habit of the series. But I know that if for some reason I feel the nostalgia of the hours spent in front of the screen, even submerged in a sea of recent and acclaimed options, I will choose to review — again… — The Sopranos, by David Chase. And why is that? Because this series, among all, exhibits the most complex and thought-provoking psychological constructions I have ever had the opportunity to watch. Intelligent, ambiguous characters, agitated by strongly internal conflicts and represented in fantastic performances. Nothing better is up to me to expect from a series…

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Poisonous Ideas

I have some very poisonous ideas, for example, this: I will only reach fullness on the day I cannot say the name of my country’s president. I confess, I have worked hard: I no longer read any news, I have not turned on a television in years, I cannot tell who won the Champions League and other exploits. But I know that fullness, peace of mind and wisdom will only come on the day one ask me: Who have you voted for senator? What do you think of the new bill? What did you think of the new ministerial composition? And for all these I do not answer except with a sarcastic smile on my face.

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Man’s Search for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl

I hate the widespread idea that the man is just a dog. I see it all the time: whether it is the guy who thinks hunger is man’s main problem or psychology that ties to instincts and never goes beyond instincts. Well, a genius is born — and we need geniuses to tell us the obvious… — and says the following: there is in the human being a spiritual dimension that defines and transcends it. And the genius, named Viktor Frankl, had to prove in the flesh the validity of the theory itself, enduring the terrible atrocities of various Nazi concentration camps and maintaining sanity. I mean, the animal pulsates on us, but there’s something nobler. Below is an excerpt from the book:

A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining. What he becomes — within the limits of endowment and environment — he has made out of himself. In the concentration camps, for example, in this living laboratory and on this testing ground, we watched and witnessed some of our comrades behave like swine while others behaved like saints. Man has both potentialities within himself; which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions.

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Steppenwolf, by Hermann Hesse

I closed this brilliant work disgusted by the outcome of the plot. I thought, “How will this book resonate in me in the future?” I reflected on the reading: from the beginning, I was delighted with the sharpness and precision of the psychological descriptions of the misanthrope, self-destructive and depressing Harry Haller, who seemed to me as a brother. The narrative develops instigating, seeing Harry sprout, through a woman — Hermine, — his human side, then facing a fierce psychological battle because of his ambivalent personality. Psychological tension is constant, and Harry’s reflections are noteworthy. Comes the book summit, where Harry looks in delirium. I felt, shortly before, the physical presence of Goethe and Mozart, evoked by the author. I am not moved at all with what might be called the climax of the plot — or, if you prefer, with what immediately happens after the climax. A few pages later, I close the book: “What then? What will I remember in the future?” It has been some months: I can barely remember the outcome; the rest of the book, however, remains alive in me.

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