Decided to read Earthly Powers for two simple reasons: saw it on a list of 100 must-read books from David Bowie and saw that it's supposed to be loosely based on the life of W. S. Maugham. And of course because it's written by A. Burgess, from whom I've only read the widely-known A Clockwork Orange, the fame of which was much multiplied by its adapted film by S. Kubrick. I don't know which of the two, equally provocative in style, contributed more to its reputation. In any case, I opened the 650-page book with haste and the first page was already charged with words of too much litarary weight for a lousy English speaker as myself. And the omnipresent religious references with intermittent haranges from Carlo Campanati, the fat ugly good-hearted embodiment of the Catholic church who escalated strenuously over the course of the lengthy narration to the throne of the Pope of Roma, made it all the more difficult for a non-believer as myself. But that did not matter. Someone might have put it better than me: all we see from a book of whatever purported topic or parameter is a reflection, or at most an extension or shall we say a projection of the potentialities, of our own humble life. Hence here I am making a vain attempt to fathom the story from the viewpoint of my own not-sufficiently-lived life.
Carlo Campanati, the practitioner of miracles, once saved a dying child's life in a hospital ward with his well-meaning prayers. The child turned out many years later to be heading a religious cult that ended in a mass killing of tens of thousands of its followers. Kenneth Toomey saved the life of a Nazi leader out of intuitive reaction during the assassination attempt from the mother-in-law of his sister Hortense, and the latter was shot to death. Kenneth good-heartedly provided financial supply for the trip to Africa of his nephew John and his wife Laura, and they both died there. Hortense, in order to save the marriage and the reputation of sterile Domenico Campanati, bore children from some other man. The unfortunate marriage had to come to an end anyhow, with Hortense becoming homosexual and Domenico leading a promiscuous life. They eventually re-entered each other's respectively ageing life as Domenico was forced to break the news of their son John's death to Hortense, who lost one eye accidentally a long time ago when a false alarm of John's death was brought to her. They each had a fullfilling career after all, at least judged from an outsider point of view. Kenneth Toomey, at the risk of making public his homosexuality, defended in court the blasphemous works of Val Wrigley, the first love of his who left him decades earlier for the need of financial support and throughout their intertwined years of life never had been easy on him. Carlo Campanati, the Pope of Roma and devotee to a life of chastity, confessed on his deathbed his love to Hortense. He would have opted for a marriage with Hortense instead of his glorious celibate career if he had the choice. Tom Toomey, the brother of Kenneth and Hortense, led the least eventful life as a harmless comedian married to a brainless woman and was deemed the best of them all. At least none of them did anything bad intentionally, Hortense concluded in the very end. The above is of course far from all of it. I was twice in tears throughout the entire book, being the underemotional persona that I have been assuming lately. One time upon reading the letter about the great destiny of Germany writtern by a Nazi converted by Carlo Campanati (partly because of what's been going on in the modern-time Germany). The other time was when Kenneth was defending Val in court. What you would always do for the one and very few you truly loved with heart and soul, no matter how deeply and irreversibly they once hurt you. No matter how irrelevant they have become. No matter how your memory has painted that page over and over till you cannot remember precisely what happened and what on earth it was that hurt you so profoundly. Except for key words, at most. A tin of bully beef with onions and carrots. That's for Kenneth Toomey. "Take this Tile so that I will never lose you". That's for me. Intention has very little to do with the action it induces nor the consequence of it, therefore how should morality be judged, and how should karma, if it exists, be determined? Based on intention or action or consequence? How difficult is it to see life as the palindrome it is, always repeating itself going in circles or between two extremes. Which is it then, a circle or a line of two extremes? Good and bad that are equally good and bad. Right and wrong that are equally right and wrong. We take sides for the sake of taking sides, as what we do in a debate team or essay assignment, and sooner or later we find out that there is adequate reasoning on behalf of either side. As to which side we happen to choose, it's totally up to chance. Aren't we all random beings after all. Who am I to mock the poor Russian girl. It was after midnight that I finished the book, and I saw a message from a friend. I replied him factually and maybe uncompassionately: - Pain is still there. I miss her, and I know she loved me. - I'm afraid pain is something of which we all have our own to bear. I don't know how to console people other than stating the fact, unless the fact itself is consoling but then they would not need the consolation in the first place. Love, home, faith, duty. For what else have you wailed when no one else's around. I guess the most formidable power is to maintain equanimity through it all, good and bad, right and wrong, love and betrayal, etc. They are not that much different from one another anyhow. You must not live to find a purpose; the purpose lies in living per se. Hortense was not wrong after all, too much world and too little time. Choosing wisely and standing up for what you chose at random firmly, there is not much of a difference in the effect. The so-called freedom you always have, but the scope of it you must define yourself. Suffering is inevitable. I don't know how to end this. Just like I don't know how to start the novel I always wanted to write.
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