Hardcovers are somewhat more durable, but not that much—they won’t forever stay in mint condition either. I personally see them as fancier editions, is all. Nice for collecting purposes, say, if you want an extra pretty edition of your favorite book that will sit on the shelf nicely. Textbooks… I wouldn’t, honestly. Too expensive, bulky, and I don’t see the point.
Some of Dawkins’s stuff and similar entry-level atheism works. People occasionally manage to build their entire personality around them, and it’s not a good look. If you want to promote critical thinking, being a condescending prick ain’t it, chief.
Cat’s Cradle was my first impression of Vonnegut, and I remember despising it so much that I refused to touch anything else of his for years. Eventually, I did pick up SH5 and adored it; it’s easily one of my all time favorites now. Perhaps it’s time to give Cradle another chance. Feeling so drastically different about two works by the same author doesn’t sit well with me.
Well, it’s Bradbury. Preachy and kinda misogynistic was his thing. It is one of the four major dystopian novels, though—kind of a foundational work through which a lot of people get introduced to the genre. You have to treat it like that (although I personally can’t stand it).
Oh, and also! The closing passage of Roadside Picnic always felt so incredibly frantic and emotional. It reads better in Russian to me, but the translation still works. I’m an animal, you can see that I’m an animal… so good.
!And he was no longer trying to think. He just kept repeating to himself in despair, like a prayer, “I’m an animal, you can see that I’m an animal. I have no words, they haven’t taught me the words; I don’t know how to think, those bastards didn’t let me learn how to think. But if you really are-all powerful, all knowing, all understanding—figure it out! Look into my soul, I know everything you need is in there. It has to be. Because I’ve never sold my soul to anyone! It’s mine, it’s human! Figure out yourself what I want—because I know it can’t be bad! The hell with it all, I just can’t think of a thing other than those words of his—HAPPINESS, FREE, FOR EVERYONE, AND LET NO ONE BE FORGOTTEN!"!<
The description of what actually happened with Snowden in Catch-22 makes me feel… some kinda way. We’ve been circling this one event for the whole book, getting vague glimpses, and finally having that reveal (even through we knew what happened all along, just not how) feels like regaining access to a traumatic memory. I mean.
! “I’m cold,” Snowden said softly. “I’m cold.”
“You’re going to be all right, kid,” Yossarian reassured him with a grin. “You’re going to be all right.”
“I’m cold,” Snowden said again in a frail, childlike voice. “I’m cold.”
“There, there,” Yossarian said, because he did not know what else to say. “There, there.”
“I’m cold,” Snowden whimpered. “I’m cold.”
“There, there. There, there.” !<
Not only does it help you express yourself, it essentially helps you think. If you lack language to describe something, be it a feeling, and object or anything else, its very hard to grasp the concept of it, let alone explain it to someone else. Sure, you could use common words, but you’ll be limited to what they represent in your thought process. For example, I might feel sadness—but maybe I actually feel grief, or melancholy, or longing, or yearning, or heartache (and so on). Most words aren’t exact synonyms; they represent shades of meaning you might want to convey or understand. Language even affects how you think about distinctions between things. Are light blue and blue shades or different colours, for example? Depends on what you call them in your native language.
Lacking language makes defining your identity harder, too. Sometimes people deliberately try to deny someone else the words to describe what is happening to them and/or what they are, and it’s a powerful tool that fucks you up.