The book description on the back cover reads "wrenching love affairs." One amazon.com reviewer put "tear-jerker at times... every time he falls in love."
boy, let me tell you, I read that line and laughed out loud. to me it seemed that gogol never "falls in love." no. the so-called love was shallow, contrived, laughable, predictable. i mean , he meets them one day and then the following day wihotut preamble, they are sudently having "ravenous sex" (jhumpa lahiri's own words)
gogol does not seem to know waht love is. he does not love himsef, so how can he possbi love another person? he does not recognize love when he sees it, such as his paretnt's love for eathcother (he thinks that because they don't make out on the couch in front of thier kids, that they do not love each toher), or his paretns' love for him (one of his girglfreind's parents are perfeclt fine with her and him shacking up a couple of floors above them, then coming downstarirs the next morning together, obviously having slept together, and therefor he thinks that "family" is much healthier than his own).
boy, they are a piece of work. a rather sick family dynamic.
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by the way, I really do not consider Moushumi his wife in any sense of the word. their relationship is virtually identical to all of his shallow, image-packed, substance-free relationships wiht the various females he has slept with. they live together, big deal. they had already moved in together within a couple of months of dating. and they had been doing so for almost a year by the time they got married. same as all his other girlfrinds. except he diddn't marry any of them.
and moushumi is sleeping with several different males practicalle simultaneously. she slowed down after they got marreid, but she wasnt' happy about it. before she was marreid, she was whining and crying about paris. after she got marreid, she was whining and crying about paris.
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I swear, they are like characters from Frinds, which are already one-dimensional parodies of __. pseudo-intellectual middle-class white people in new york who hold low-paying jobs that do not really contribute to society, somehow maintain the utterly glamorous image, and do not know any black people, until the 8th or 9th season when ratings are sagging so they stick a black girlfreind in there for posterity.
this need to be aproved by th ecool white kids. distincly, the white kids - a point that should not be lost on any of us but with which the author might be trying to pull a fast one over on us. i mean, the black ghewtto crowqd is cool too, you mnow, like tgose gants rapper s with thier bling. not to mention the hip latinos, with thier energetic drum-beating music providing framerwork for outspoken socially-conscious lyrics, and other stuff that they might share with the ganstsa rappin crowd but is distincly latino. theyr're young hip, + impatient, but they have genuine respect for thier fussy mexican catholic paretns, or cuban or peurto rican or wherever their family are from. but does either of these characters want to emulate them? no. why the hell not?
and honey, if he lives in new york then you _do_ know he encounters danceclub latinos everyday.
I, too, had an inconsolable need to be approved and accepted by the countercultrue in-crowd. you know, there's the standard regular cool kids, and there's also the alterna-cool kids who listen to indie punk-rock bands that no one has ever heard of, take the art courses at school, dress in goth clothes or skater clothes , dye their hair green or cranberry or death-pale bluish-black or generally just a really ugly hairdo. they obsess about death and decay, ponder over modern art and think that they are being deep. and don't forget, have plenty of sex + drugs.
Pseudo-intellectual, smarmy, art fags.
and then I graduated from high school and got the hell over it.
honestly, it's such a laughable, idiotic, juvenile desire, to want to be accepted by that crowd. but now you're a grown-up. you should know by now, there's more to life than that.
uh, dude, like, isn't that exactly what you did earlier in the book, when you fawned and worshiped all over
what? you thought they were real? sorry, dude, but they are just as fake and poser as these current ones. no, he says, the stuff they talked about was real, they really did know about art, art history, history of art, philosophy of art history, history of philosophy of art.
paris holton go fug yourself. read this. the link is right here. it's hilarious. and true.
also, it reminds me of a sequence from "saved by the bell," which was also making fun of the art-fake crowd. "are we art? is art, art?"
oh, and one more thing. where in the hell did they get all that money? as a "museum art curator." oh, yeah, the museum art curatory industry is booming. everyone knows it, and the stocks are soaring.
they are no more than the
,the kind of people that that movie "art school confidential" makes fun of. thing is, they are so damn easy to make fun of, that is, high school kids would be making fun of them if they weren't so utterly convinced that they are the pinnacle of cool, that they are the __ they should aspire to. well what do you expect from whiny middle-class white kids who are trying to sound deep?
We are no more forgiving when discussing books, movies written from a Chinese person's perspective. Why should we be any less ruthless when discussing books written from an Indian perspective?
____One reviewer wrote, "she hates herself that much, that she can't stand to be associated w Chinese people." and I realized, I agree. that _is_ what that person feels. even if the person themselves doesn't see it, they hate themselves that much, that they absolutely hate their ancestry, they want to denounce, cast off their heritage. they absolutely hate who they are, who their family are, where they come from. they hate the land that is their native home. I can't imagine being filled with that much disgust, contempt, for one's(self) homeland.
he hates his own family, he has nothing but contempt for his parents' relationship with each other, he approaches them with an extremely disrespectful attitude - haughty, hipper than thou, cooler than thou, he thinks he is way better than them because they grew up in India and he grew up in the west. he nearly cuts off all ties to his family, he hardly ever calls them, he gradually stops visiting them on holidays.
damn, even white people in america who think their parents are dorky don't do that.
let me ask you something, jhumpa lahiri and all other indian young people who want all this. do people of italian ancestry act this way? do they cut off all ties to their family, do they hide the fact that they are italian? do they take it as a compliment when people mistake them for not being italian and think that they must be some other more fair-skinned caucasan group?
sigh. sweeties, we already covered that in non-white reactions to white remarks 101.
look at this. everything, absolutely everything, about his girlfriend's parents is absolutely perfect. and his own parents, who entertain dozens and dozens of people at a time, this is far less than perfect, far less than ideal. why is that? why is the white people's way of doing things so much better than the indian people's way of doing things?
well, the white people appreciate fine food, fine art, fine music and theater. so what are you saying, that indian food by definition cannot possibly be gourmet food, that indian saris and such do not require any skill, any creativity to compose?
I mean, damn, jhumpa. is this what you feel about your family's home country? no, you say it is not autobiographical at all, just a carefully observed portrait, in-depth look at someone who struggles with their identtiy?
so you are absolutely sure that there exists someone in the vast great somewhere who is so desperate to cut off all ties to india, that he throws himself into the soulless, gutless,
also, maybe you've heard this phrase, maybe not, the main character has no soul.
"they take drugs to remind themselves that they are still young." huh? okay, whatever
you say, chachi. (picture 1) giidy-up teeth click, 2) wink, 2) finger-gun-point thing.)
the main char's shakck-up has no soul, either.
she does drugs, she's a drunk, she's a chainsmoker. and she's a slut to boot. she'll hump anything on two legs that throws a little money her way. when she started cheating on him, I just rolled my eyes, gave a cynical snicker and had to admit that thoguth, "knew it."
what, you're mad because I revealed a crucial plot point? (rolling eyes.) trust me, I did not "give anything away" by mentioning that. if you have been paying attention to the book and the main chracters, you should know that they have the attention span of a fly hopped up on crack. it was not a "no way, I NEVER saw that coming!" it was quite predictable.
regarding the white folk, I was surprised, however, that they bothered to get married. I thought for sure they would be of the "oh, we don't need a piece of paper to declare our love, unlike you organized-religion, government-worshiping non- individuality conformists" variety.
well, damn, I got sick too, but you know what? I loved it anyway. I loved visiting all our relatives. I loved playing with the Bangladeshi children, cousins who lived there, or next-door neighbors who are very close friends with my family. I loved seeing the skyline in Dhaka during the slow, breathtaking, approaching evening by way of a beautiful sunset.
boy, let me tell you, I read that line and laughed out loud. to me it seemed that gogol never "falls in love." no. the so-called love was shallow, contrived, laughable, predictable. i mean , he meets them one day and then the following day wihotut preamble, they are sudently having "ravenous sex" (jhumpa lahiri's own words)
gogol does not seem to know waht love is. he does not love himsef, so how can he possbi love another person? he does not recognize love when he sees it, such as his paretnt's love for eathcother (he thinks that because they don't make out on the couch in front of thier kids, that they do not love each toher), or his paretns' love for him (one of his girglfreind's parents are perfeclt fine with her and him shacking up a couple of floors above them, then coming downstarirs the next morning together, obviously having slept together, and therefor he thinks that "family" is much healthier than his own).
boy, they are a piece of work. a rather sick family dynamic.
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by the way, I really do not consider Moushumi his wife in any sense of the word. their relationship is virtually identical to all of his shallow, image-packed, substance-free relationships wiht the various females he has slept with. they live together, big deal. they had already moved in together within a couple of months of dating. and they had been doing so for almost a year by the time they got married. same as all his other girlfrinds. except he diddn't marry any of them.
and moushumi is sleeping with several different males practicalle simultaneously. she slowed down after they got marreid, but she wasnt' happy about it. before she was marreid, she was whining and crying about paris. after she got marreid, she was whining and crying about paris.
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I swear, they are like characters from Frinds, which are already one-dimensional parodies of __. pseudo-intellectual middle-class white people in new york who hold low-paying jobs that do not really contribute to society, somehow maintain the utterly glamorous image, and do not know any black people, until the 8th or 9th season when ratings are sagging so they stick a black girlfreind in there for posterity.
this need to be aproved by th ecool white kids. distincly, the white kids - a point that should not be lost on any of us but with which the author might be trying to pull a fast one over on us. i mean, the black ghewtto crowqd is cool too, you mnow, like tgose gants rapper s with thier bling. not to mention the hip latinos, with thier energetic drum-beating music providing framerwork for outspoken socially-conscious lyrics, and other stuff that they might share with the ganstsa rappin crowd but is distincly latino. theyr're young hip, + impatient, but they have genuine respect for thier fussy mexican catholic paretns, or cuban or peurto rican or wherever their family are from. but does either of these characters want to emulate them? no. why the hell not?
and honey, if he lives in new york then you _do_ know he encounters danceclub latinos everyday.
I, too, had an inconsolable need to be approved and accepted by the countercultrue in-crowd. you know, there's the standard regular cool kids, and there's also the alterna-cool kids who listen to indie punk-rock bands that no one has ever heard of, take the art courses at school, dress in goth clothes or skater clothes , dye their hair green or cranberry or death-pale bluish-black or generally just a really ugly hairdo. they obsess about death and decay, ponder over modern art and think that they are being deep. and don't forget, have plenty of sex + drugs.
Pseudo-intellectual, smarmy, art fags.
and then I graduated from high school and got the hell over it.
honestly, it's such a laughable, idiotic, juvenile desire, to want to be accepted by that crowd. but now you're a grown-up. you should know by now, there's more to life than that.
uh, dude, like, isn't that exactly what you did earlier in the book, when you fawned and worshiped all over
what? you thought they were real? sorry, dude, but they are just as fake and poser as these current ones. no, he says, the stuff they talked about was real, they really did know about art, art history, history of art, philosophy of art history, history of philosophy of art.
paris holton go fug yourself. read this. the link is right here. it's hilarious. and true.
also, it reminds me of a sequence from "saved by the bell," which was also making fun of the art-fake crowd. "are we art? is art, art?"
oh, and one more thing. where in the hell did they get all that money? as a "museum art curator." oh, yeah, the museum art curatory industry is booming. everyone knows it, and the stocks are soaring.
they are no more than the
,the kind of people that that movie "art school confidential" makes fun of. thing is, they are so damn easy to make fun of, that is, high school kids would be making fun of them if they weren't so utterly convinced that they are the pinnacle of cool, that they are the __ they should aspire to. well what do you expect from whiny middle-class white kids who are trying to sound deep?
We are no more forgiving when discussing books, movies written from a Chinese person's perspective. Why should we be any less ruthless when discussing books written from an Indian perspective?
____One reviewer wrote, "she hates herself that much, that she can't stand to be associated w Chinese people." and I realized, I agree. that _is_ what that person feels. even if the person themselves doesn't see it, they hate themselves that much, that they absolutely hate their ancestry, they want to denounce, cast off their heritage. they absolutely hate who they are, who their family are, where they come from. they hate the land that is their native home. I can't imagine being filled with that much disgust, contempt, for one's(self) homeland.
he hates his own family, he has nothing but contempt for his parents' relationship with each other, he approaches them with an extremely disrespectful attitude - haughty, hipper than thou, cooler than thou, he thinks he is way better than them because they grew up in India and he grew up in the west. he nearly cuts off all ties to his family, he hardly ever calls them, he gradually stops visiting them on holidays.
damn, even white people in america who think their parents are dorky don't do that.
let me ask you something, jhumpa lahiri and all other indian young people who want all this. do people of italian ancestry act this way? do they cut off all ties to their family, do they hide the fact that they are italian? do they take it as a compliment when people mistake them for not being italian and think that they must be some other more fair-skinned caucasan group?
sigh. sweeties, we already covered that in non-white reactions to white remarks 101.
look at this. everything, absolutely everything, about his girlfriend's parents is absolutely perfect. and his own parents, who entertain dozens and dozens of people at a time, this is far less than perfect, far less than ideal. why is that? why is the white people's way of doing things so much better than the indian people's way of doing things?
well, the white people appreciate fine food, fine art, fine music and theater. so what are you saying, that indian food by definition cannot possibly be gourmet food, that indian saris and such do not require any skill, any creativity to compose?
I mean, damn, jhumpa. is this what you feel about your family's home country? no, you say it is not autobiographical at all, just a carefully observed portrait, in-depth look at someone who struggles with their identtiy?
so you are absolutely sure that there exists someone in the vast great somewhere who is so desperate to cut off all ties to india, that he throws himself into the soulless, gutless,
also, maybe you've heard this phrase, maybe not, the main character has no soul.
"they take drugs to remind themselves that they are still young." huh? okay, whatever
you say, chachi. (picture 1) giidy-up teeth click, 2) wink, 2) finger-gun-point thing.)
the main char's shakck-up has no soul, either.
she does drugs, she's a drunk, she's a chainsmoker. and she's a slut to boot. she'll hump anything on two legs that throws a little money her way. when she started cheating on him, I just rolled my eyes, gave a cynical snicker and had to admit that thoguth, "knew it."
what, you're mad because I revealed a crucial plot point? (rolling eyes.) trust me, I did not "give anything away" by mentioning that. if you have been paying attention to the book and the main chracters, you should know that they have the attention span of a fly hopped up on crack. it was not a "no way, I NEVER saw that coming!" it was quite predictable.
regarding the white folk, I was surprised, however, that they bothered to get married. I thought for sure they would be of the "oh, we don't need a piece of paper to declare our love, unlike you organized-religion, government-worshiping non- individuality conformists" variety.
well, damn, I got sick too, but you know what? I loved it anyway. I loved visiting all our relatives. I loved playing with the Bangladeshi children, cousins who lived there, or next-door neighbors who are very close friends with my family. I loved seeing the skyline in Dhaka during the slow, breathtaking, approaching evening by way of a beautiful sunset.