Letters
A hating kind of love
On the plane from Dublin to New York I read “The things they carried” by Tim O’Brien, to take a break from the extermination of the Jews.
The book has been on my reading-list for a long time but for some reason I kept postponing reading it.
I lent “Tomcat in Love” (by O’Brien as well) to a waiter who wanted to read books on the subway and who shortly after that disappeared from my favorite restaurant and the rest of my life.
Enough praise has been heaped upon “The things they carried” and I agree wholeheartedly, even though the ending is a bit sentimental.
Let me just quote from the first chapter:
“In those burned letters Martha had never mentioned the war, except to say, Jimmy, take care of yourself. She wasn’t involved. She signed the letters Love, but it wasn’t love, and all the fine lines and technicalities did not matter. Virginity was no longer an issue. He hated her. Yes, he did. He hated her. Love, too, but it was a hard, hating kind of love.”
Dens
We had a technical problem with this post, that’s why your comment disappeared.Readers will now find your comment here:
"Sounds as a really good book. Although I must admit I thought Martha was this guy's mother for a while. But the Virginity didn't make sense.. (I think "postponing reading" isn't proper English, but I'll look into it. For now I think it should be "postponing to read") And hotelpeople and books.. As one who's worked in a hotel, I know that books are an escaperoute. I, myself, was hunting for books around the pool myself. People reading books caught my attention though they most likely wanted to be left at peace, and I just wanted their book. I got some nice HardBacks from it (including The God Delusion (Dawkins), Lullaby (Palahniuk), ..)15/08/2008 09:54X"
Dens
In 1997 , when I was in Agadir, I met an amimator in the hotel where I was staying who was just as keen about books as you are. On a professional base he was an athlete training for the Olympics, but to pay his bills worked he in the hotel near the pool.At that time I was reading Amin Maalouf- in french, something I'm still very proud of-and since i'm convinced you can't judge a writer just by one book , I always try to at least read five or more of their novels.
So, there I was next to the pool with a pile of Amin's books, when that Maroccan animator came to me and showed a clear interest in what I was reading. He knew Maalouf by name, but he was sorry he could tell no more. Maalouf was not for sale at that time in Marocco. Outraged by this , I instantaneous gave him the six novels I had with me. An impulsive act I sometimes still regret, but than I just think back at the happiness of that man with the gift and I know I did right.
Jan
How do you mean? Death certainly changes the lives of the people around.Did your mother die?
Yes, and she too changed. After a violent life she died peacefully (to my amazement) at home. Now she is gone to where once she once came from.
Yes, and she too changed. After a violent life she died peacefully (to my amazement) at home. Now she is gone to where she once came from.
(Correction - Sorry for the typo’s, I am a bit confused – like so many of us, it seems).
Jan
My sincere condolelences.Thanks a lot.
@Dens
Thanks a lot you too.
Yes, a loss certainly and a lot of grief, but also some relief.
Love is the desire to be near someone, or at least to want to preserve them. With romantic love the object that is loved is scarce and open for other rivals, that is not so much the case with love for a child or a mother. That is why romantic love can be so passionate, there is much more at stake here. It’s like when you show your dog that other animals are interested in his food, he’ll eat even the food that he doesn’t like.
With such romantic love, we think this object possesses everything that will make us “complete” (this means we have obtained the scarce object). When the loved object threatens to disappear, we do not only wish to be near it, but, if we can be no longer near it, that it is destroyed, that it is gone. Hatred is the desire that something will disappear.
