pop-culture for the people

Once again, I’ve decided to tackle a so-called classic. This time, it’s Hermann Hesse’s Demian. This book is about a wimpy whiner called (Email or Emilie or something or other) Sinclair who develops a strong spiritual dependency on this older boy named Demian. Given homoerotic implications one might be fooled into thinking this relationship was interesting. Throughout the book, Sinclair whines and mopes, over-analyzing his boring existence while slowly “learning” that he is a special breed of person (meaning that he doesn’t have to plan for the future, get a real job, or stop masturbating anytime soon).

This book deals deeply with the sexual awaking of puberty. When I say that it deals “deeply” with the topic, I mean to say that it goes into as much depth as you can without discussing the physical act of sex, without making any reference to genitalia of any kind, without depicting any sexual relationships, and without using the word “sex” if it could be helped. This is surely a sign of the times, but I was hoping that modern translations would pander to our animalistic needs and toss in a few “penis” remarks, just for good measure. No such luck.

All through reading this book, a lot of smarty-pants kids came up to me tell me, “Hey, that’s a good book!” This has got to be the third or fourth most useless phrase ever uttered. It ranks right up there with, “I think this milk is spoiled, taste it.” First off, you’re not complimenting my taste by telling me that I’m reading a good book. Even if it were good, how the hell would I know that? I haven’t read the thing yet. And second, what do I care if you think the book is good? Should I like it any more or less? Do I suddenly get to feel better about myself if I like it just like the literary doofus squad at my college? No one is actually prepared to discuss the book or heaven forbid, criticize the book. That’s why I think I’m more equipped to write about the classics than the bootlicking, front row, poop brains, who enjoy being seen with good books as much as being readers of them.

I found the book to be quite interesting, but my professor of philosophy and I agreed that the so-called “children of Cain” in the story were sort of flat characters. There were some interesting things done with philosophy. For those of you who read some Plato, there is a character called Pistorious who takes the whole knowledge=recollection thing to a whole new level. Still, there is a jumbled irony in the characters. We see these “special” people think real hard and not do crap except have premonitions and talk about a great future. This future comes in the form of them getting swept up just like everybody else in the big European war. I laughed.

After re-reading the introduction, we hit on the interesting concept that every person is not fully himself or herself until they are dead. It’s the road we take to get there that is important, but like so many immature anti-Christian crap, the narrator’s critique of religious order gives us a clear illustration of what’s bad about the current system and no clearly designed alternative except the hope of being one of the select few who are “different”. An idiot would read this book and quote lines about following the road to becoming oneself, being true to your own fate, and blah, blah, blah. These people ignore the fact that our characters don’t do or change anything. And that’s probably why certain groups of intellectuals love them, because being on the road to oneself can be a great excuse to sit around not making an impact on anyone who’s not acting as smart as you are.

I found the characters to be whining posers without much concern for community and a terrible habit of overstating the obvious. Yes, Sinclair, we’re different people at home and outside of the home, but why let it torture your brain and why let it torture mine? As Sinclair bumbles from one hopeless obsession to another, we follow a retelling of his life from his school days getting bullied around to his later days of just bumming around. And really, I would have given this kid an Indian burn that would leave a red mark well into his teens. He’s a rich, pampered prissy boy who has an education handed to him. He’s smart only in that he latches onto smart people. These smart people are super-intellectual pillars of spiritual perfection. Just the type of people who’d say, “duh, you just don’t get it!” and not provide any serious answers.

If you’re looking for a book to read because you want to have something to talk about that will make you sound smart, this is the book for you. Hell, if you know a little bit about the difficulty in ascending through the moral, artistic, and religious realms, you can trace the main character’s bouncing around and get some really neat insights finding support throughout literature in places as varied as Neitchze (spelling sucks, why can’t guys named Bob Smith write more books) and Emily Dickinson’s mystic day cycle. If not, you can always bob your head, smile a lot, and say, “that a good book.”

-Hazzard

What Other Staff Members Think:
Tobita:  Damien? I wrassle most evil and dishonorable masked foe Damien in Mexico. Tobita smack honor into disrespectful of ancestors boy Damien!! Yeah!!! Oh, this about book called Demian? Too busy Tobita is with destroy all monsters read about baby-cry Euro-sissies. Yeah!!!

Shameless Plug:
Buy this book on Amazon.com

More Information On Demian:
The Hermann Hesse Homepage (Triple H)
Demian Loves Music!
Send This Kid A Book Report!!
Demian Plays Magic
Where Is Demian?!?!?
Reading Group Guide
A Contrasting Review
Thoughts On Demian
The Will To Party Lies With Demian
Damien Wrestles