Me: this is hamletcore
My therapist: we actually call it clinical depression
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“Insignificance, my friend, is the essence of existence. It is all around us, and everywhere and always. It is present even when no one wants to see it: in horror, in bloody battles, in the worst disasters. It often takes courage to acknowledge it in such dramatic situations, and to call it by name. But it is not only a matter of acknowledging it, we must love insignificance, we must learn to love it.”
Ratings✨:
Characters: 6/10
Writing: 9/10
Creativity: 7/10
Pace: 8/10
Plot: 3/10
Ending: 4/10
An overall 3 ⭐️.
More about the author✍🏻:
Of all the writing styles a reader gets to see, Kundera’s stands remarkable, here’s why:
* His twisted metaphors trigger plenty of philosophical questions, such as: existence-versus-oblivion, insignificance of things in absence of knowledge or perception,..etc.
* His characters are well-carved and legit realistic. They’re swept in human conflicts and imperfections. You cannot spot a 2D plastic fictional character in any of his works.
* He knows how to teleport a reader to the era and location of his work setting. The social and political events are pretty much put on the focal point of his works. If we get to pinpoint a distinction for Kundera’s literary voice, it’ll be the voice of a historian.
On the book📖:
Then comes the part where my expectations for The Festival of Insignificance got hit by a lorry..
First of all, the process of switching between the characters is highkey confusing. Second, the narrative swapping between what’s supposed to be a character’s thoughts/flashbacks/delusions, and the actual events is so bizzare, almost like Shakespearien Macbeth - but not in a good way. And third, as for me, I love open endings, but in this one, it’s done as if someone has stolen the last chapter *shrugging*..
So I’d say this book may be a light poetic piece with a deformed plot-spine.
Recommended for:
Philosophy lovers / those seeking short reads.
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How can you stop a treadmill of tasks that only goes faster?
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Why does 2021 sound like a post-apocalyptic sci-fi kind of Hollywood production?
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Freedom is a loose kite in gentle wind floating with only its will for an anchor
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Hozier’s voice was basically destined for painters’ ears.
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Sometimes it creeps me out. How one pause, one detour, or one shift can make us end up in diff places, with diff people, or even diff mindsets in the long run. Like infinite routes and maps. All possible and simultaneous. Lying under each other like a multi-layered mille feuille.
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An ecstatic human being is a polished mirror that cannot help reflecting.
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My mom made me a painting apron with a pink heart-shaped pocket for my phone. And I shall count this as the loveliest surprise humanity can ever witness<33
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I may not believe in doppelgängers, but I certainly believe in copycats.
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It rained today in the middle of my yoga class, like heavily rained. And I can’t thank coincidences hard enough <33.
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Prayers are promises too.
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