Our 3Us do an independent study on a classic novel. I keep a list of ones I have read as recommendations. It is my most extensive list. There are, still, always more to add. Sometimes I end up basing my "to read" list on their own presentation coverage, when it sounds engaging. Flowers for Algernon wound up on my list through these means.
It is sad and beautiful. I've always loved books written in epistolatory style. It's always, to me, an even more intimate first-person portrayal. In this particular text, it's essential to really demonstrate a development of character and a subsequent tangible - and heartbreaking - degeneration.
I like its commentary, likely very progressive for its time, on the treatment of individuals with developmental exceptionalities. (I mean, I've been thinking lately about withdrawing from the midst of a system that says one thing and does another. That has buzzwords to please a certain segment of the population, while caring little about caring for another. Our children will grow to be adults in a world that does little to accommodate them, when no one is keeping tabs any longer. Maybe I will learn to make a difference - but not within a system I do not respect. I am being necessarily vague. I am working through what I think. Forgive me - books make me feel self-reflexive. I am midst-transformation, but I haven't yet figured out where I want to land.) Likely very progressive for 1959 - but have we changed? In almost sixty years, have we really changed anything substantial?
Four quotes that most struck me:
"I shouldn't have stayed, but it's hard to break the habit of listening, because people have always spoken and acted as if I weren't there, as if they never cared what I overheard." (67)
"It's more than that. I've been afraid before. Afraid of being strapped for not giving in to Norma, afraid of passing Howells Street where the gang used to tease me and push me around. And I was afraid of the schoolteacher, Mrs. Libby, who tied my hands so I wouldn't fidget with things on my desk. But those things were real - something I was justified in being afraid of. This fear at being kicked out of the bakery is vague, a fear I don't understand." (110)
"Sure, all this has changed me and the way I think about myself. I no longer have to take the kind of crap people have been handing me all my life." (123)
"'You've become cynical,' said Nemur. 'That's all this opportunity has meant to you. Your genius has destroyed your faith in the world and in your fellow men.'
'That's not completely true,' I said softly. 'But I've learned that intelligence alone doesn't mean a damned thing. Here in your university, intelligence, education, knowledge, have all become great idols. But I know now there's one thing you've all overlooked: intelligence and education that hasn't been tempered by human affection isn't worth a damn.'
I helped myself to another martini from the nearby sideboard and continued my sermon.
'Don't misunderstand me,' I said. 'Intelligence is one of the greatest human gifts. But all too often a search for knowledge drives out the search for love. This is something else I've discovered for myself very recently. I present it to you as a hypothesis: Intelligence without the ability to give and receive affection leads to mental and moral breakdown, to neurosis, and possibly even psychosis. And I say that the mind absorbed in and involved in itself as a self-centered end, to the exclusion of human relationships, can only lead to violence and pain.'" (249)
"'You've become cynical,' said Nemur. 'That's all this opportunity has meant to you. Your genius has destroyed your faith in the world and in your fellow men.'
'That's not completely true,' I said softly. 'But I've learned that intelligence alone doesn't mean a damned thing. Here in your university, intelligence, education, knowledge, have all become great idols. But I know now there's one thing you've all overlooked: intelligence and education that hasn't been tempered by human affection isn't worth a damn.'
I helped myself to another martini from the nearby sideboard and continued my sermon.
'Don't misunderstand me,' I said. 'Intelligence is one of the greatest human gifts. But all too often a search for knowledge drives out the search for love. This is something else I've discovered for myself very recently. I present it to you as a hypothesis: Intelligence without the ability to give and receive affection leads to mental and moral breakdown, to neurosis, and possibly even psychosis. And I say that the mind absorbed in and involved in itself as a self-centered end, to the exclusion of human relationships, can only lead to violence and pain.'" (249)
