Too Loud a Solitude

Alright, I get that this book was written in the full swing of post-WWII communist domination of Czechoslovakia, a time of tremendous censorship over an artistic people. Disclaimer: I am 50% Czech (but not, for the love of God, Slovak, my Grandmother used to say) and love names like Bohumil and Miroslav and Ludmila. The horrific beauty of the ultra-efficient waste-paper baler and its young, muscular workers was well-done.

I also get that the main character was a semi-autobiographical portrait of the author, who was also a bailer of waste paper and wrote the novel while subjugated to enforced temperance. So, why not find beauty in the days when one could drink with impunity at work, find secret ways to throw art into the world, to ponder the lives of mice and civil wars of sewer rats, to abscond with untold written riches? To all of these things, yes. But, there were many passages that were too much, like theJesus/Lao-tse interlude.

I'm glad that I read this Czech novella, but I'm not sold on reading further selections by the author. Perhaps, the other plebeian 50% of me just can't appreciate such heights.