Tag: literature

Anti-patriotism, however much it may provide abundant material for literature, however much it may enable good satire—and thus a good book—with the writer hardly having to make any effort to render the raw material interesting and convincing, and however much it may seem more logical than its opposite, sets a limit on artistic expression from the outset—the very same limit that the sentiment on which it is based can reach. It cannot be transformed into something positive without attacking the very qualities that sustain it. In a work, this would mean destroying its unity, its essence. It is best to treat it as no more than a peripheral element, always assigning it a secondary role and taking care not to inflate it to the point of tedium—because that is precisely what it does when it takes the place of a higher form of expression instead of surpassing itself, something it is definitely incapable of doing.

It is an invigorating, inspiring, and delightful sensation that comes over us when a providential rainy day interrupts a string of hot days. The coolness envelops us, and only then do we realize how our activity had been dragging on, as if forced against the fierce opposition of the environment. Now, everything seems to stimulate it, and it truly is a privilege to be able to work under a cozy roof, feeling the discomfort subdued, while the rain falls serenely on the other side of the window…

To imagine that there was a Carpeaux before the invention of the computer gives one pause. An active reader, over the course of a decade, produces thousands upon thousands of notes. Three or four decades of study, therefore, amount to a volume that no human mind is capable of comprehending, unless one engages in a constant process of rereading and reorganization, a process that never ends because there are always old notes to revisit, and there are always new ideas and new connections to be made through this revisitation. A computer, if used wisely, makes research tremendously easier: a task that might take an hour is sometimes reduced to minutes. Even so, it seems almost impossible to match the feat of those ancient scholars, whose notes were tucked away in their own thick tomes—something that, today, sends a shiver down one’s spine.

There is no point in reading unless it is to make the material one’s own; and that is rarely achieved on a first reading. Therefore, assimilation requires rereading and returning to what first caught one’s attention. That is why the intellectual must spend a good deal of time planning and implementing his personal method of organization. Notes and highlighted passages must become a living part of one’s study routine: they must be at hand when needed, and always in plain sight to prevent them from falling into oblivion. It is a matter of rereading them methodically and seeing that, with this practice, they take root within oneself.