Notes Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald Last read: 2025-04-20 Rating: 5 Form: Fiction Genre: Literary Fiction Times read: 2 Copies owned: 0 Fun score: 1.66

Notes p31 - My greatest terror was ending up alone. p35 - I avoided you, so that you couldn’t avoid me. p47 - …I decided never to be that vulnerable again, never to feel that panic again, never to depend on anyone else. p68 “Are you doing something bad?” I asked, scared. “No, my darling.” Her voice mellowed. “But even when you don’t do bad things, bad things can happen to you.” “Why?” She tried to look soft, but the lines on her forehead didn’t disappear altogether. “This is how it is.” p77 - You listened, really listened, gentle eyes taking me in without judgement, making me feel more heard than I knew I could be. p113 - (Slightly, but not really, a story spoiler) “Your mother died out of loneliness,” Granny would always repeat, claiming it was because she had never remarried after my father. But I think it was despair that killed her. Having done only things she didn’t believe in, she must have been dead inside for years before her body finally gave up too. p168 - “We’re just queuing for a possibility, queuing for something, maybe queuing for nothing.” p174 - It hurt to see you like that, to have nothing pass between us. — # Review ...

I read this book in graduate school in a course on Clinical Practice with Survivors of Political Trauma and Torture. It was probably the most interesting course I took, and if there were an alternate world where I practiced clinical social work, I’d love to work with this population. A few months ago a friend and I were talking about loss and I recommended Boss’s research. I re-read several of Boss’s papers around that time and ordered a physical copy of the book on Thriftbooks. It’s been sitting on my living room table since then, and I picked it up this morning to skim through. ...

Another short Ernaux text from Fitzcarlando (forever grateful to have been introduced to this press, these books are beautiful). This book is longer than I Will Write, but is in a way shallower. It is a collection of entries into a diary observing behavior of other people in public, writing down little episodes and encounters, sometimes reflecting on them. I love this. Some of them are funny, sad, moving. Most of them are mundane, and yet not boring or in need of editing out. They’re mundane because life is often mundane. ...

Review “This book is not a suicide note.” A fair opening line, as Critchley (SC) goes on to list several novels and essays published under titles containing the word “suicide” which are closely followed by the completed suicide of their authors. It is a cloud that follows this book, which is pure white with NOTES ON SUICIDE in large, blue text on the front cover. I felt self-conscious reading it on the metro this morning, and at work I put the book upside down on my desk, and at the park I held it in such a way as to obscure the title. Lest people think I’m planning to off myself (I am not, FYI). ...

This short text from Ernaux is a collection of her Nobel lecture, banquet speech, and then a short biography. At 43 pages it is so short that I read it in about 20 minutes (the type is quite large), and would strongly recommend it. She writes about the alienation from your home and people that happens when you move out of your homeland, your homeclass. Language changes, and yet it can snap you back. She discusses her writing style, how she developed it and the decisions made therein, particularly in her use of the of “I.” ...

Review I picked this up because Singular Adventures is cited in Philippe Besson’s Lie With me, which I adored. This collection of short stories has entries in it that I love and will re-read, but the first half is flat out bad. Some of the first part has the sort of over-the-top smut eroticism that I wrote in high school, fantasizing about the locker room, and yet it almost always punishes the reader for having fun by taking strange and dark turns. ...

What an incredible piece of writing. In 61 pages, Ernaux illustrates how all-encompassing love can become, how it can turn into an obsession where everything is subject to it. No event is without link to the object of love, everything takes on a mystical connection. At first I was tagging or highlighting things that I related to, had experienced in my affections. That became a real burden because it happens on almost every page. ...

I found this book by asking for seminal texts on the concept of “good” or “goodness” after/while reading The Human Condition. I described my current beliefs and my problems with Arendt’s formulation of goodness (which she has little to say on in The Human Condition), and was told that my beliefs would probably line up the most with Murdoch’s text. I think that is right. For only 120 pages, or perhaps less, I took a long time to get through this. I made highlights on most pages, sometimes whole pages, breaking only to circumvent the kindle/goodreads long highlight rule, so I could come back later and get them all. (Yes, this is a very, very, rare Kindle read for me, because I knew I’d be doing a lot of highlighting and didn’t want to transpose the whole book). ...

I read this for my small press book club. I am not sure why I stuck with it. On page 11, we have this sentence: Sylvia, our mother, reminded Henry daily, such was the routine of marriage, about fixing the ladder daily and went about partitioning the attic space, figuring if they were to have children, they would need a place to store them. I know it is snobby of me to take issue with the writing, and I know there are better things I could do with my time than critique a published author. But, really, where was the editor? My emphasis in the above highlights just one problem, a strange repetition that doesn’t make sense. There is also too much going on in the sentence. 39 words! That’s 15% of the Gettysburg Address! Too long. I also think it’s trite. The same-word-in-one-sentence problem didn’t recur often enough for me to notice, but overlong sentences full of overdone triteness became the standard. ...