2.5? I don’t really know how to rate this. I didn’t like the writing in general, the first half is a 1 star for me but the last 200 pages or so was 4 stars.

"The fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone."

Read for English class. I really loved the prose, and since I had to analyze specific aspects of the novel, I think I have a better appreciation and understanding of the story Shelley was trying to tell as a whole than otherwise. Truly, I sympathized with Frankenstein’s monster and witnessing the effects isolation have on one’s capacity for humanity was the most interesting part to me. I ended up writing my paper on the parallel between this theme discussed in the book and current events regarding school shootings, for a majority of cases in the United States involved a bullied or outcasted perpetrator. There is most certainly a correlation between ostracism and increased aggression, and I believe Shelley excellently develops this concept with the monster and his dynamic with Frankenstein.

The ending was perfect, in my opinion, since it shows that Frankenstein has in fact not learned a thing throughout this whole ordeal, has not once listened to the monster’s pleas for companionship and understanding, nor his desperate explanations for his actions, and lastly not even his desires to be left alone in peace. I feel it accurately reflects a certain side of humanity and was overall realistic. Anyways, great novel! Lots of symbolism and meaning, especially in the environments.

"If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Trafalmadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still—If I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of those moments are nice."

Read this for my English class and I loved this a lot more than I thought I would; I even posted sticky tabs for my favorite parts/quotes/concepts. I kind of trudged through the first 50 or so pages but once everything was established and things started connecting, I flew through it.

I loved the discussion (more of a confrontation) about American society and how we treat our poor, the questions regarding the morality of Christianity and Christians, the insight of how war impacts the mental state (triggered flashbacks, PTSD), and of course the inevitability of time and fate as per the Trafalmadorian philosophy. The emphasis on age, the consistent references via imagery to the youth of these soldiers was really hard-hitting. Very powerful anti-war (anti-glacier) book!

Edit: I think I'm going to bump this up to a 5 star. It's really got me sitting here pondering simply everything (the analysis and presentation I have to do on this may also be a factor, though)

Read for my Brontë class in my last year of university.

Just absolutely fucking fantastic. Emily Brontë presents a masterclass on writing, and her background as a poet really shines through with every line spoken of or between Heathcliff and Catherine.

”’…for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men, and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!’”

I wrote my class paper on the way love and death in this novel are tied up in each other’s business, describing the dynamic as the two being both vessels and harbingers of one another. By that, I refer to

Spoiler

the confrontation scene between Heathcliff and Catherine before her passing

, for love as a harbinger of death;

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the grief-stricken outburst and subsequent actions of Heathcliff after Catherine has passed

, for death as a vessel of love; and

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Heathcliff’s ultimate demise

, for both love as a vessel of death and death as a harbinger of the eventual love between

Spoiler

Hareton and Cathy

. Additionally, there exists a third element to bridge the seemingly-large, yet actually-small gap between love and death here, thus completing this sort of doomed triangle—that element being religion, or, more specifically, the devotion the worshiper has for the worshiped. Taking all of the above into the account, I then cross-examined the trajectory of Heathcliff’s character with those of Tragedian heroes like Oedipus to evaluate if he qualifies as one via the standards proposed by Aristotle. This paper was very fun to write, and I attribute my passion for it to Brontë’s skill and the beautiful story she told!

Read for English class. A lot of thoughts that are not developed or coherent right now since it is 2:40am. But I am choosing to interpret this as a commentary on depression and how it leads one to become isolated from their loved ones, lose their job, and become seemingly a disgrace and burden to society. His inability to get out of bed after his metamorphosis no matter how much he wants to, how much he needs to resonated with me, especially during this time of quarantine where admittedly I am not very active. In this way, I feel very connected to Gregor. I pity him greatly. And yet, I do also feel for his family; it is not easy looking after someone whose mind is plagued by such a disease. More thoughts to be had later.

"Those who are held wise amongst men and who search the reason of things are those who bring the most sorrow on themselves. For of mortals there is no one who is happy. If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps luckier than one's neighbor, but still not happy."

Intense marriage counseling desperately needed.

Though I am disgusted by Medea's behavior and her manipulation, I love how Euripides provides reasoning that can be accepted and understood by the reader. Her being a foreigner in a land wherein they are scorned, a refugee with no sanctuary to fall back on in her times of need, and a woman, part of a gender treated as second-class citizens with little rights, especially when it comes to husbands and marriage - these all factor into the overwhelming need she feels to do what she does. Medea had to believe Jason loved her and this love was worth betraying her father, her country, and killing her brother, so when he ended up betraying her love after all she sacrificed, it was just too much for her to bear, resulting in the apparent abandonment of sanity.

Neither Jason nor Medea are good people. One would argue that they deserve each other. They are both each other's villains, and they both have been scorned to a great degree by one another. This blinding fury and raging desire to hurt the opposite - and refusal to see one's own faults in the matter to instead paint themselves the sole victim - only brought about further misery for the two. Revenge does not and cannot assuage the wounds of past wrongdoings, instead serving to simply burden the deliverer's heart as seen by Medea killing her own children to get back at Jason. She cannot let go of the hate inside of her, and, by holding onto it, she ruins all she held dear.

However scorned and faced with feelings of indignation we may be, we are all responsible for our actions and what we do when we let the dark part of us roam free. We are not justified in inflicting pain unto others because pain was inflicted unto us. Jason's series of immense betrayals does not absolve Medea of killing an innocent bride, her father (who granted Medea mercy after she manipulated him), and her two innocent sons. She lost her mind in her unbridled anger, believing herself to be saving her children from the same fate but at the hands of her enemies who would not have killed so lovingly. This is clearly illogical and insane thinking. But it goes to show what the mind can be driven towards when enough external pressure is applied.

The origin of the crazy ex-girlfriend archetype and the divorced wife getting back at her unfaithful ex-husband trope.

"From the days of old there is no permanence. The sleeping and the dead, how alike they are, they are like a painted death. What is there between the master and the servant when both have fulfilled their doom?"

Death is the ultimate equalizer of man despite the retrospectively feeble divisions (class, status, etc.) that which dominate life. Accept mortality as the one absolute in life to then widen the realm of possibilities that which one can devote themselves to achieve during the limited time present on this earth. Artificial concepts of wealth and power are temporary, but legacy and good deeds are eternal in the lives they impact long after we are gone.

An epic tale of brotherhood, civilization, and destiny.

”I thought, ‘I want to die. I want to die more than ever before. There's no chance now of a recovery. No matter what sort of thing I do, no matter what I do, it's sure to be a failure, just a final coating applied to my shame. That dream of going on bicycles to see a waterfall framed in summer leaves—it was not for the likes of me. All that can happen now is that one foul, humiliating sin will be piled on another, and my sufferings will become only the more acute. I want to die. I must die. Living itself is the source of sin.’”

”’…but miraculously enough the notebooks were saved. Just the other day I read through them for the first time.’ 

‘Did you cry?’

‘No. I didn’t cry…I just kept thinking that when human beings get to that way, they’re no good for anything.’”

”I don't need your praise

to survive. I was here first, before you were here, before you ever planted a garden.
And I'll be here when only the sun and moon are left, and the sea, and the wide field.

I will constitute the field.”

”Hello, O strange loneliness I surrender the room to you because the dark clouds
are always prophets bringing new purifying verses and in the martyrdom of one candle is the illuminated secret that the last and longest-lasting flame knows well

Let us believe
Let us believe in the beginning of the cold season
Let us believe in the ruined gardens of imagination in the scythe hanging upside down and idle and the incarcerated seeds
Look at how hard the snow is falling. . . 

Perhaps the truth was those two young hands, those two young
hands
that were buried under the continually falling snow and next year, when spring
makes love with the sky beyond the window and in its body fountains of feathery green stalks bubble up it will blossom, O my love, O my most unique love

Let us believe in the beginning of the cold season. . .”