By Hermann Hesse<\/p>\n
Heard good things about this guy, but I never read him. A friend gave me this book, and so I had to read it.<\/p>\n
Not the most readable. It seemed to wander a lot. Not surprising, since it was about<\/em> a dude wandering.<\/p>\n The book was one of those philosophical tales, where the author has a serious point to make. He tells a tortured story to make his point.<\/p>\n Camus, Voltaire, Rand, they all did this.<\/p>\n Narcissus was this thinker monk, a man who left the world and lived in the cerebral realm.<\/p>\n Goldmund was a young man who was an artist and lived in world of his senses.<\/p>\n Of course, Hesse had to make them friends so that the worlds could be juxtaposed.<\/p>\n Anyway, it was completely worth it for one part:<\/p>\n “That may be so,” said Narcissus. “Niether of us can ever understand the other completely in such things. But there is one realization all men of good will share: In the end our works make us feel ashamed, we have to start out again and each time the sacrifice has to be made anew”<\/p>\n And to understand that part, you have to read the whole book. But that bit is really really profound. I want to always remember it, which is why I am blogging about it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" By Hermann Hesse Heard good things about this guy, but I never read him. A friend gave me this book, and so I had to read it. Not the most readable. It seemed to wander a lot. Not surprising, since … Continue reading