"They wanna check my papers see what I carry around, credentials are borig, I burnt them at the burial ground" MIA
2009-12-16, 11:41 p.m.

So this past week I've finished reading Brave New World. It took me longer than anything, because I had to read it a few pages at a time (some before bed, some when I woke up). Usually when it takes me that long to read a book I give up, and save it for later. I try to stick to short stories during finals time. However I could not stop reading this book. I certainly didn't expect to like it- I read it because I found it for .25 cents and figured it's a rather important piece, so worth reading for that reason if nothing else (appeared in the top ten of Modern Library's most important 100 books).

The ending reminded me a lot of the ending in Perfume- a huge orgy of sorts ending in demise of the main character by his own means. It was riveting, and I read the scene at least 5 times just to let it soak in. The man flogs himself with a knotted rope, in front of hundreds of people, and with each blow my heart rate would go up with the sheer ecstasy inherent in this act of violence- that here was a man who was depressed by happiness, bringing physical suffering unto himself to escape monotony of perfection to the point where his horror at himself, and the society causes him to take his own life. And because of a girl, but that was just kind of an annoying side story.

One thing I noticed while reading the book that bothered me (besides the annoying female characters) was the authors use of the word "pnuematic." I wondered if maybe he was trying to send subliminal messages to the reader? That this society of theirs is full of nothing more than air, or that they are in someway god like?

I especially like the discourse between the Director and The Savage in the last part of the book- this idea of what's worth more, truth or happiness? It culminates in The Savage proclaiming to his own dismay that he demands the right to suffer, demands the right to be sick. The right to be free of "soma," a happy drug that all the citizens take if there is any suggestion that possible suffering might occur. The right to hate living in a sense, and in doing so, realize his own humanity. Little bit of irony.

There is no particular evil in this book. In fact, there's nothing uniquely WRONG. Except exactly that. There's nothing wrong. Everything can be dealt with by science or soma. How can you hate that? Why is it evil?
While that is true, suffering is beautiful in its own right. Without it we might as well be hooked up to dentists chairs, like in The Matrix, with tubes taking things into our body and out of our bodies, like the cast man in Catch-22. Our minds can continuously be occupied by TV. Like the characters in Brave New World, we can take infusions of Violent Passion to stimulate our adrenal glands.

But even if we'll never understand "the point," even if it's guaranteed that we will never find truth, a passive existence is fucking boring. I think that's the problem I have with that statement I mentioned in an earlier blog "it is what it is." The passivity of it.
There's 100 things to write about in terms of this book, but I feel like starting another book so I'm heading out. A final note though; this book didn't present any idea that I haven't already encountered, but the use of drugs, and the violence of the main character are what put this one at a different level. I also appreciated that dissenters, instead of being removed and reconditioned as in 1984, were sent somewhere else to find their own happiness. The only real violence and suffering in this book were self inflicted (except for in the case of Linda, but that's a different story).

Anyways, off to read another book. I leave you my dears with a quote from the book, and a song I ran to today that made me feel incredibly bad ass.

"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."