I don't read much science fiction; I don't even have a science fiction shelf to my name, here on this site. I just like good books, and this, in theorI don't read much science fiction; I don't even have a science fiction shelf to my name, here on this site. I just like good books, and this, in theory, was one. The subject matter is riveting, the writing - not so much. I did like certain stories within the book, and I understand why you would want to escape to the stars, imagine a myriad of worlds and see if there is a God who cares up there somewhere, when a second world war is looming and you begin to ask yourself what it means to be human... however, this long-winded essay was hell to get through, and I kept pushing on, waiting for some final epiphany that never came. The ideas are worth exploring, but the way the book is written made the attempt to do so excruciating. ...more
If I hadn't been reading this on a train, I think I would have flung it across some room.
The subject is exhilarating to me, as a city dweller obsesseIf I hadn't been reading this on a train, I think I would have flung it across some room.
The subject is exhilarating to me, as a city dweller obsessed with leaving the fumes behind and going to live in the countryside, but there is the issue of the writing itself: Emerson's wit is most apparent in short sentences, as in the famous "consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds", yet he mostly prefers to write long sentences that I had to read and re-read as they weren't really making a point, and the logical conclusion was in some other bit of crowded paragraph. Nietzsche or Plato are a breeze compared to Emerson, I thought.
As he says, our eye is drawn and most relaxed by the horizon. There are many such aphorisms that made me pause and look at the scenery outside my train window while turning thoughts over in my head, but I felt it hard to concentrate on those more winding passages that came in waves, drowning out the good bits- and that's why I give the book 3 stars and not more.