Solitude desolate me; company oppresses me.
--Fernando Pessoa
a kind of lonely, all people is just a shadow of nouns, a dispensable example setence. People occupied father, mother, friends these identify pronoun, and unable to sense anyone, expect the "I" that start every sentence, but others can't feel that "I" as well.
I used to dislike this book name, "if have to need torments and pains to be a 'better' people, then i don't want. I'm not tough enough or have any patience."
The Sorrows of Young Werther, Die Leiden des jungen Werthers, in China it's translated to "the worries of young Werther"the word Leiden to angst, worries, isn't that a cruel translaion? Werthers is dead after all. It's pain, torments. And this book, tha word "pain" is more like teen angst, not too deep.
Now i feel the book name is a kind wish to James, James at seventeen is safe, he is like Marcel in In Search of Lost Time(À la recherche du temps perdu), the first half part, the pain is not done yet, bitter is his own, no objects, no responds.
But a talk between James and mother:
"She turned away from the window. "I'll warp you. I'll pass all my bitterness and skepticism on to you, and you won't believe in love."
"I already don't believe in love."
"Of course you don't. How could you? You've never been in love. Or have you? Have I missed something?"
"No," I said.
"You will," she said.
"No I won't," I said.
She put her two hands on my shoulders and bent down and kissed my cheek. "You're too sweet not to fall in love. I know how sweet you are. Maybe better than anyone."
"I'm not sweet," I said."
maybe someday James would feel like Marcel that the force that circles the earth the most times in a second is not electricity, but pain. But at seventeen, he's safe.
And like the book of disquiet of Pessoa, "Because I see these people so often, they become a part of my life", for James and Holdon from the catcher in the rye, that's their solitude. People dosen't matter occupy their thoughts,
the most common between James and Holden, that their every setences start with "i don't like", but they do want to love something, just not yet.
The passion for writing this, the setence come out frist, "if you think you're another James in this world and dont have any friend, let's be friends."
several years ago i frist time read this book, i surprise for i read it just as i read my own written book, and now reading Pessoa is the same feeling, marked every sentences, i wrote "James thinks people in books are real, but he didn't know me."
but me in present, aware of the thought to be friends with him is a offence. We'll dislike each other after all, our life is made of reflexive verbs.
This book at the end become my blood, my anaesthetic like Pessoa's words, nothing more. And make me know my life is just a unwritten novel, i dont have to write anything.
I translated this movie, and part of the novel to Chinese. If you want, not need... i dont want to publish my translation, paper books should be sweep to garbage, and it requiring times and effort, money.
And me, "my life is not interesting", read the novel is better to know me. If someone is interesting, i'll despise him, and i dont know why i coulnt accept anyone's kindness, but heart is still revealing.
The original texts is Chinese, i translated it to English, im not good at English Writing, and i don't need to.
