Think Less, Garden More

What a surprising amount of humor!

In Candide or The Optimist, Voltaire follows the life of the good Candide who is indoctrinated at a very young age by his teacher with the idea that "all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds". Candide struggles with this philosophy as he is forced to endure excruciating hardships one after the other.



Through a number of chaotic events, the plot unravels as Candide travels through Europe and South America. I was shocked to discover that this book was published in 1759. Not because of the writing style or events, but because of the wildly timeless satirical tone. Don't get me wrong, Candide is grappling with many dark and twisted ideas:

"A hundred times I wanted to kill myself, but always I loved life more. This ridiculous weakness is perhaps one of our worst instincts; is anything more stupid than choosing to carry a burden that really one wants to cast on the ground? to hold existence in horror, and yet to cling to it? to fondle the serpent which devours us till it has eaten out our heart? —In the countries through which I have been forced to wander, in the taverns where I have had to work, I have seen a vast number of people who hated their existence; but I never saw more than a dozen who deliberately put an end to their own misery."

The book surprisingly ended on the most satisfying notes of purity. Candide and his crew only find solace and resolution once they take to the land and begin to farm it:

"You are perfectly right, said Pangloss; for when man was put into the garden of Eden, he was put there ut operaretur eum, so that he should work it; this proves that man was not born to take his ease.

Let’s work without speculating, said Martin; it’s the only way of rendering life bearable. The whole little group entered into this laudable scheme; each one began to exercise his talents. The little plot yielded fine crops . . . and Pangloss sometimes used to say to Candide:

All events are linked together in the best of possible worlds; for, after all, if you had not been driven from a fine castle by being kicked in the backside for love of Miss Cunégonde, if you hadn’t been sent before the Inquisition, if you hadn’t traveled across America on foot, if you hadn’t given a good sword thrust to the baron, if you hadn’t lost all your sheep from the good land of Eldorado, you wouldn’t be sitting here eating candied citron and pistachios.

That is very well put, said Candide, but we must go and work our garden."

Sage advice shines through...Think less, garden more.

To start reading Candide RIGHT NOW, visit an amazing site provided by the New York Public Library Website.

Illustration by Fernand Siméon from 'Candide ou L’optimisme' by Voltaire. Paris: Jules Meynial, 1922. NYPL, General Research Division.

Just Go Read This

There are books that make me feel incredibly thankful to have crossed their path. It is with a great sense of satisfaction that I want to celebrate these discoveries. With many famous, or classical works of literature filling up my list of 'to-reads', it feels miraculous each time I come across one of these lesser known parcels of excellence.

It's the kind of book I order 3 copies at a time, one that's never returned, one that I wrap up for many birthdays:

Fittingly, the first time I was faced with the works of Mr. Hrabal was in his homeland of the Czech Republic. Studying Czech culture and social change, Too Loud a Solitude was set in front of me with little to no explanation whatsoever. It didn't take long for me to realize how lucky I was, this was one of these very special intersections (of me, and book). Busting at the seams with colorful life and bottomless emotion, the book opens with some of the most beautiful metaphors ever written. In fact, it's here that Hrabal writes my most favorite beginnings to any book ever written:

I am a jug filled with water both magic and plain, I have o nly to lean over and a stream of beautiful thoughts flows out of me

Homemade bookmark

The tale of Hanta, the bibliophile, who painfully murders books for a living. Piles upon piles of books arrive at his feet, in the hot and dirty space between Prague's modern street level and sewage that houses his solitude. One after another, Hanta is tortured by the destruction. Memories, hallucinations and facts are woven together by way of his hydraulic press. Visits from colorful gypsies and cold jugs of beer schlepped from pub to sub-layer help relieve the haunted Hanta. Mountains of books and knowledge crowd the pages and this man's solitude is the story. As the reader, we sit - crammed and enlightened - inside the dome of what is Hanta's brain.

Now, just go read it!

More about Hrabal