Tag Archives: sartre

Book Review: The Age of Reason (Sartre)


(Sorry for the long break between books. I got busy packing/panicking/wishing for death over the summer, but now I’m back and now I have the giant U of Calgary library to quench my reading needs. At least until I forget to return the books I check out and I rack up a $200 fee for late books.)
(It’s happened before.)


Have I read this before: Yes. End of 2009 I think? Not so long ago compared to some of the books I’m re-reading.

Review: I really didn’t remember much of this book from my first read. I remembered the names Mathieu and Marcelle, but that was pretty much it. I’ve heard a lot of people say that they find Sartre a very dry writer (both with his fiction and his philosophy), but I enjoyed the writing. I liked how he jumped between Mathieu and Daniel as kind of the “main” narrators for different parts of the story. And, of course, the angst they all feel—at different levels, of course—regarding their notion(s) of freedom. Interesting stuff.

Favorite part: The razor scene with Daniel. I guess it’s not so much of a scene as a pondering. But it’s very poetically written.

Rating: 6/10

Aquarians > Everyone Else (except Voltaire—that sexy Scorpio has it all going on)

Yes, I’m satisfying my ego with help of the Zodiac, despite the fact that it, though surprisingly accurate for me, is probably full of as much trickery as any “organized religion.”

Background: I’ve been surfing around on the internet all day for quotes about Aquarians. Here are the best:
“Aliens do exist. We call them ‘Aquarians.'”
“They have a love to which no other sign’s love can compare.”
“Nobody can survive without water.”
“Aquarius: they are nice and fucked in the head.”
“Who gives to all a helping hand,
But bows his head to no command–
And higher laws doth understand?
Inventor, genius, superman–
Aquarius.” (my personal favorite)

Yeah, there are just a few, but it was fun regardless. And no offense to any other sign; you know I love you all. Yes, even you Sagittarians.

Another point of interest: don’t you find the synonyms for the word “trinket” to be the coolest words in the English language? Observe: “bagatelle, bauble, bibelot, curio, doodad, gadget, ornament, sparkler, trifle”…it’s all so splendid.

What do you people want, I’m bored and desperate for school to start again!

Edit: Oh, and read Sartre’s “The Age of Reason.” Good book.

Apparently, I love Sartre

I had a strange and intriguing dream last night. Since this is my blog and I divulge all sorts of random crap on it, I shall now tell you of my dream!

Okay. So in my dream I’m at work as normal, doing my normal, boring routine. Then I look up at the front and see Shannyn standing there. I go over there and talk to her for a little while. She’s looking for a job, so I suggest to her to work with us. She doesn’t say anything and leaves. I go about my daily business, including dealing with this one jerk that doesn’t seem to know how to give me the correct change.

Later in the day I’m training a new girl, and it takes me a little while to realize it’s Shannyn. I’m happy that she’s working with me, so I’m trying to train her on the fry machine because it was my favorite thing to do and I was hoping it would be fun for her, too.

Somehow, after awhile, the back of the store is transformed into this huge metal room with a bunch of flaming pits and huge groups of people standing around. I go up to this one guy who’s got a bunch of these little dolls in a pile around him. He looks at me and says, “quick! Choose a doll!” I don’t have much time to look through them so I pick the first one I recognize—a doll resembling Jean-Paul Sartre. So I grab it just as I hear a familiar voice behind me say, “I’ll take the Nietzsche doll.” I turn around and see Maggie getting her doll. I was pissed that she was able to find Nietzsche.

But it is evident later that I am rather attached to my little Sartre doll, because after awhile we are all lined up with our dolls getting ready to do something—I’m not sure what—with the dolls. I notice a few people ahead of me in the line are throwing their dolls into this big incinerator. I start screaming and crying when I see this, clinging all the while to my little miniature Sartre, not wanting to throw him into the incinerator because I’ve become very attached to him. The people in charge of all this didn’t quite know what to do with me.


Hm. I wonder what this means.

I know this much, though…

…I freaking want a Sartre doll.