Spoilers, for sure. Like hell I care enough to take them out.
I am a Bookbug! 
Reading list: (no particular order)
"We crossed to Inasa by ferry at the height of the afternoon. Noises from the harbour followed us across the water—the clang of hammers, the whine of machinery, the occasional deep sound from a ship’s horn—but in those days, in Nagasaki, such sounds were not unpleasing; they were the sounds of recovery and they were still capable then of bringing a certain uplifting feeling to ones spirits."
Well, there’s a lot to be said about this book. It takes you for a real spin. I’m going to warn people that once you read my interpretation of the book, it’ll be hard to unsee what I’m talking about. I don’t want to spoil things for people still reading it. Though, I’m not even sure my interpretation is right—it’s kind of wild. Still, it’s best to come up with your own before reading mine, I think.
First, I want to say I’ve always been curious about occupied Japan. I feel bad about it. First we (America) bomb you with the deadliest weapons we have, and now we’re staying in your land, rewriting your culture? And then, somehow, Japan becomes the superpower it is today. I wonder—genuinely—what they think of us. It hasn’t even been a hundred years since it happened. We’re still acting like dicks too imo, fetishizing and romanticizing their culture. Annoying the living shit out of them for views on tiktok or whatever. (Fucking weeaboos.)
Idk, I hope they’re doing okay. I guess my white ass can’t really ever know, and I’m not about to become a scholar on the subject of Japan. But I think this book has given me a glimpse into what they’ve been thinking about us; at least, what they thought about us in the 80s when this was written.
My interpretation makes me want to go through a second read of this book, honestly, when contemplating whether Sachiko and Etsuko are the same person. And Mariko and Keiko are also the same person. (Interesting how all their names end in “ko” by the way.) I felt there was something weird going on throughout the book, and I could see the parallels between Sachiko’s and Etsuko’s lives. My theory for most of the book was that Mariko’s ghost was haunting Etsuko’s family for some reason, and that’s what made Keiko commit suicide. But the author really starts beating you over the head with clues: Etsuko holding the lantern, with a vine wrapping around her leg. Her reminiscing riding the cable cars with Keiko. When she took a risk with her life by moving to America instead of settling.
It also explains why the younger Etsuko in Japan was very passive towards Sachiko. This Etsuko is the old Etsuko reflecting on her actual, younger self, Sachiko. The younger Etsuko only gave an opinion on what was happening a few times, mostly not intervening with people’s actions. This passivity is more about how you can’t change the past, rather than Etsuko not having the spinal cord to protect Mariko from Sachiko.
The only thing I can’t figure out is how young Etsuko’s husband and father-in-law fits into all of this. I kind of question whether her husband back then was a real person, or just older Etsuko’s ideal husband. I guess Frank was real. But if young Etsuko’s husband wasn’t real, what about the father-in-law? Because he was certainly a character with a personality, and because of that I’d think he’s real…? (Also, total side note that I'm too tired to explain: I think Etsuko drowned a baby: Keiko's unnamed sibling. I'll leave you to figure out why I think that.)
Well, regardless of who was real or not, what is clear is how a lot of this book is about comparing America’s culture to Japan’s. The book was an uncomfortable read sometimes, because of this. As a businesswoman with no aspirations for children, I felt like I was on trial. I largely disagree with the author’s views on women who work. Yes, there are terrible mothers who are businesswomen. But there are also terrible mothers who are housewives. What, do you really think every woman back in the day was a wonderful mother because she didn’t work? Of course not! What determines a good or bad mother depends on a lot more than whether she’s working or not.
What about single mothers, by the way, who have no choice but to work to feed their children? Are they automatically bad people who drown kittens?
And there’s a lot more nuance to the world than one action being absolutely bad, and another good. It’s a really boring answer, I know. I think people are afraid of nuance because they can’t figure out what to do with their lives if there’s no clear rules to follow. But that’s another subject.
The whole subject on what makes a good or bad mother is one that needs more nuance than what this book provides. When I read this book, I see a man scared for the children, a knee-jerk reaction to the expansion of roles women can lead in society. Whether children are getting enough attention and love is a valid concern. But chill the fuck out dude, I don’t think children are disgusting.
I think he does try to see the benefits of women working, which I appreciate. He does make a genuine attempt at weighing the pros and cons of American and Japanese culture. We have the widow Mrs. Fujiwara who sustains herself with a noodle shop after her husband died in the war, which is one of the rare times young Etsuko gives an opinion on something, saying this is a good thing. Maybe, one day, after a lot of contemplation, the author can figure out how to fit a working mother and a loving mother into one person. Who knows.
There’s a lot I haven’t touched on, whether the old noble Japanese lineages matter post-war, reflections on democracy, whether children’s education is better after the war or before. But I want to talk about the strong sense of love and empathy I felt from the author for his own people throughout the book. There were many times where Japan’s recovery was described, such as the new construction, and Mrs. Fujiwara’s son recovering from his wife’s death. The author holds a great admiration for his people’s resilience and determination to heal. I felt a hard message from him, directed to Japan, but one that we can all apply in our own lives: look forward to the future; don’t let grief hold you back. And when things around you are getting better, appreciate and enjoy those happy moments.
There's a lot of things going on in my life right now--I'm starting a new job, trying to get used to waking up and doing the whole "I have a job" routine. Also my e-reader was terrible for this book, and no matter how much I tried double spacing the text so I could read it better, I didn't figure out a solution. (So I may have to get a new e-reader.)
I say all of this because I wasn't capitivated by this book, but because of the above, this could be an unfair judgment. Also, I didn't finish the book; I'm midway through chapter four.
Things that I liked though -- the imagery was interesting, the setting unique. I like how you can be reading a normal day in th village and then suddenly the author starts talking about crab people in the swamp, like that's a normal thing. Or the skeletal frames of massive boats found far away from water. Also the mention of random famous people closer to the modern era (I think Keates was one of them) pricks your brain a bit, and makes the town these characters live in seem like something that cheats the rules of time. (As well as death apparently.)
When it comes to dark fantasy imagery though, I think the Gormenghast series did it best. The way that guy wrote was beautiful.
Something about the family drama, all the stuff about the family's lineage, weird illnesses that people contract and get healed from. Couldn't get myself interested in that. The weird sexual stuff is a bit of an eye roll.
This book definitely has a running theme of spirituality versus science, with the unexplainable often winning. Jose Ariando Buendia (did I get that right?) and the gypsy are often trying to break down the core mechanics of the universe for their own personal gain, or to expand their knowledge. But they often fail. However, the wife who relies on what she's learned through her cculture, such as certain medicines to heal people, often is the person who fixes problems despite the men's efforts.
Anyways, I guess this book isn't for me, but the subject of it and the town itself is unique in its own right.
"That exact mentality fucked me up when I was a kid, because I convinced myself I was an alcoholic—so for like five years, I never drank, or if I did drink I drank a lot, you know, because if I was already drinking, I might as well be ‘that guy’ that everyone already thought I was, but then one day, I was just like, ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ And now I just drink and it’s not a big deal, you know?"
I enjoyed this book a lot. It gave me a new appreciation for comedy in novel/short story form. It’s like someone took a meme, and said, “Hey, what if we made this longer?” and turned it into a meme story. And then some other guy was like, “What if we took several meme stories and grouped them together with a common theme?” and created a meme book.
I’m quite new to meme books. It’s outstanding. It’s like all the memes you’d want to see on social media, delivered with a reliable comedic effect since it’s all from the same author, and it has none of the terrible things social media has. None of the eye strain from computer screens, no advertisements about how you need to save an ugly pregnant woman out in the cold by downloading an app, none of the toxic shit you scroll through that you have to pretend you’re okay with, but it secretly keeps you up at night, but you can’t talk about that because your discord server will call you a pussy if you do. None of that stuff.
If you don’t like the comedy you’ll know right away because it won’t be funny, and the book will probably be more of the same stuff because it’s by one author, so you put the book down. But the malevolent scrolling websites implement leaves the funny haha dopamine feelings up to chance, so it uh… leads to addiction. Like a slot machine.
None of the above is actually about the book, lol. (I’m gonna try not to spoil much since a lot of it would be ruined if I did.):
So the book, Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory is a collection of short stories all about broken relationships. Or relationships that were already broken before they began. There’s a wedding one that was real funny; I’m debating whether to suggest it T or not. All about the stupid fucking bullshit traditions we do to appease our stupid parents. Husband is tortured in it though, wife is awful, and I can’t help but think, “Oh fuck, I’m also going to be an awful wife, aren’t I?” So I haven’t shown T this story even though I think it’s real funny.
Some poignant parts too, obviously. As indicated by the quote I started this entry with. One story reflects my OCD extremely well and it got me in the feels… hmmm. I don’t want to say much! Do you like Bojack Horseman? Have you heard of Bojack Horseman? This book is written by the guy that wrote a lot of it. There’s a lot of overlapping themes. Similarities in style. Guy’s good at whatever you want to call this:
“Every conversation was punctuated by long awkward silences—but punctuated the Spanish way, so every sentence was followed by a long awkward silence and preceded by the same awkward silence upside down.”
“Being Chester A. Arthur is like the easiest president to be, because basically you just have to stand around outside the entrance to the Rutherford B. Hedge Maze by the Bridge to a Better Tomorrow over the River of Racial Intolerance…”
So yeah, it was a good time. I should buy a physical copy.
“...it was painful to be reminded of the inadequacy of human relationships, that the most perfect was flawed, and could not bear the examination which, loving her husband, with her instinct for truth, she turned upon it;”
I’m not done reading yet, but I finished part one, and I thought I’d start writing some thoughts about it because there’s already a lot.
People struggle with the tediousness of familial life. This book is about those who formed the nuclear family–or didn’t–and question whether they made the right decision for themselves.
In this book, the men suffer less from this tediousness, because they can disappear into work and academics. They have an escape, and so, are free to hide from the mundanity of their lives, with the highly intellectual conversations at the universities they work at. They also get a break from the small talk, and the same repetitive topics from family members. Mr. Ramsay especially relies on his work in hopes that he’ll escape his average life, to be famous and remembered for a long time. Charles Tansley wants to impress people with his intellect and be known for it.
The women don’t get that escape. Mrs. Ramsay, the mother, doesn’t. Because of this, she acquiesces to her ordinary life. She has an easier time accepting her disappointment for how mundanity of her life, and also how harsh people in the world can be. She’s not completely happy (nor completely unhappy) as a mother. Sometimes she wishes for more, or is happy with what she has. She asks herself if she could’ve found a better man, and wishes she could’ve been an activist for the poor in society. She acknowledges there’s an entity called life that she constantly battles, always trying to throw a wrench into her plans for the day.
The men however cling to more naive ideas about the world, such as fame saving them from getting lost to time, having superior intelligence to those around them, and a black and white perspective of morality in people. Mr. Ramsay gets angry when he senses his wife questioning these ideas. (And it’s not like she is directly questioning him, and letting these thoughts be known. She might be sitting too long, looking out the window to the lighthouse, idle, and it makes the men uneasy to see such contemplation in a woman.)
When the rosy ideas the men have about themselves are put on thin ice, they turn to the women for comfort. Hoping they will stroke their egos by listening to them talk about their dissertations, or the women allowing their intelligence to get insulted. (For example, when the men assume they don’t know how to read.) The men in this book are a weak lot; they need constant comfort and attention, and hide from reality, while the women face the challenges of life with clear, unadulterated eyes. Not hiding or looking away, but trying to accept life as it is.
Lily Briscoe and William Bankes are the two exceptions to the above. Lily has her work and William genuinely appreciates it, and engages in conversation with her about it.
This book was written in a different time, the 1920s. The sexism is harsh to read, in comparison to our standards now. (Things are better now than they were.) I don’t see the fear of being ordinary as exclusively a male problem, but it’s a prevalent one in many people. (And maybe it’s a worse problem currently than it was, because of social media.) In my personal experience, some people in my life never grow up because they keep on waiting to become famous, instead of accepting that they’ll just have to pass butter like the rest of us.
I’m gonna jump back a couple paragraphs to the, “did I make the right decisions in life regarding a family?” question this book asks. (I’m tired and a little tipsy as I write this. Sorry if everything is phrased weirdly.) Everyone in this book has something they feel like they’re missing. None of the adults seem that happy. The two without families, Lily and William, seem fascinated by families. Lily paints them, and William wishes to have a familial bond with children. The men with families feel like their careers would have fared better if they stayed single. And then there’s Mrs. Ramsay from earlier. No matter what path in life you choose, there’s always something you’ll feel that you missed out on.
The whole book is moving me though, guys. Most stories you hear about matrimony, either the relationship is extremely moving and romantic, or abusive and terrible. Other than the sexism that has toned down since that time, (at least it toned down in our laws, not sure about people) she potrayed the headspace of people in long term relationships pretty accurately. I think if I wasn’t slammed on antidepressants and mood stabilizers, I’d be crying.
...
I finished the book.
Shit, their familial life fell apart pretty hard, didn't it? The father became miserable, which is ironic, because he was wishing for a way out of familial life in the beginning of the book.
In part 3 of the book we're given a lot of different perspectives on Mrs. Ramsay--Mr. Ramsay as well--but we're locked out of their minds unlike in the beginning of the book. Which makes themselves and their relationship all the more mysterious. We're left on the outside looking at this very traditional couple wondering why they are the way they are. The kids, James and Cam, deal with the random, unexplained misery and abandonment the felt from their mother and father. (James feels abandoned by his Mom with her death, Cam can't decide what she thinks of her father because of his abuse, but wants to love him.) While brooding about Mrs. Ramsay and working on her painting, Lily becomes aware of the random suffering this world inflicts at a whim, and that people are in a constant state of want.
I think Mrs. Ramsay was always aware of this aspect about the world, and part three is mostly about watching the other characters learn and accept this part of life. See here:
‘Mrs. Ramsay! Mrs. Ramsay!’ [Lily] cried, feeling the old horror come back – to want and want and not to have. Could she inflict that still? And then, quietly, as if she refrained, that too became part of ordinary experience, was on a level with the chair, with the table. Mrs. Ramsay – it was part of her perfect goodness to Lily – sat there quite simply, in the chair, flicked her needles to and fro, knitted her reddish-brown stocking, cast her shadow on the step. There she sat.
I think Mrs. Ramsay chose to cope with this aspect of life by believing in traditional marriage, and that raising a family could fulfill her wants. Did that always work for her? I don't think so. Sometimes she wished she was doing something else. But other times she felt happy and enjoyed hosting dinners and spending time with her kids. I think she accepted her life the best she could, with all of its ups and downs. She also accepted the misery caused by unfulfilled wishes. I think this is why she was such an enimga to people in part three, after her death, and why so many of the characters were turning her over and over in their heads, trying to figure out what made her tick.
This was a really good book... I feel like it was trying to describe a phenomenon I've sensed about life for a long time. It's hard to describe, I felt like the author also had a hard time describing it and was trying to throughout the book. (Maybe Lily was her self-insert? Hmm...) This book's gonna be in my head for a while.
Hey, this got a Review Spotlight! Yay!
Quotes:
“Strife, divisions, difference of opinion, prejudices twisted into the very fibre of being, oh that they should begin so early, Mrs. Ramsay deplored. They were so critical, her children. They talked such nonsense. She went from the dining-room, holding James by the hand, since he would not go with the others. It seemed to her such nonsense – inventing differences, when people, heaven knows, were different enough without that. The real differences, she thought, standing by the drawing-room window, are enough, quite enough. She had in mind at the moment, rich and poor, high and low…”
“...and of human relations, how flawed they are, how despicable, how self-seeking, at their best.”
“... ‘But the father of eight children has no choice.…’ Muttering half aloud, so he broke off, turned, sighed, raised his eyes, sought the figure of his wife reading stories to the little boy; filled his pipe. He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.”
“For it was extraordinary to think that they had been capable of going on living all these years when she had not thought of them more than once all that time. How eventful her own life had been, during those same years. Yet perhaps Carrie Manning had not thought about her either. The thought was strange and distasteful.”
“... for what could be more serious than the love of man for woman, what more commanding, more impressive, bearing in its bosom the seeds of death; at the same time these lovers, these people entering into illusion glittering-eyed, must be danced round with mockery, decorated with garlands.”
“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be Are full of trees and changing leaves.”
“But through the crepuscular walls of their intimacy, for they were drawing together, involuntarily, coming side by side, quite close, she could feel his mind like a raised hand shadowing her mind; and he was beginning now that her thoughts took a turn he disliked – towards this ‘pessimism’ as he called it – to fidget, though he said nothing, raising his hand to his forehead, twisting a lock of hair, letting it fall again.
‘You won’t finish that stocking to-night,’ he said, pointing to her stocking. That was what she wanted – the asperity in his voice reproving her. If he says it’s wrong to be pessimistic, probably it is wrong, she thought; the marriage will turn out all right.
"Was there no safety? No learning by heart of the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? – startling, unexpected, unknown? For one moment she felt that if they both got up, here, now on the lawn, and demanded an explanation, why was it so short, why was it so inexplicable, said it with violence, as two fully equipped human beings from whom nothing should be hid might speak, then, beauty would roll itself up; the space would fill; those empty flourishes would form into shape; if they shouted loud enough Mrs. Ramsay would return. ‘Mrs. Ramsay!’ she said aloud, ‘Mrs. Ramsay!’ The tears ran down her face."
"What is the meaning of life? That was all – a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark;"
"a man, any man, would staunch this effusion, would stop these lamentations. A woman, she had provoked this horror; a woman, she should have known how to deal with it. It was immensely to her discredit, sexually, to stand there dumb. One said – what did one say? – Oh, Mr. Ramsay! Dear Mr. Ramsay! That was what that kind old lady who sketched, Mrs. Beckwith, would have said instantly, and rightly. But no. They stood there, isolated from the rest of the world. His immense self-pity, his demand for sympathy poured and spread itself in pools at her feet, and all she did, miserable sinner that she was, was to draw her skirts a little closer round her ankles, lest she should get wet. In complete silence she stood there, grasping her paint brush."
"Wouldn’t I do anything to reverse my loss, the absence of him?"
In the first scene of this provocative gut-punch of a novel, our unnamed narrator meets a magnetic writer named Ciaran and falls, against her better judgment, completely in his power. After a brief, all-consuming romance he abruptly rejects her, sending her into a tailspin of jealous obsession and longing. If he ever comes back to her, she resolves to hang onto him and his love at all costs, even if it destroys her… Part breathless confession, part lucid critique, Acts of Desperation renders a consciousness split between rebellion and submission, between escaping degradation and eroticizing it, between loving and being lovable. With unsettling, electric precision, Nolan dissects one of life’s most elusive mysteries: Why do we want what we want, and how do we want it? Heralding the arrival of a stunning new literary talent, Acts of Desperation interrogates the nature of fantasy, desire, and power, challenging us to reckon honestly with our own insatiability.
I don't usually read modern romance novels like this, but if there's a book that's going to get my attention, it's going to be a book about obsessive love. Because I love reading shit about myself when it happens across my path. And this was a book of The Moment, since I read it back in... February? March? of 2024. Just felt like I had to read a book about a pathetic relationship and another woman going through it.
Well, I was surprised to relate to the man. With his ex. My life has been in a similar struggle this past decade, except I didn't even date him! Hm! So I think I'm objectively worse than the antagonist in this book. Lol.
The woman is actually pretty different from me. The way she treats her love is as an inevitability that she can't fight, like a curse inflicted on her. The equivalent of a your house getting hit by a hurricane, just something to accept as is. Whenever I had become grossly in love with someone, it was because my brain saw it as a solution to a problem that I had to action, or die without. It always felt like a thing I created with the good intention to solve another problem, (loneliness, boredom) but it went awry. Not an illness that I magically woke up with one day from some external source.
Because I thought I made this problem for myself, I felt a bit more control, responsibility, and guilt for my actions than this woman. Which is probably why I didn't go as far as to commit some of the terrible things she did.
I'm not sure if that made sense. I should sleep better...
She's very much someone who lets things happen to her. That's why she was submissive throughout most of the book. But I don't think I've ever been like that, yet, I've chosen submission as a tactic to get people to like me better. So you can be a person who feels like they have power and control, or a person who feels like they can't control anything, and still end up as a doormat in the end. I relate to her on how painful it is turning into nothing for someone else. It's been a long while since those days, but I've been there.
Also men sure do love the silent treatment don't they? Can't believe that was also in this book lmfao.
On a cerebral/enjoyment level this didn't do much for me. It was a light read. I didn't awaken my third eye with it. It passed the time. I'm actually surprised I wrote this much because I feel like I've been struggling with stuff to say about it. Pretty mid, 5/10.
“I did not just love Ciaran but loved him darkly, wrongly. Losing someone you love in those ways can turn you not only mad but wicked too.”
“It had been like this when I was a teenager. My depressions were without source or resolution, and so I had no real answer to the question ‘What’s wrong?’ My relationship with Ciaran had the same feeling of inevitability. It just was. I just was in love with him, and any of the problems that came with it were simply to be borne. There was no point in describing them.”
“Part of what was between us was a conspiratorial acknowledgement that we were gross, that we were perverts, that it was nastiness bonding us together.”
“I hate now for men to dote in this way, the ones who don’t know me. Their praise lands uncertainly in the air somewhere between the two of us, because it doesn’t belong to me. I hate to hear them tell me what I am, even or especially when what they think I am is kind or brilliant or beautiful. I hate when they insist that I have no faults, that my laziness or violence or cruelty simply don’t exist.” (So true I hate getting flattered in this way, it does not feel genuine because it does not feel earned.)
“I let myself think of all this for a few moments and feel the relief it would bring. To let an entirely new thing take me over, which was the only way I would escape Ciaran alive, that woozy joy of being able to leave a whole life, my whole self, behind me in an instant.”
“Life was so pointless, so opaque and shifting, that I could only think about immediate feelings. Immediacy was all I had.”