En Man som Heter Ove, av Fredrik Backman

This is a lovely book. I read it mostly to practice my Swedish, and I'm glad I'm did. It fulfilled its purpose - even if there were many words I didn't know the meaning of, I managed to understand the context and read it fluently enough. The story is really moving, the main character very endearing and very Swedish - I was actually happy to be able to read it in Swedish, the cadence of the language agrees so much with the dry humour of the narrative. And it's a nice depiction of a multicultural and civilised country, with its flaws but also with all that makes it one of the most civilised places of our time. Even if dealing with a suicidal and depressed character, it ends up as an optimistic celebration of life.

Biology against the machine

How does one cope when one feels like one has no real goal in life? I'm sure that must be rather common when one reaches middle age, especially if one has no significant other, the children are raised and work has become just another routine. There comes a time when one keeps listening in one's mind to John Mellencamp's words: "life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone", or Sufjan Stevens' "there is only a shadow of me, in a matter of speaking I'm dead".

But then one keeps on living. Because there are friends to talk to, books to read, movies to watch. I remember a passage in Erico Veríssimo's O Tempo e o Vento, when some old woman dies and her friend says something like "poor thing, she will never know like the Toutinegra do Moinho (a very popular novel serialized at the beginning of the 20th century) will end!". (By the way, a disclosure - A Toutinegra do Moinho was my grandmother's favorite book).

So I guess it all comes down to biology. We're animals, living beings product of millions of years of evolution, destined for survival. It's in our DNA, the pressure for survival. That's why, in spite of all the existential and philosophical anguish and whatever, we still hold on to life.

Simone de Beauvoir said it beautifully in La Force des Choses:

Oui, le moment est arrivé de dire: jamais plus! Ce n’est pas moi qui me détache de mes anciens bonheurs, ce sont eux qui se détachent de moi: les chemins de montagne se refusent à mes pieds. Jamais plus j ene m’écroulerai, grisée de fatigue, dans l’odeur du foin; jamais plus je ne glisserai solitaire sur les neiges des matins. Jamais plus un homme. Maintenant, autant que mon corps mon imagination en a pris son parti. Malgré tout, c’est étrange de n’être plus un corps; il y a des moments où cette bizarrerie, par son caractère définitif, me glace le sang. Ce qui me navre, bien plus que ces privations, c’est de ne plus rencontrer en moi de désirs neufs: ils se flétrissent avant de maître dans ce temps raréfié qui est désormais le mien. Jadis les jours glissaient sans hâte, j’allais plus vite qu’eux, mês projets m’emportaient. Maintenant, les heures trop courtes me mènent à bride abattue vers ma tombe. J’évite de penser: dans dix ans, dans un an. Les souvenirs s’exténuent, les mythes s’écaillent, les projets avortent dans l’oeuf: je suis là et les choses sont là. Si ce silence doit durer, qu’il semble long, mon bref avenir!

Yes, the biological pressure is paramount, we are after all just animals product of the time honoured evolutionary process, meant to live. And then, there is always the perfect poem by Dorothy Parker, more insightful than most philosophical treaties.

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Le Temps Retrouvé, par Marcel Proust

I lack the talent to write a roper critic of this book - considering the ensemble of À La Recherche du Temps Perdu. I'll just say that since the first time I read it, in my early 20s, and every time I reread it - a few times by now - as soon as I reach the end I feel an urge to start reading it all over again. But then I prefer to wait a few years, and the pleasure of rediscovery is all the greatest. This was the first time I read it in French, a challenge I'm happy I took, for the original language is much more beautiful than the Portuguese translation I have. This is definitely the book I would take to that hypothetical deserted island. And who knows, maybe next time I'll be able to write better about it.

In the Shadow of the Sword - The Battle for Global Empire and the End of the Ancient World, by Tom Hoilland

This is an extremely interesting book, about a most fascinating time. As usual, Tom Holland writes about history as an adventure novel, which makes it a very pleasant read, even if sometimes he uses too much the passive sentences, but that's his style. Sometimes he seems to assume too much, but the matter of the book seems very well researched, and his depiction of the development of Islam from the turbulent struggles between Byzantium and Persia, Judaism and Christianity, is very interesting, insightful and thought provoking. I found extremely interesting his depiction of the origins of Islam, and so very likely. And I think it's very praiseworthy for someone to write History is such a readable and pleasant way, in the tradition of Gibbon. Knowing History is the best way to understand the development of our society, and if it's not always comfortable, it's always most useful.