Biographies, and especially autobiographies, of great men hold a fascination that is hard to match. This is particularly true of those in which the impossible becomes a fait accompli, convincing us that it happens and can happen. That is why it takes a great deal of effort for them to become tedious. More often than not, they convey that perfect and fundamental notion that there is meaning in the whole, something that, if not grasped, is what brands a biography as mediocre. Fortunately, such biographies do not make for good stories, and we rarely have to endure them. On other occasions, we find ourselves facing pages we cannot bear to put down.
Tag: literature
Cioran Rightly Recommended That…
Cioran rightly recommended that anyone experiencing a fit of rage toward someone simply take a piece of paper and a pen and write down a few dozen insults: “He’s a pig, a scoundrel, a criminal, an animal….” The rage passes. If it does not pass, it diminishes dramatically, and putting it down in writing brings about a kind of release. Now, what happens with anger also happens with anguish. But the processes are different. Anger dissipates with the frantic, dizzying outpouring; it dissipates through the way one writes. Anguish, on the other hand, dissipates, at least in part, through rationalization. It is always the same: evoking it seems to intensify it, plunging the mind into a painful process; yet, little by little, as one describes how it operates, it loses its strength, as if understanding were neutralizing it. In the end, one is left with a text: there it is, laid bare, perhaps very unpleasantly; but it has indeed diminished.
Better Are Always the Words of One Who…
Better are always the words of one who does not allow himself to be dominated by a sense of self-importance, even if that sense has not been transformed into humility. Contempt, scorn, whatever it may be: anything is valid to nullify it, and any expression that contradicts it is more pleasing than the pride that may stem from it. The reader, even if not a philosopher, will always have an innate sense of the relative importance of a single human being in the face of creation. Therefore, vice, even if not consciously perceived, will produce the impression arising from its vicious nature. It’s that simple.
It Is Very Unpleasant to Witness…
It is very unpleasant to witness, while they are still alive, the example of these writers who end up losing their way through their involvement in politics. Success and talent attract attention; attention brings new friends, and these friends drag them into the ungrateful realm. When we see this in a deceased writer, the process seems less painful; we can simply ignore certain texts, or give them the little weight they deserve. When, however, the writer is still alive, we are not yet able to discern what will remain of his work. If we respect him, we want to read him, and the drastic change in his texts, the squandering of talent for so little, actually hurts. It is best not to give in to the impulse to speak ill of him; after all, a great work, once published, is a tangible achievement that no misfortune and no wretch can ever take away from an author.