{the} hours

I finished reading The Hours Sunday afternoon, SHG gave it to me for my travels over the last few weeks. It's an amazingly well-written, well-constructed book. I have not read Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, which apparently one segment of the novel parallels. It's a really good read. It takes place over the course of one day, for three different people over three different days.

I guess there are three components or themes that keep coming up: angst over the day, angst over the implications of decisions made during the course of a seemingly ordinary day, and angst over one's own existence. Can I be more than I am? Should I be more than I am? What is it to be content in a role vs. happy? But what is happy? Well, it turns out that the whole thing is nicely intertwined at the end, and it is not an ordinary day for anybody, but rather one filled with implications for the future. Just like any other day. Which makes it an ordinary day.

This is a word-byte on the back of the book:
Michael Cunningham's novel The Hours is that rare combination: a smashing literary tour de force and an utterly invigorating reading experience. If this book does not make you jump up from the sofa, looking at life and literature in new ways, check to see if you have a pulse.
Ann Prichard - USA Today

I have decided that I hate it when they include these on the back cover. I wound up intimidated by the book before I began. And, the cover of the book has the three actresses in the movie on the cover (you know, getting you to read it after the movie, star attraction). That's distracting.

I read the first half Saturday and the second Sunday. I wound up really depressed after reading it Saturday and simply crawled into bed, mentally exhausted. I think part of it was that I felt stupid or shallow because I was having a hard time accessing it. So many questions about the meaning of one's life, and whether what one has is what one wants. Reflection upon past decisions and justification of them. Reading Sunday was much better, and I really got into it.

Part of the message seems to be that Life is ordinary, studded with remarkable moments. Part of the message seems to be that Life is what you make of it. Part of the message seems to be you should make the conscious choice to not be unhappy. All of these hit home with me, especially since I have been thinking about these things intermittently over the last couple of years, but more so lately.

So I left where I was reading the book and on the way out and saw my reflection in the glass, and my eyes were really, really blue. I felt very alive, and then suddenly felt really guilty about that. Here I am, after reading a really good book, having angst over the fact that I cannot really access it: I am stuck at the level where it reinforces my angst about my life, what I am doing with it, etc. I realize there are larger messages there, ones that I should respond to, but instead I am stuck down on the 3rd floor.

And then it just hits me, right there on the street: I am alive, and Matthew is dead. I, who just chugs along unremarkably, am alive. And Matthew, such an amazing and remarkable person, is dead. He was robbed of his life. Here I am feeling all angst-ridden and conflicted, when he's the one gone, who's life was snuffed for absolutely no reason. And without justice. And so I just broke down, sat on a bench in the ped zone. And began to just feel worse and worse. And became one of those crazy people having an existential crisis in public. And what do I think? My father would be so embarrassed.

Now, 32 hours later, I feel better. Ready to gather my marbles up off the floor and get on with it. What it? I dunno. But I have been thinking about the messages in that book, and want to take them to heart, and plan and hope to.