I just finished reading two novels, Revolutionary Road and The Known World. I really wanted to enjoy both of them. There is so much about them that seem to fit right with my literary tastes. I love a book that deals with the complicated life of a married couple and I also love a book that delves into an historical context while providing a glimpse into what it might have been like for a single individual. It seemed like I would really enjoy these books.
However, I came away from both feeling a little bit more empty inside than when I started. When I read a book (and I can read almost anything, I am really not too picky), I want to come away with it feeling as if my life has been improved. I don't mean that it needs to be a life changing event; but most often I can find at least a few things that I can take away from the reading experience. It might be certain traits about a character that I find intriguing or enlightening. It could be a reminder of the the simple pleasures of life. It could be the poetic use of imagery and prose that somehow lifts my spirits. These two books, just left me feeling....nothing.
Perhaps it is the dreary, fog-filled, cold winter that we are experiencing right now or the economic situation of our country that we are reminded of everywhere that we turn; but these books seemed to make me more depressed. I don't know if I have it in me to read these books that seem to end without any redeeming qualities in the characters. This is coming from a person that used to be obsessed with Albert Camus and all of his existential novels. My favorite is of course L'étranger. Perhaps the stranger can sum it up best, "Voulez-vous, s'est-il exclamé, que ma vie n'ait pas de sens?"
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