Perhaps the bleakest work I've ever encountered. It reads as though it were carved of solid ice, cold and unyielding.

It is pessimistic and unflinching, with a torrent of melancholy sentences flowing through it. It描绘了 a landscape of terminal illness, cut through with rivers of blood, a truly harrowing景象.

Yet, it is also phenomenal. Some of these images will haunt me forever, etching themselves into my consciousness.

The words seem to capture the essence of life itself, as the author writes, "Life is the purest, clearest, darkest, most crystalline form of hopelessness . . . There is only one way to go, through the snow and ice into despair; past the adultery of reason."

This work forces us to confront the harsher realities of existence and leaves us with a sense of profound unease. But it is also a testament to the power of literature to touch our souls and make us think deeply about the human condition.

Meh…

This simple expression seems to convey a sense of indifference or mild dissatisfaction. It's a word that can be used in various situations when we don't have a strong opinion or when something just doesn't quite meet our expectations.

For example, if we try a new restaurant and the food is just okay, we might say "Meh…" It doesn't mean the food was terrible, but it also wasn't outstanding.

Similarly, when we watch a movie that is neither really good nor really bad, we might use this word to describe our reaction.

In a way, "Meh…" is a sort of middle ground. It's not as negative as "hate" or "dislike," but it's also not as positive as "love" or "like." It's a word that allows us to express our feelings in a somewhat neutral way.

Overall, "Meh…" may not be the most exciting word in the English language, but it does have its place and can be a useful way to convey our thoughts and feelings in certain situations.

Erm, to be honest, I find myself in a state of mild awe. There's this strange mix of emotions within me. On one hand, I'm a bit awestruck by the situation at hand. But on the other hand, I'm also a tad traumatized by the sheer tedium of the dialog. It's quite evident that this was the intended effect. And now, here I am, welcomed to Bernhard. I wonder what awaits me in this place. The anticipation is palpable, yet there's this underlying sense of unease due to that tiresome dialog. I can't help but think about how it might shape my experience here. Will I be able to overcome this initial feeling of being traumatized and truly embrace what Bernhard has to offer?

I can't really categorize this one "read" because I gave up around page 80.

I felt bad doing so because I love Bernhard. I felt so bad that I promptly reread Concrete in expiation.

However, this one is nearly unreadable. The premise is fun and typically Bernhardian.

The narrator is hired to shadow an aging, misanthropic painter. He is hired by the painter's brother, a doctor.

The painter lives in a forgotten, cold, irrelevant mountain village. Most of the narrative is a recording of things the painter says.

The painter seems more nuts than not. As a result, a lot of sentences don't apparently mean anything.

This is finally more tiresome than interesting.

But Concrete is still amazing!

Overall, while I had high hopes for this work, it unfortunately fell short of my expectations. The unreadability factor made it a struggle to get through, and the lack of clear meaning in many of the sentences was ultimately frustrating.

Nonetheless, I still have a great appreciation for Bernhard's other works, such as Concrete, which continue to amaze and inspire me.

I will likely give Bernhard another chance in the future, hoping to find a work that can recapture the magic and brilliance that I have come to associate with his name.

Essentially, the thesis of this novel and all of Bernhard's subsequent novels can be summed up as: "you have already inhaled too much poison to hope to be able to escape." This powerful statement encapsulates the essence of Bernhard's literary exploration. It suggests that the characters in his works are trapped in a world filled with toxicity, both physical and psychological. The idea of inhaling poison implies a slow and insidious process, one that the characters may not even be fully aware of until it is too late. It also implies a sense of inevitability, as if there is no way out of the situation. Bernhard's novels often explore the themes of human suffering, despair, and the search for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world. Through his complex and often tragic characters, he shows us the consequences of living in a poisoned environment. Whether it is the poison of society, politics, or personal relationships, Bernhard's novels force us to confront the harsh reality of our own lives.

It is quite a challenging task to stick with this book. There are times when the going gets tough and one might feel inclined to give up. However, as one perseveres, the rewards start to unfold. The book holds within its pages a wealth of knowledge and insights that can truly transform one's perspective. Each chapter reveals new ideas and concepts that make the reading experience both enlightening and engaging. The author's writing style is captivating, drawing the reader in and making them eager to turn the next page. Despite the initial difficulties, the satisfaction that comes from completing this book is well worth the effort. It is a journey that enriches the mind and leaves a lasting impression.

Insanity is contagious. I think.

It seems that once a person starts to exhibit signs of insanity, it can have a ripple effect on those around them. The wild and erratic behavior, the strange thoughts and ideas, all have the potential to spread like a virus.

Maybe it's the power of suggestion, or perhaps it's the way that our emotions and behaviors can influence one another. But whatever the cause, it's clear that insanity has a way of seeping into the minds and hearts of those who come into contact with it.

We see it in movies and books, where a single crazy character can drive an entire group to the brink of madness. And we see it in real life too, in the way that certain individuals can have a negative impact on the mental health of those around them.

So be careful who you associate with, because insanity just might be contagious.

Our world, on some days, makes the literary world of TB, which is arguably a mess, seem comical. And that, for sure, is also messed up.

So, regardless of how I arrived here, I am now clicking through Bernherd's novels without any particular order. However, since this is his first entry, I have a keen interest in it. It seems to be the beginning of what is really one long, soon-to-be non-chaptered/paragraphed monologue and/or disquisition of dregs upon dregs nihilistic harangue, albeit with occasional moments of existential bliss that are pellucid in nothingness.

He and his characters are all descendants of Beckett's, except here the dramatist is on a crack bender that skips, repeats, and almost never ends. It's a drone that still adduces a state, however febrile and deliquescing, that goes to and fro.

This book is not his best, but it is reflective of what's to come. You might want to bring a shovel and some rags because there's some wiping up to do.

He, Bernhard, seems dour, but isn't it just possible that he was also laughing, deep within himself, with twisted puffs rather than lol'ing, and wondering if any of us were yoking it too? I am.

On the request of his assistant Strauch, with whom he was doing an internship, the medical intern went to the village of Weng to observe his brother, the painter Strauch. Not only did he encounter a case that was "not hopeless but difficult" in a medical sense, but he also got involved in the harsh geographical and severe weather conditions where the village was located. It is rather difficult for the young man to observe the painter Staruch, who describes his own situation as "exploration trips in the unchopped forests of being alone," and to try to understand his way of thinking by following in his footsteps or interpreting what he said. However, this work that the painter "entered into" turns into a situation that he cannot leave and move away from, perhaps because of finding himself a little in the painter's life, despite all its incomprehensibility, but he also cannot fully understand and express it.

"Childhood and youth were a cruel loneliness, just like old age being a terrible loneliness. As if nature had the right to constantly push me, constantly to me, into me, away from everyone, towards everyone, but always to the limit."

"He had lived as if passing through an endless tunnel, without any other companion but darkness. And from the cold."

Understanding the "mind" created by this deep loneliness and oppressive darkness was really difficult for me. The painter Strauch was perhaps the most difficult character I have read so far. It was very difficult to progress, but his expression that the "observer" also sometimes could not understand what the painter said and did not expect to understand gave me the message that I should not carry the worry of making the painter into a meaningful whole, but on the contrary, I should continue reading with the approach of "let it remain fragmented". I could not refrain from saying that the author must have written after living a lot during the reading. Otherwise, I think such a successful portrait could not be drawn only by imagining and fictionalizing. Not only the darkness of the character but also the emptiness and freezing cold of the place are felt in every line. Therefore, Bernhard is successful in making the reader experience both the character and the place as much as he himself experiences. I will continue reading the author in the context of looking for an answer to the question of whether there is something in the character of the painter Strauch by continuing from his autobiographical five-part work.

A Meditation of Frost

Art seems to exist in a realm of its own. The painter, in complete darkness, creates. Consider the speaker, pondering the reliability of the soul. It occurs to the speaker that today is their 31st birthday, yet no one but the landlord knows their whereabouts.

As the day progresses, various thoughts and images pass through the speaker's mind. Snow is compared to the inside of a cow, and the simile fades away. Darkness descends, or as a billboard in Moscow once said, an iron curtain cuts the world in half.

The speaker contemplates what they would bring if stranded on an island, perhaps a book on brain lesions or Henry James. In a nightmare, the speaker discovers misprints on every page of a series of masterpieces, realizing they are not a painter.

Equations are seen as having the power to solve anything, yet no one truly believes they will die. Memory is both a sickness and a matter of preference. The past is a pain that has long since died, like a piece of winter or spring.

The world is full of effortless coincidences, holding together the fantastic creature that is the human being. The speaker doesn't believe in regret, but still misses the painter's hat given just before his death.

In the end, the speaker knows their head will open, spilling various hues of blue paint and reams of raw data. They understand that everything is both divisible and indivisible. There is a pain in their foot, and in the distance, dogs bark. The future is both white and full of possibility, like the canvas the painter works on.

Ancora un viaggio nelle profondità. It's another journey into the depths. We equip ourselves with helmets, ropes, and carabiners, and then we descend. Provide yourself with a pen: there's something to underline. A book that burns. Like the book of Restlessness, like some others. A book to rummage around a bit down there at the bottom, just to not lose the habit. A book to hurt oneself, just to see if you're still able to feel it, if you haven't become accustomed. A necessary book. A book that is needed every now and then.

This journey into the depths is not just a physical one but also a mental and emotional exploration. As we descend, we carry with us these books that hold different meanings and purposes. The book that burns represents the intensity and passion that can consume us. The book for rummaging is a reminder to keep searching, to not let go of the curiosity and the need to discover. The book to hurt oneself challenges us to face our emotions and see if we're still capable of feeling the pain and the joy. And the necessary book is that which we turn to when we need guidance, inspiration, or simply a moment of escape.

Each book is like a companion on this journey, offering something unique and valuable. They are the tools that help us make sense of the world around us and within us. So, as we continue this descent, we hold onto these books, knowing that they will light our way and keep us company in the darkness.

You should be careful not to live longer than you can bear. Life is a legal case in which you will surely lose. It doesn't matter who you are or what you do. The verdict of this case was issued before man came into the world. Rebellion against this truth only makes you more desperate. Also, nothing else distracts a person's attention. From the age of fourteen onwards, there is no more interest in work. After the first relationship, no more interest remains.

It is important to note that this view presents a rather pessimistic outlook on life. However, everyone's perception of life is different. Some people may find meaning and purpose in their lives despite the challenges and difficulties they face. They may strive to make a positive impact on the world around them and create lasting memories.

Moreover, life is full of surprises and opportunities. We never know what the future holds, and there may be unexpected events that can change our lives for the better. Therefore, instead of resigning ourselves to a negative view of life, we should embrace it with an open heart and a positive attitude. We should strive to make the most of every moment and find joy and fulfillment in the simplest of things.