On finishing a good book

I just finished a good book, The Sorrows of Young Werther, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. I hadn’t read this book for years and saw it on Nate’s bookshelf, the same copy I read years ago when I lived in Germany! I sent that copy with him on his travels when he was visiting me in Garmish-Partenkirchen some five years ago (!!).  After all these years I was happy to have it back, considering my lack of books in this country. I only packed two books with me and those are long since finished!  Except for my NY Times crossword book, which is quickly filling up.

The Sorrows of Young Werther: a touching tale of a young man tormented by love. It is a beautiful glimpse into a world of many generations ago, a simpler time, yet still such rich and complex emotions are portrayed through the exchange of letters between Werther and his good friend. Werther has a passion for nature and knowledge; he is a gentle and sensitive young man, loafing through life at a slow and easy pace. The book is largely based on a period of time in the authors own life, which I did not know the first time reading it (should’ve read that forward). Knowing this now made me have a new love for Goethe, I feel akin to him in his love for nature and deep emotions.

Having finished the book I became eager to replace it quickly for I can not stand going too long without a new story to indulge in. In our adventures around Seoul this past weekend we happened upon two separate libraries, on two separate days, in two opposite ends of the city.  Both were, well, kind of a failure. I love libraries, and so to say it was only a failure would be silly, but did we find any books to take home? No. The buildings themselves were beautiful and the grounds surrounding one of the libraries was something like an estate, well manicured, luscious and green! I found one section with English language books, with not very many titles, but I imagined I could find something; I’m not too picky. No go, they had the most bizarre and boring collection of books. No novels and no poetry, lots of nonfiction, mostly about the English language, which makes sense.

I ended up taking the long walk to the express bus terminal subway station, which is more like an underground city, I knew of a bookstore about four stories underground. I checked it out. Pretty decent foreign book section, but what? Freaking expensive! I mean 33,000 won for a paperback Moby Dick? That’s about 30 dollars, FYI. I just couldn’t get myself to pay that price. I miss Powells. So I continued my quest for a good read, and ended up in the expat neighborhood Iteawon, where there is a beautiful little bookstore with sliding shelves and stacks of old magazines and a dusty back shelf with records, this place is splendid!

 I found everything I could have wanted there and then some. They even have a philosophy section (with about 7 books, but hey….). I picked up a few paperback novels that I’ve never heard of, but sounded interesting enough, both with a strong female character. While I Was Gone by Sue Miller and one other that I can’t recall now, cause it’s at home. So I guess I will see! I don’t even really mind reading a book that isn’t all that awesome, as long as it keeps my attention, I figure everything I read helps me to be a master of my language and gives me ideas for my own writing!

So here’s to books, to authors, to readers, to writing in general!  Through this brilliant use of our words we can communicate and entertain, immortalizing people and capturing entire time periods and specific states of being.

Some of my favorite excerpts from The Sorrows of Young Werther:

"There is something coldly uniform about the human race. Most of them have to work for the greater part of their lives in order to live and the little freedom they have left frightens then to such an extent that they will stop at nothing to rid themselves of it. Oh, human destiny!"

"Nothing can fill me with such true, serene emotion as any features of ancient, primitive life like this. ... Oh, how thankful I am that my heart can feel the simple, harmless joys of the man who brings to the table a head of cabbage he has grown himself, and in a single moment enjoys, not only the vegetable, but all the fine days and fresh mornings since he planted it, the mild evenings when he watered it, and the pleasure he felt while watching it grow."