Childhood of a Leader
(And this wasn't easy. Pages and pages of writing and over 2 weeks later I still didn't have a damn clue of how to proceed with this post. I ended up ditching everything and beginning anew.
A whole lot of narcissistic babbling got lost along the way, which, to be honest, is really to everyone's benefit.)
Childhood of a Leader follows a child as he grows into a boy grows into a man. Along the way and key to the narrative; he struggles with his identity and temporarily adopts and experiments with many a philosophy and/or creed in his path, until, in a moment of euphoric revelation, he finds his identity and accepts his place in the world.
It's comfortably the longest short story in the book and though I thought it rather irritatingly nonsensical and disjointed at the start, I confess I was enthralled by the end of it.
It is so well executed and the relentless maelstrom-drive of its narrative tugs you along regardless of your objections. And there's plenty to be had of those as the story is built on so many disparate elements that on their own are already distasteful but, looking at them all together they make me think that if I tried to lure in a mainstream reader by describing the story to them, they would just look at me in mildly revolted disbelief.
The story is impressive then not because of its narrative, and instead it is about the force behind that narrative.
There's a cumulative effect that the story produces that felt somewhat akin to the paranoia that reading 'The Room' gave me, except instead the effect produced was more positive and almost felt like the direct opposite of claustropho-
Hmm wait hang on...
A love of tight spaces? Eh, no that's not it at all. And agoraphobia is not the opposite of claustrophobia so what am I looking for?
Okay, let's instead pin down the feeling itself;
The story felt as if it was in need of the open spaces, it gave me that need, to be in the open, to be in the light. A desire for enlightenment and individual authenticity. An identification with the main character, to feel as he feels, as actualized, as right. In the open and proud of it.
I'll make it clear for you: Childhood of a Leader is the greatest achievement by Sartre that I've read, that manages to drive his Authenticity theme full-on home.
And it's remarkable, because that self-actualization, that placement of the self in the world, and one's own absolute acceptance of it; in the story that moment is finally delivered by the child turned man having turned to antisemitism. Past the road of Freudian self-analysis, past gay experiences described as disorder and then taken a reluctant and revolted part in, past the road of endless questions and all the hopeless self-analyzing, the soul comes to identify himself as an antisemite. More than that, the soul relishes and revels in it. Steps forward and proclaims himself loud and wild to the world as this thing that is so abhorrent, something that is so biased and groundlessly judgmental that what it should immediately receive is a denouncement.
And yet. I confess, that through the cloud of disapproval there instead roars a benediction. A blessing of sympathy for this once lost soul finally having found his place.
I felt for him, I really did.
As Sartre manages to hammer home throughout the narrative how lost he is and as we see how he so desperately and fruitlessly continues to search for his place in the world, trying and failing again and again, it can't help but invoke our sympathy.
He stumbles so much that when he finally lands at the stage for his eventual becoming, he is initially unwilling to commit to it, for fear of yet another disappointment. And maybe that fear is mirrored in the reader, yet another hurdle, a stumbling block on the way to an end that looks to be yet another unhappy ending in this collection.
But as he observes, what is around him cannot but help influencing him. And then come all the tiny allowances and the gradual accceptances and the slow process of subconsciously moulding himself (and being moulded) into this new thing that is most amenable and laudable to the others around him at that time.
And then when he finally recognizes in himself his complete-ness, accepts it because it is how others view him; that solid image of him in their minds, the reader, if suitably swept along, will rejoice along with him.
And one finds that in spite of all those nasty little elements we close out the book with a short story whose positive effects manage to linger a while.
And somehow, this is how we end the review posts on the Wall; with a peaceful feeling.
I quite enjoyed this collection and I was initially unsure if it would suit me.
Instead it gave me a lot of food for thought and no small amount of pleasure in having completed this work, small though it is.
There's in fact quite a large disparity in how much time I spent on it and how many pages it actually has but I guess this doesn't come as a surprise to anyone who has delved into Sartre before.
It's comfortably the longest short story in the book and though I thought it rather irritatingly nonsensical and disjointed at the start, I confess I was enthralled by the end of it.
It is so well executed and the relentless maelstrom-drive of its narrative tugs you along regardless of your objections. And there's plenty to be had of those as the story is built on so many disparate elements that on their own are already distasteful but, looking at them all together they make me think that if I tried to lure in a mainstream reader by describing the story to them, they would just look at me in mildly revolted disbelief.
The story is impressive then not because of its narrative, and instead it is about the force behind that narrative.
There's a cumulative effect that the story produces that felt somewhat akin to the paranoia that reading 'The Room' gave me, except instead the effect produced was more positive and almost felt like the direct opposite of claustropho-
-----
A love of tight spaces? Eh, no that's not it at all. And agoraphobia is not the opposite of claustrophobia so what am I looking for?
Okay, let's instead pin down the feeling itself;
-----
The story felt as if it was in need of the open spaces, it gave me that need, to be in the open, to be in the light. A desire for enlightenment and individual authenticity. An identification with the main character, to feel as he feels, as actualized, as right. In the open and proud of it.
I'll make it clear for you: Childhood of a Leader is the greatest achievement by Sartre that I've read, that manages to drive his Authenticity theme full-on home.
And it's remarkable, because that self-actualization, that placement of the self in the world, and one's own absolute acceptance of it; in the story that moment is finally delivered by the child turned man having turned to antisemitism. Past the road of Freudian self-analysis, past gay experiences described as disorder and then taken a reluctant and revolted part in, past the road of endless questions and all the hopeless self-analyzing, the soul comes to identify himself as an antisemite. More than that, the soul relishes and revels in it. Steps forward and proclaims himself loud and wild to the world as this thing that is so abhorrent, something that is so biased and groundlessly judgmental that what it should immediately receive is a denouncement.
And yet. I confess, that through the cloud of disapproval there instead roars a benediction. A blessing of sympathy for this once lost soul finally having found his place.
I felt for him, I really did.
As Sartre manages to hammer home throughout the narrative how lost he is and as we see how he so desperately and fruitlessly continues to search for his place in the world, trying and failing again and again, it can't help but invoke our sympathy.
He stumbles so much that when he finally lands at the stage for his eventual becoming, he is initially unwilling to commit to it, for fear of yet another disappointment. And maybe that fear is mirrored in the reader, yet another hurdle, a stumbling block on the way to an end that looks to be yet another unhappy ending in this collection.
But as he observes, what is around him cannot but help influencing him. And then come all the tiny allowances and the gradual accceptances and the slow process of subconsciously moulding himself (and being moulded) into this new thing that is most amenable and laudable to the others around him at that time.
And then when he finally recognizes in himself his complete-ness, accepts it because it is how others view him; that solid image of him in their minds, the reader, if suitably swept along, will rejoice along with him.
And one finds that in spite of all those nasty little elements we close out the book with a short story whose positive effects manage to linger a while.
-----
And somehow, this is how we end the review posts on the Wall; with a peaceful feeling.
I quite enjoyed this collection and I was initially unsure if it would suit me.
Instead it gave me a lot of food for thought and no small amount of pleasure in having completed this work, small though it is.
There's in fact quite a large disparity in how much time I spent on it and how many pages it actually has but I guess this doesn't come as a surprise to anyone who has delved into Sartre before.
No comments:
Post a Comment