Into the Open!

I have a habit of associating my sympathies immediately with whichever character I am first introduced to in a book or short story. I then proceed to view the story through their eyes, since the best writing, in my mind, provides not only a situation unusual to my life, but also a viewpoint. This is also the way I prefer to study philosophy: first immerse yourself into the world of a philosopher, and come to understand the world through the lens of their work. After that, you'll be ready to critique them: you'll emerge, blinking and sleepy and suddenly remember that not everything Lacan ever said is valid for your lifestyle. But now you'll know why.

So some more notes on Cancer Ward: I initially found it difficult to distinguish between Kostoglotov - the book's "hero" (notwithstanding that I find that a ridiculous way to describe a character, akin to the vague exclamation "I win at life!" But in this case "protagonist" didn't seem right, since the action is moved forward by the thoughts and feelings of an ensemble cast.) - and Yefrem. The latter is a bit more of a tough, a womanizing man's man who is, under our gaze, drawn in by the Christian sympathies of Lev Tolstoy, and then killed. Enough of Yefrem.

The reason for this was that the character with whom you enter the cancer ward is Rusanov, the living, breathing emblem of Soviet bureaucracy. To him, there is little difference between Kostoglotov (whom he calls "Bone-Chewer") and Yefrem, because both are crude and objectionable. Kostoglotov is also an exile, and his presence in the same ward as Rusanov is representative of Rusanov's fears: that he, he!, a great Soviet comrade-in-arms, has been reduced to fever dreams and communal bathroom, a life and death shared with the basest of society.

Oleg Filimonovich Kostoglotov, however, is fairly unique in the ward in that he seems to be getting better (I haven't read the end yet, so don't tell). While the men around him sink out of society's view he is becoming lusty and bold, remembering what it is to be in love, and listening to the strains of Beethoven's Fourth as they drift over the trees surrounding the clinic. He's not out of danger, either from the cancer ward or from his tumor: either could swallow him in a moment. But for him the world is approaching, not receding, and he is able to run up and meet it and perhaps even escape

"Into the open!"

I must admit that lately I've been feeling an unwilled distance from the world: it's a familiar tune to those who are young and employed in a job which is just fine. In the morning I go to the office after a half an hour brushing hair and teeth and getting dressed. All day I remain on two floors of a building - cheerful, bright floors, but nonetheless I sometimes wish I were an errand girl, simply to have somewhere to go. Then at night I am ostensibly free, but I'm exhausted, and often end up staying at home. Again, that's fine. But sometimes it feels like a five o'clock world without any whistle blowing.

Yesterday I walked by a coffee shop & patisserie (I feel like that's the right word for it since it's wedged in between a million French Vietnamese restaurants, and it sells Napoleons) on my way to the train. The cafe is right by my house, but I never get to go because they aren't open on weekends and I eat breakfast at work. I noticed that it looked empty, so I decided to stop in for an espresso and a pastry as a small treat. This small act outside of my routine made me feel incredibly alive, at least for those five minutes.

I can't decide if that is a good, or an terribly sad thing. Perhaps both. At any rate, I have now begun associating my emotions much more directly with Kostoglotov: he the confused, hormonal, trapped and sensitive person. Like him, I want to run outside.

Into the open!