Wao ruminations concluded

The world seems to be caught up in an overwhelming tide of
tragic-ness. This is true most intensely in literature. I can't
think of too many books that I've read recently that aren't built
solely around exploring every possible nuance of a tragedy and how it
effects me, and Oscar Wao fits into this category as well. I've been
recommending The Road by Cormac McCarthy to a lot of people recently,
and I've been thinking about why this book has so struck a chord with
me, and I think it's because while it addresses the theme of tragedy
and explores it in-depth, it doesn't end with tragedy as the be-all,
end-all function of existence. Admittedly, the ending is bleak, but
it's also inspiring at the same time. And I don't think I can say
that about Oscar Wao. I mean Diaz built the ending up 100 pages
before it actually occurred, and I had to spend the last part of the
book watching it move inexorably closer, and the pain of reading it
was only increased by the fact that I knew I was going to read it for
so long. Then of course the book ended in its own bleak way, and
other than the physical text itself resting comfortably in your hand
or on your bookshelf, there wasn't a whole lot that you could walk
away with and be encouraged about.

Maybe my expectations for books are unreasonable, but Mark Twain's
books didn't always end with a bereft longing glance at nostalgia and
tragedy. Neither did Steinbeck or Garcia Marquez (well, ok Marquez is
generally pretty bleak, but he usually transcends that after a page or
two), or even Michael Chabon, who has to write 'genre' just so he can
have positive endings or think transformational thoughts. Are we that
caught up in the bitterly pessimistic worldview these days? I think
we are, I think almost all of us are despite our protestations that we
have happy moments or weeks or years. I think we tend to define
ourselves by our tragedies, and I wonder if that has anything to do
with world events - 9/11, Katrina, war, etc - or if it is the defining
zeitgeist of our generation. And if it is, what the fuck? I mean we
have to move past that at some point don't we? And I'm not sure I
need to hear that it could only be a white American asking this
question, because that sentiment, however true, only pulls us back
into the morass that so many people of so many different backgrounds
are trying to escape - hence the reason for the book Oscar Wao in the
first place, am I wrong?

So, while I loved the book, I am struck by the tone in a deeply
philosophical and existential way. And that tone seems to be an ever
present burden on the shoulders of everyone, and I am wondering if we
haven't set for ourselves an inescapable trap. And our books are just
the explanations of these traps, and sometimes that gets ridiculous.
And if that's the existential reality of the book and of our lives,
well then that just plain sucks. I don't think I can buy into a
paradigm that says life will be shitty forever and ever and oh woe is
me and all that crap. And that seems to be the approach of so many
books that I've read. It's like we can't seriously talk about the
transformational value of literature anymore because literature has
become a solipsistic cesspool. Is it any wonder that no Americans
have won the Nobel in a good long time. We're all focused on one
thing, and that one thing isn't terribly affirming, unless of course
if you count the fact that it is about 'me' and 'I' and certainly not
about the other because they can worry about their own damn selves.
Well, I've rambled enough and not all of it about the book.