Congratulations on completing the first major piece of writing for this class! And welcome to the wonderful world of Milan Kundera's book, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. This work intricately interweaves the lives of one protagonist with one another, their lives with that of the nation and its history, and these personal and collective histories with different ideas of history or historiographies. Thus we should read it as a philosophical novel, since it is also a self-conscious piece of literature, constructed with leitmotifs and other literary principles (of which the fictional characters themselves are aware). I urge you to take up the question of history posed by the first chapters of the book, or start tracking the major motifs, whose significance continues to accrue as the story progresses in not so linear ways. 
Monday, November 4, 2013
The Unbearable Lightness of Being Done with Midterms
Congratulations on completing the first major piece of writing for this class! And welcome to the wonderful world of Milan Kundera's book, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. This work intricately interweaves the lives of one protagonist with one another, their lives with that of the nation and its history, and these personal and collective histories with different ideas of history or historiographies. Thus we should read it as a philosophical novel, since it is also a self-conscious piece of literature, constructed with leitmotifs and other literary principles (of which the fictional characters themselves are aware). I urge you to take up the question of history posed by the first chapters of the book, or start tracking the major motifs, whose significance continues to accrue as the story progresses in not so linear ways. 
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I think something that is noticed right away in the novel is the different ways the main character seems to view love and life. He seems to be at a philosophical struggle at the concept of love and whether it should be romanticized or business like. The very writing of the author seems to go from a more detached, philosophical standpoint, to the very personal descriptions of the main character's interactions with Tereza. His views of detachment between love and sex are a great example of the dichotomies presented at the very beginning of the piece. This very popular philosophical problem is then posed in the "Soul and Body" section, from Tereza's standpoint.
ReplyDeleteI just wonder if either character's personal philosophy of separation has been proved right/wrong, will be proved right or wrong?
I really enjoy this novel so far!
The contrast between Tomas' and Tereza's view of love is drastic and delightful. She seems to view her life as an amalgamation of the signs chance, or the universe, delivers to her, choosing to love whomever pops up at the right moment, allowing her emotions to be dictated by the "signs." He sees her love and reciprocates it, out of true emotion, but at the same time cannot stay faithful to Tereza. Who has the more pure of intentions, I wonder? The one who loves by design or the one who loves incompletely?
ReplyDeleteAlso, this is one of the most beautifully written novels I've read.
I would argue that Tereza's emotions are not dictated by signs, but rather the other way around. The narrator gives us this constant vacillation between fate and chance, and oftentimes even overlaps them, reflected by both Tereza's and Tomas' thoughts and actions. I'm not entirely sold on this yet, but it appears that Tereza turns to these signs as justification for using this airy idea of "love" (whereas it's quite mangled in reality in the story) as a means of escaping "her mother" (and all that she entails/embodies/signifies), particularly when she is weak. We end with this on pg. 78 when she cannot handle the responsibility of Tomas changing his destiny (here again we get this contradictory presentation of fate/chance) for her. She feels too weak for it, and makes a feeble attempt at denying herself a choice in the matter using these forced symbols of fate. (I can't remember where exactly, but Tomas also explains that he likes being denied choice, feeling powerless once in a while...it calms him - it's at the beginning of a chapter somewhere, I'll find it and comment later). A church bell chimes six times every day at six, I presume, so connecting that with his arrival seems a little trivial. However, since 3 and 6 show up quite often, and Tomas usually hits it and quits it after 3 consecutive nights with the same woman (along with all the other references), I think it's also speaks to this idea of return that we get at the beginning of the novel.
DeleteI also don't think that Tomas necessarily reciprocates Tereza's "love." As far as I can remember, I don't know that he ever admits to loving her without qualifying it or questioning it. He sees Tereza as a child, a burden, a dependent, and feels powerful controlling her. He feels compassion for her, as someone would feel compassion for a child, and is even frustrated by that compassion. I personally wouldn't call his compassion love. Tomas is unhappy once he returns to her after she leaves him in Switzerland, and they both receive one another in a cold manner, feeling like they are actually standing in snow.
I also don't think either of them have pure intentions concerning the other. They are both means to an end for the other. Tomas is Tereza's "ticket" in human form. I haven't developed my thoughts on what Tereza does exactly for Tomas, but it certainly feels like she gives him a sense of power (although it feels much more nuanced than that).
After reading these two sections, comparing the stories themselves are interesting. The sections present the same story, except through the lens of different characters, first Tomas and then Tereza. While in the first story it is easy to say Tereza almost seems a burden, the second story dives deeper and allows the reader to empathize with Tereza. In this way, her story almost adds to the complexity of Tomas's story. As I got into looking at the characters, it becomes apparent that Tereza and Tomas are very opposite. Tomas is a doctor and deals with bodies on a regular basis, Tereza is repulsed by bodies and even has nightmares about them; Tomas sees no problem with his infidelity while it almost drives Tereza to suicide. Despite these sharp contrasts, the characters do fall in love and get married. After hearing Tereza's point of view on the story, is there any way she can symbolize light also? What would this mean in terms of the lightness of being?
ReplyDeleteI think that the way that the story is presented non-linearly speaks to Kundera's assertion that life is not linear. Thus, what is "novelistic" is not necessarily fictional or separate from the truth. On page 52 he writes, "This symmetrical composition--the same motif appears at the beginning and at the end--may see quite "novelistic" to you, and I am willing to agree, but only on the condition that you refrain from reading such notions as 'fictive,' 'fabricated,' and 'untrute to life' into the world 'novelistic.' Because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion."
ReplyDeleteWhat repeated motifs or cycles did you find in the book, and how do they help us to understand the novel?
Ha ha completion...
ReplyDeleteI wanted to write something deep about philosophy, but instead I'm going to write about puppies. Karenin seems to play the role of the child: something to care for, something to keep the woman occupied, something to deflect antagonism and general relationship troubles. Unfortunately, like most children suffering through their parents' difficult relationship, he bears the burden of its failings (e.g. moving all the time). Karenin is a mutt, the union of two breeds (and metaphorically two life/love philosophies). The name also harkens back to Anna Karenina, which seems to be the point on which this novel turns. Though I have never read Anna Karenina (I know, shame on me), I do know the basic story line and can see how it's tale of infidelity also lays the groundwork for Unbearable Lightness of Being. So, how does this pooch help us better understand the novel? How can he shed (pun intended) light on the romance between Tereza and Tomas? And, general poll question: with the body of a German Shepherd, and the head of a St. Bernard, is he ugly, cute, neither, or both?
Also, Karenin plays with gender norms. Thoughts?
I did have a question – the puppy Tomas gets is female, but as soon as they name her Karenin, they start using masculine gender pronouns for her/him. Any idea why?
DeleteI think that in some ways, Tereza also plays the role of the child. She is described again and again as weak and needing to be saved. Although Tomas feels nothing for his biological son, he feels obligated to save Tereza and she reminds him of a child floating to him in a basket like Moses. It is through her relationship with him that she is able to escape her life with her mother. Similarly, Tomas saves Karenin from certain death. Tomas is a powerful figure both to Tereza and to the dog, but there are moments when his weaknesses are revealed too, I think. Interesting connection, I hadn't thought of that before.
DeleteI think that there are many, many interesting points that we can discuss within this text. However, I think of the most crucial motifs to discuss occurs on the front cover. I am wondering how we can include all the potential meanings of the word "lightness" into interpreting this text? Can we think about it in a literal way, as in without weight? Without connections holding us down? Which characters can help us think about this? Another way to interpret lightness could be simply lacking color. I immediately think of whiteness and purity when I think of lightness. Can we connect this to the "blank page" that we talked about earlier, as in the staining of the virginal cloth? Is there a link between this lightness and the sexuality contrasts between Tereza and Tomas?
ReplyDeleteSo that was a million questions. Socratic method, maybe?
In describing Tereza's relationship to her camera, Kundera writes, "The camera served Tereza as both a mechanical eye through which to observe Tomas's mistress and a veil by which to conceal her face from her," (65). With this in mind, how might we interpret Tereza's photographing of the Russian invasion? What does she gain through gazing upon the "carnival of hate filled with a curious euphoria," and how might this power relate to her gendered subjectivity throughout the novel (67)?
ReplyDeleteI am wondering if Tereza's attraction to weakness corresponds to an appealing image of the self as victim. Does Tereza (and the nation) want to be victimized in order to justify past, present, or future behaviors?
ReplyDeleteIs Tomas a victim? Does he victimize himself, and would this be a valid justification for his actions? Do we as readers pity Tomas?
First I wanted to ask if anyone had any reaction to the description of sexual organs on pg. 69? It ties back (as do other instances in the book) the theme of "making strange" in Phkentz and Shklovsky, but what stood out to me even more was the description of the man's genitals. The woman's "tits" are likened to a cow's, but the man's penis and scrotum are described as "an udder in miniature." I have never encountered a man's genitalia being described in female terms and even made lesser than than a woman's (miniature udder vs. regular cow "tits"). You always hear about women's lack of a penis, or a clitoris as a "tiny penis," and what not, but here a man's genitalia is compared to breasts, which men do not have*, and even described as a lesser form of breasts. It was a small victory to discover at least one example of the degradation of sexual organs where the very gendered tables are turned.
ReplyDelete*I'm using the dominant gender-binary/biological sex way of thought here for the sake of simplicity. Forgive me.
Some recurring images/motifs (a crude list, so if anyone wants to add any significance, please feel free!)-
-Both Tereza and Tomas are repeatedly placed in a figurative Moses basket, one presented as needing help and protection in Tomas' description of how Tereza entered his life, the other as violent and controlling in Tereza's dreams about Tomas.
-The bowler hat is on the front cover (of my book, at least), and is worn twice by Sabina. We get a good description of it's origins as well, so I'll assume it's important.
-I can't remember the name of the Friar, but the birds that alight upon Tereza's shoulders occur frequently and are first introduced along with him.
-I'm not sure if this is important or just a coincidence (no reference to the text intended), but the idea of status and hierarchy seemed to appear frequently, perhaps in harmony with Tereza's desire to (I can't remember exact wording) move up, or transcend.
-Sickness seems to hover around the plot and the characters...Tereza is sick when she first comes to Tomas in Prague, he is a doctor, they go to a hospital in Switzerland when their country is "sick" with Russians, and Tomas describes himself as being sick with compassion. Vertigo also is usually associated with nausea isn't it?
-Performance, platforms, theater: Sabina's bed is a "stage" where Sabina, Tomas, and even Tereza eventually experience different forms of intimacy and performance.
-3, 6, repetition, "return," double/split/dualities/ect., time
-Parent/child relationships (sometimes even grandfather/granddaughter)
-Voices, focus on sound, hearing (Tereza's mother's voice, her screaming during sex with Tomas, Russian planes that prevent sleep <--also important in terms of "height")
-Souls and mothers in stomachs
-Sameness/disposability too
DeleteTomas seems to "wear the pants" in the relationship -- sorry for the lack of a better term -- since he is able to sleep with who he pleases as Tereza is expected to remain faithful. Although he often feels constrained by her jealousy, he continues to indulge in his extramarital affairs. Sleep is a daunting idea for Tereza, and although Tomas and his infidelity is the source of her fearful nightmares, he uses this as another way to control her: "He had complete control over her sleep: she dozed off at the second he chose" (page 14). How does this perceived control contribute to the disfunction of Tomas and Tereza's relationship? In what ways do her actions maintain the control that Tomas has over her? Furthermore, how can we further analyze this theme of sleep -- seen in its troublesome associations with Tereza and in Tomas's idea that with sleeping next to someone comes love?
ReplyDeleteI don’t really have a discussion question, but I really enjoy how Kundera writes and how he ties it all in to very first chapter; for example, Tereza and Tomas’s love is a cycle of pleasure and guilt, especially for Tomas but also for Tereza; I believe this ties in with the beginning of the novel, where it is stated that “in this world everything is pardoned in advance and therefore everything is cynically permitted.”
ReplyDeleteIn Kundera's discussion about the art of the novel that we worked with on Tuesday, he talks about the inability to grasp the present moment. One quote from part 3 of the novel really struck me as speaking to this point.
ReplyDelete"Franz and Sabina would walk the streets of New York for hours at a time. The view changed with each step, as if they were following a winding mountain path surrounded by breathtaking scenery..." pg. 101.
This quote not only captures the fleeting essence of time, but also touches on the way that Sabina and Franz experience things differently-their existential codes do not match.
Great snatch of text in which very interesting things are going on with time. It's both fleeting and durative, as they "would walk...for hours at a time," and "each step" changes everything. New York starts to look like Heraclitus's river, to which Kelsey alludes in her post. I'd like to hear more how this shared experience of infinite difference shows the difference between the two characters' existential codes. I'd also like to suggest that one character's existential code doesn't match itself from one moment to the next, if we're to take Kundera's Heraclitean narrator's word.
DeleteI like the motif of the bowler hat and the fact that much like particular views of history, it is always changing in meaning. And I was getting many war flashbacks to my philosophy class with the concept of "you can't step in the same river twice". I wonder if the reader would catch all the philosophical connections if the author didn't directly state them? I also wonder if the novel would be any better or worse?
ReplyDeleteYes, how shall we read the overt philosophizing? Perhaps as part of the narrator's existential code (made up of Heraclitus, Parmenides, Nietzsche, and so on)?
DeleteIn the context of Sabina and the bowler hat, the narrator relays that, "instead of spurning [the bowler hat], she proudly, provocatively played with it for all it was worth, as if submitting to her own public rape; and suddenly, unable to wait any longer, she pulled Tomas down to the floor," (87). For each of the characters that we have encountered so far in the novel, how do the themes of power and sexuality intersect? How are these nodes of intersection gendered? Do you think that Kundera problematically conflates the feminine with sexual victimization?
ReplyDeleteGreat question. And to this we might ask whether the titular/characterological binaries (lightness/weight, soul/body, etc.) are structured according to binary gender? IOW, is weight womanly, and woman embodied, while masculinity might be soulful or cerebral and therefore light? Or, to ask another related question, as the book deconstructs these binaries, does the gender binary remain insuperable?
DeleteWhat is the difference between how Franz interprets beauty and how Sabina interprets beauty? What are the implications of that difference? (pg. 93, 101, 107, 110, and more).
ReplyDeleteAlso, what is the relationship between violence and physical love? (pg. 86, 111, 121).
When thinking about eternal return vs. linear time and its relationship to the heaviness/lightness binary, I was surprised to note that Sabina, who ends up (in this section anyway) being the partner saddled with lightness, feels more at home with an eternal return-like concept of time, especially relating to her bowler hat ("It returned again and again, each time with a different meaning, and all the meanings flowed through the bowler hat like water through a river bed", 88). Franz doesn't seem to align himself with lightness or heaviness, but that may be a result of their mutual misunderstanding: Franz doesn't see the world in binary or understand the idea of weight as Sabina does.
ReplyDeleteI find it interesting that Sabina, a seeker of lightness, is an artist. I would think that to a certain degree the production of art implies heaviness because art is (well, can be) lasting. I think that Sabina's paintings can be compared to the families of her lovers. To what extent is Sabina a mother/creator? Could she find greater lightness if she stopped painting, or does is painting a way of unburdening oneself, thus becoming lighter?
ReplyDeleteA character I find particularly intriguing is that of Sabina. I especially are interested in her relationship with the men in this book. For Franz, who is constantly bored with his work, his wife and his home life, Sabina is like a breath of fresh air. I think that in a way, we could think of this as a motif for lightness as well. She is one of the only happy or clear or right things in his life, as we can see from this quote on page 103. "Then one day along came Sabina. She was a revelation.." How can we think about Sabina as a source of lightness? What does the fact that Franz closes his eyes as they make love mean for her lightness? and after the loss of Franz, Tomas and Tereza towards the end of this sections, will the symbolism of her presence change?
ReplyDeleteFranz and Sabina have very differing views on the relationship between music and words. Franz justifies his love of music by discrediting words on page 94: "'Noise has one advantage. It drowns out words.' And... so in the end no words were precise, their meanings were obliterated, their content lost, they turned into trash, chaff, dust, sand; prowling through his brain, tearing at his head, they were his insomnia. And what he yearned for at that moment, vaguely but with all his might, was unbounded music, absolute sound, a pleasant and happy all-encompassing, over-powering, window-rattling din to engulf, once and for all, the pain, the futility, the vanity of words. Music was the negation of sentences, music was the anti-word!" Sabina, on the other hand, doesn't have any particular inclination toward music of her era, and can often find music and beauty instead through words: "The same words kept coming back, like a wanderer who cannot tear his eyes away from the countryside or like a man who cannot take leave of life. She sat in one of the last pews, closing her eyes to hear the music of the words, opening them to stare up at the blue vault dotted with large gold stars," (page 110). What does this contrast say about the different outlooks that Sabina and Franz have on the world? How do their different relationships with words and music affect their understandings of what beauty is -- a question that is repeatedly asked in the text?
ReplyDeleteWe finally encounter the title of the book verbatim in the third section. Although of course it is significant, why use the motif of weight? Why not the body, or about music? What evidence is there, if any, that it is a more significant, overarching theme?
ReplyDelete