My first Douglas Kennedy book; found courtesy of Amazon/Kindle recommendations. The heroine finds herself going through a series of unfortunate events and somehow manages to land on her feet (barely). Freaking sad in parts, but it had me reading compulsively as i got closer to the end.
The central question of the book is whether it is possible for a person to be happy, without the help of self-delusion. The answer seems to be something along the lines of "not really, but we keep trying anyway."
Quotes:
No one's actually happy.
Words matter. Words count. Words have lasting import.
nobody gets away lightly in life
We try so hard to put our mark on things, we like to tell ourselves that what we do has import or will last. But the truth is, we’re all just passing through. So little survives us. And when we’re gone, it’s simply the memory of others that keeps our time here alive.
The reason everyone is so bitchy in academia is because the stakes are so low.
Brad’s employment policies were largely based on finding unhappy or awkward people with something to prove, training them into the laws of the marketplace, and then turning them loose in an unapologetically Darwinian environment.
That’s the greatest relief in the world—knowing that you have got away with something you really shouldn’t have.
...interpretation. How do you choose to perceive a moral choice? Guilt is all rooted in the interpretation of events. It’s predicated on your take on things. How willing are you to twist reality to your own version of events? What can you (or can’t you) live with?
When we look at each other, do we even begin to see the pain we both carry?
‘I can’t go on, I’ll go on.’”
“I can’t go on. I won’t go on.”
“Does it scare you, death?” “It’s going to arrive, that’s for sure. And I guess the one and only thing that perplexes me is the idea that I will be no more, that my entire story will vanish with me. No ‘me.’ How can that be?”
“Still, when the dark stuff hits, keep in mind that old line about how if you save one life you save the world.”
“Sergeant,” I said, “that’s bullshit—and you know it.”
He looked momentarily taken aback by this, then shrugged and took another slug of beer.
What I see as a metaphor for all the granitic grief in the world you see as a tanning opportunity. Life—even at its most excruciating—is never more than a few steps away from all its inherent absurdity.
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