What are some books that reflect the author's despair?
I'm thinking books like early Cioran.
What are some books that reflect the author's despair?
I'm thinking books like early Cioran.
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Most of them desu
lel not even wrong
Knowing I will never kiss these lips and feel the gentle touch of her hand on my face, is the rawest depiction of reflected despair I can give you OP
not enough despair
Absalom, Absalom
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Is late Cioran less miserable?
Yeah, he has much more of a sense of humor
A Fan's Notes
Kafka and Kierkegaard
very accurate
dazai
plath
Hamsun's Hunger
More than half of Dostoyevsky
my twisted world
and very obvious. could be argued someone's mistaking anxiety for despair, however.
the letters of emily dickinson
at the heights of despair is heavily and explicitly about anxiety my man
Yeah, dickinson isnt obvious at all..
>could be argued someone's mistaking anxiety for despair
One transitions to the other. With Kafka at least The Trial and Metamorphosis are certainly novels of despair and Kierkegaard, my God if there was ever a philosopher that knew despair.
Related. A reading of Kierkegaard on the Sickness unto death
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what differences would you note in a text that show despair vs a text that shows anxiety?
seems to me that both coexist, and you cannot have one without the other
Another thing to point out is how this "despair" is presented. Schopenhauer may be bleak sometimes, but he hold his views believing the pessimist would be better suited for life.
Kafka might not be as dark as Schopenhauer, but the world he present is bleak, and one for which there is no escape regardless of the individual's position - one cannot fight the system in which is in.
The difference is someone in a state of despair has lost practically all hope or willingness to escape his suffering. Someone in anxiety is uncertain what his fate will be or if there is anything he should do
My diary desu
The Sickness is ABOUT despair, granted. But true despair (I believe) is more wildly (despairingly) perhaps more ingeniously put together. Both Kafka and Kierkegaard are TOO ordered, too put together and too calculatingly so to get my vote for authenticity. Dickinson and Exley on the other hand pack that devil-may-care 'ignorance' (read: ignore) of the proprieties that feel far more real to me, and therefore far more reflective of actual despair. Just an opinion, and perhaps a wrong one.