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nooneyouknow's review
3.0
Probably just shy of 3 stars. Without a sufficient background in philosophy I was a little lost, but I enjoyed the evolution of the characters' friendships, W's (somewhat insane) rants about academia, and the persistent sense of hope amid despair. Wouldn't have read this at all if it hadn't been short-listed for the Tournament of Books, but glad I did.
benshreadhewitt's review
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
murphyslaw09's review
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.0
amycrea's review
2.0
Maybe if I knew a lot more about philosophy, or about Cambridge, or about both, I'd've gotten more out of this.
pattydsf's review
3.0
"Library hardbacks should stay closed, their secrets hidden. Their spines should stay turned to us on their shelves. Keep them asleep. We won't disturb them."
This time of the year I read books from the Tournament of Books. I like the challenge of a list and I like crossing off the ones I have finished. This year I have read seven titles out of 16 so far. This book is my least favorite.
I am not at all sure what the point of this novel is. On the surface it is the story of fourth year students at Cambridge University who are all taking a philosophy class. The narrator, Peters, tells a good tale, but the reader must piece together what is happening from snippets of text and dialogue.
I gave the book three stars because it made me think a bit about the kind of reading I like to do versus the reading I find annoying.
I suspect that if you are involved in the study of philosophy or know anything about Ludwig Wittgenstein, you may find this novel to be amusing. When I have a chance, I will ask an acquaintance who teaches philosophy about this book. I would really like to understand why people think this is a worthwhile read.
This time of the year I read books from the Tournament of Books. I like the challenge of a list and I like crossing off the ones I have finished. This year I have read seven titles out of 16 so far. This book is my least favorite.
I am not at all sure what the point of this novel is. On the surface it is the story of fourth year students at Cambridge University who are all taking a philosophy class. The narrator, Peters, tells a good tale, but the reader must piece together what is happening from snippets of text and dialogue.
I gave the book three stars because it made me think a bit about the kind of reading I like to do versus the reading I find annoying.
I suspect that if you are involved in the study of philosophy or know anything about Ludwig Wittgenstein, you may find this novel to be amusing. When I have a chance, I will ask an acquaintance who teaches philosophy about this book. I would really like to understand why people think this is a worthwhile read.
allsmile's review
2.0
This book had a few good moments, and some of the philosophical rants were interesting, but mostly I just didn't see the point. (Or was the point that there is no point? Oh God I sound like the book now.) I never got invested in the characters much, there was hardly a plot at all.
batbones's review
5.0
I drowned in this book in one sitting. It seemed that as long as I was on the page, leaving the book alone was impossible.
An extraordinary, witty stream of consciousness narrative about philosophy, philosophic-religious despair, the economics of education and where it all leads us. But to say all this would be to reduce it to the sum of its parts, its ostensible plot of an austere philosophy professor and his twelve (often drunk) students amid lurking Cambridge dons. The story's real beauty - as is the beauty itself that it reaches and tries to teach - lies in wording the wonder that lies at the heart of an encounter with knowledge, against the ruined deceptive wonder and rush of the present-day.
Iyer writes with moving poetry. (The whole book can almost be called a sustained prose-poem.) His style is enchantingly sparse, so concentrated; the smallest word carries a weight that cannot be dismissed. Its spareness and episodic nature lend a soft mirroring voice to the fleeting quality of everything the book touches upon (life, youth, or Wittgenstein's Tractatus).
Everything in it evokes the unbearable lightness of being. But it is also a light book, trading in familiar references (Facebook statuses, office-jobs) and jokes ("Doyle to Mulberry: You have a quantum penis. It's both there and not there.") The plays in-between (enacting death-scenes of famous philosophers) contain the most memorably comic passages.
While some may feel the romance at the end is startling and seemingly superficial, I felt it was, already, a thing lying dormant from the very beginning, carried along in the narrative current and waiting to surface. That it was written grants it poignancy, and a kind of wish fulfilment, on the part of the reader who by that moment would have been influenced by the students' curiosity. That is also part of the point here. After all, this book circles around, and finally, in that last moment, answers the fascination with what it means and feels like to have touched genius, even if it is for a while. It would not be too much to say that Iyer accomplishes this brilliantly.
"We’re drowning in openness, he says. In our sense of the possible. We’re ready to take anything in – to learn about anything, and therefore about nothing. Everything is available to us, and therefore nothing is available to us. Everything is at our disposal, and therefore nothing is at our disposal. We are infinitely open-minded, which is to say, infinitely closed-minded."
An extraordinary, witty stream of consciousness narrative about philosophy, philosophic-religious despair, the economics of education and where it all leads us. But to say all this would be to reduce it to the sum of its parts, its ostensible plot of an austere philosophy professor and his twelve (often drunk) students amid lurking Cambridge dons. The story's real beauty - as is the beauty itself that it reaches and tries to teach - lies in wording the wonder that lies at the heart of an encounter with knowledge, against the ruined deceptive wonder and rush of the present-day.
Iyer writes with moving poetry. (The whole book can almost be called a sustained prose-poem.) His style is enchantingly sparse, so concentrated; the smallest word carries a weight that cannot be dismissed. Its spareness and episodic nature lend a soft mirroring voice to the fleeting quality of everything the book touches upon (life, youth, or Wittgenstein's Tractatus).
Everything in it evokes the unbearable lightness of being. But it is also a light book, trading in familiar references (Facebook statuses, office-jobs) and jokes ("Doyle to Mulberry: You have a quantum penis. It's both there and not there.") The plays in-between (enacting death-scenes of famous philosophers) contain the most memorably comic passages.
While some may feel the romance at the end is startling and seemingly superficial, I felt it was, already, a thing lying dormant from the very beginning, carried along in the narrative current and waiting to surface. That it was written grants it poignancy, and a kind of wish fulfilment, on the part of the reader who by that moment would have been influenced by the students' curiosity. That is also part of the point here. After all, this book circles around, and finally, in that last moment, answers the fascination with what it means and feels like to have touched genius, even if it is for a while. It would not be too much to say that Iyer accomplishes this brilliantly.
"We’re drowning in openness, he says. In our sense of the possible. We’re ready to take anything in – to learn about anything, and therefore about nothing. Everything is available to us, and therefore nothing is available to us. Everything is at our disposal, and therefore nothing is at our disposal. We are infinitely open-minded, which is to say, infinitely closed-minded."