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Andrew's Brain
This brilliant new novel by an American master, the author of Ragtime, The Book of Daniel, Billy Bathgate, and The March, takes us on a radical trip into the mind of a man who, more than once in his life, has been an inadvertent agent of disaster.
Speaking from an unknown place and to an unknown interlocutor, Andrew is thinking, Andrew is talking, Andrew is telling the story of his life, his loves, and the tragedies that have led him to this place and point in time. And as he confesses, peeling back the layers of his strange story, we are led to question what we know about truth and memory, brain and mind, personality and fate, about one another and ourselves.
Speaking from an unknown place and to an unknown interlocutor, Andrew is thinking, Andrew is talking, Andrew is telling the story of his life, his loves, and the tragedies that have led him to this place and point in time. And as he confesses, peeling back the layers of his strange story, we are led to question what we know about truth and memory, brain and mind, personality and fate, about one another and ourselves.
200 pages, Hardcover
First published January 14, 2014
About the author
E.L. Doctorow
81 books1,070 followersHistory based known novels of American writer Edgar Laurence Doctorow. His works of fiction include Homer & Langley, The March, Billy Bathgate, Ragtime, The Book of Daniel, City of God, Welcome to Hard Times, Loon Lake, World’s Fair, The Waterworks, and All the Time in the World. Among his honors are the National Book Award, three National Book Critics Circle Awards, two PEN Faulkner Awards, The Edith Wharton Citation for Fiction, and the presidentially conferred National Humanities Medal. In 2009 he was short listed for the Man Booker International Prize honoring a writer’s lifetime achievement in fiction, and in 2012 he won the PEN Saul Bellow Award given to an author whose “scale of achievement over a sustained career places him in the highest rank of American Literature.” In 2013 the American Academy of Arts and Letters awarded him the Gold Medal for Fiction.
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February 28, 2023
ANATOMIA DI UN CERVELLO IN GUAZZABUGLIO
Più che la coscienza – che Andrew non possiede e mi sembra la insegua nel corso di tutto il romanzo – è il suo cervello al centro della narrazione di Doctorow, come chiaramente indicato dal titolo originale che è “Andrew’s Brain” e non “Andrew’s Consciousness” (o Conscience).
Andrew cerca, o insegue, la sua coscienza nel corso di tutto il romanzo e nel corso di una lunga conversazione – che a pagina 1 è già cominciata, e che non si conclude neppure alla fine – con una persona che lui chiama Doc, e quindi potrebbe essere il classico shrink, lo psicanalista, o addirittura psichiatra: ma potrebbe anche essere un agente di qualche agenzia di intelligence, che in US certo non mancano (FBI, CIA, NSA, ecc.). Probabilmente è le due cose insieme: uno psichiatra di una qualche agenzia federale per la sicurezza nazionale. Perché è qualcuno che sembra interrogare e saperla lunga.
Come posso pensare al mio cervello se è il mio cervello che pensa? Questo cervello finge ossia di essere me che lo penso? Oggigiorno non ci si può fidare di nessuno, figuriamoci di se stessi.
Andrew parla di sé spesso alternando la terza persona alla prima. Nel primo caso non lo definirei un singolare maiestatis in stile papi banana o monarca reggente: dipende dalla sua ricerca mentale, che parte confusa e man mano, aggiungendo ricordi del passato e flashback, si va facendo più chiara ma mai definita, mai trasparente.
Tuttavia, per quanto ricostruisca, per quanto componga tessere del puzzle che è la sua vita (come quella di ciascuno), per quanto insegua il filo (coerente, esistenziale,…), una vera consapevolezza degli accadimenti Andrew la insegue ma non arriva mai a comporla, conquistarla, maneggiarla. Alla fine quella che ad Andrew manca sopra ogni altra cosa è proprio la propria coscienza (ennesimo esempio di titolo tradotto senza senso). E la sua chiacchiera con Doc rimane alquanto sconnessa.
È una specie di carcere, la mente del cervello. Abbiamo questi misteriosi cervelli da un chilo e mezzo scarso che ci sbattono in prigione. Sono in isolamento, un’ora in cortile per gli esercizi della memoria.
Nella vita di Andrew c’è un primo matrimonio, con Martha: ma la morte della loro bimba, della quale Andrew non si ritiene completamente innocente, anzi, ha mandato all’aria quel matrimonio. Più avanti Andrew s’innamora di una sua studentessa, Briony, che potrebbe essere sua figlia, se non addirittura nipote. Anche con lei nasce una bimba che chiamano Willa.
Willa e Briony sono conosciute e amate in tutto il West Village. Briony ama l’attività fisica, va a correre, si prepara alla maratona della Grande Mela. E un giorno esce per il suo solito jogging e quel giorno è martedì 11 settembre 2001…
Andrew non regge il dolore e affida la piccola Willa proprio alla prima moglie, quella Martha che a sua volta ha perso la sua figliolina.
Quanto ad Andrew finisce a lavorare per un breve periodo alla Casa Bianca perché il presidente in carica era sua compagno di stanza nel dormitorio di Yale. Presidente un po’ nervoso perché ha invaso il paese sbagliato, e nel quale è facile riconoscere Bush jr. così come nei suoi due consiglieri preferiti sono presi in giro Ashcroft e Rumsfeld
Ma davvero Andrew è chi dice di essere, uno “scienziato cognitivo terribilmente depresso”? E come mai è lì, a parlare con il fantomatico Doc, probabilmente costretto, detenuto, non di sua scelta. Sono vere le cose che ci racconta?
Per quanto sia spiritoso, irriverente, caustico, tragicomico, il dolore di Andrew è percepibile, arriva diretto al lettore.
Più che la coscienza – che Andrew non possiede e mi sembra la insegua nel corso di tutto il romanzo – è il suo cervello al centro della narrazione di Doctorow, come chiaramente indicato dal titolo originale che è “Andrew’s Brain” e non “Andrew’s Consciousness” (o Conscience).
Andrew cerca, o insegue, la sua coscienza nel corso di tutto il romanzo e nel corso di una lunga conversazione – che a pagina 1 è già cominciata, e che non si conclude neppure alla fine – con una persona che lui chiama Doc, e quindi potrebbe essere il classico shrink, lo psicanalista, o addirittura psichiatra: ma potrebbe anche essere un agente di qualche agenzia di intelligence, che in US certo non mancano (FBI, CIA, NSA, ecc.). Probabilmente è le due cose insieme: uno psichiatra di una qualche agenzia federale per la sicurezza nazionale. Perché è qualcuno che sembra interrogare e saperla lunga.
Come posso pensare al mio cervello se è il mio cervello che pensa? Questo cervello finge ossia di essere me che lo penso? Oggigiorno non ci si può fidare di nessuno, figuriamoci di se stessi.
Andrew parla di sé spesso alternando la terza persona alla prima. Nel primo caso non lo definirei un singolare maiestatis in stile papi banana o monarca reggente: dipende dalla sua ricerca mentale, che parte confusa e man mano, aggiungendo ricordi del passato e flashback, si va facendo più chiara ma mai definita, mai trasparente.
Tuttavia, per quanto ricostruisca, per quanto componga tessere del puzzle che è la sua vita (come quella di ciascuno), per quanto insegua il filo (coerente, esistenziale,…), una vera consapevolezza degli accadimenti Andrew la insegue ma non arriva mai a comporla, conquistarla, maneggiarla. Alla fine quella che ad Andrew manca sopra ogni altra cosa è proprio la propria coscienza (ennesimo esempio di titolo tradotto senza senso). E la sua chiacchiera con Doc rimane alquanto sconnessa.
È una specie di carcere, la mente del cervello. Abbiamo questi misteriosi cervelli da un chilo e mezzo scarso che ci sbattono in prigione. Sono in isolamento, un’ora in cortile per gli esercizi della memoria.
Nella vita di Andrew c’è un primo matrimonio, con Martha: ma la morte della loro bimba, della quale Andrew non si ritiene completamente innocente, anzi, ha mandato all’aria quel matrimonio. Più avanti Andrew s’innamora di una sua studentessa, Briony, che potrebbe essere sua figlia, se non addirittura nipote. Anche con lei nasce una bimba che chiamano Willa.
Willa e Briony sono conosciute e amate in tutto il West Village. Briony ama l’attività fisica, va a correre, si prepara alla maratona della Grande Mela. E un giorno esce per il suo solito jogging e quel giorno è martedì 11 settembre 2001…
Andrew non regge il dolore e affida la piccola Willa proprio alla prima moglie, quella Martha che a sua volta ha perso la sua figliolina.
Quanto ad Andrew finisce a lavorare per un breve periodo alla Casa Bianca perché il presidente in carica era sua compagno di stanza nel dormitorio di Yale. Presidente un po’ nervoso perché ha invaso il paese sbagliato, e nel quale è facile riconoscere Bush jr. così come nei suoi due consiglieri preferiti sono presi in giro Ashcroft e Rumsfeld
Ma davvero Andrew è chi dice di essere, uno “scienziato cognitivo terribilmente depresso”? E come mai è lì, a parlare con il fantomatico Doc, probabilmente costretto, detenuto, non di sua scelta. Sono vere le cose che ci racconta?
Per quanto sia spiritoso, irriverente, caustico, tragicomico, il dolore di Andrew è percepibile, arriva diretto al lettore.
October 17, 2013
PROPER DISCLAIMER BEFORE REVIEWING: Not only do I work for Random House, but I copyedited this manuscript. I hope that doesn't disqualify me from saying publicly how much I admired and enjoyed the book and how much it got under my skin for weeks after I'd finished with it.
I was fascinated by the complete removal of any security in objectivity for the reader. This book has as unreliable a narrator as can possibly be imagined, and yet I didn't find myself spending so much time trying to suss out the truth as simply reveling in how the reader is pushed and pulled and basically thrust into the narrator's brain. You'll either want to spend time there or not, but I was mesmerized.
And I can't think of any writer who is more precise and succinct in his writing than E. L. Doctorow, who makes every sentence count.
I don't want to go into plot points, because describing almost anything about the plot constitutes SPOILER ALERT, so I'll just finish up by saying that I found this book to be Doctorow at the absolute height of his powers. It's almost alarmingly fresh writing from an author who's enjoyed such a long career.
I was fascinated by the complete removal of any security in objectivity for the reader. This book has as unreliable a narrator as can possibly be imagined, and yet I didn't find myself spending so much time trying to suss out the truth as simply reveling in how the reader is pushed and pulled and basically thrust into the narrator's brain. You'll either want to spend time there or not, but I was mesmerized.
And I can't think of any writer who is more precise and succinct in his writing than E. L. Doctorow, who makes every sentence count.
I don't want to go into plot points, because describing almost anything about the plot constitutes SPOILER ALERT, so I'll just finish up by saying that I found this book to be Doctorow at the absolute height of his powers. It's almost alarmingly fresh writing from an author who's enjoyed such a long career.
January 25, 2014
Cut the music. E.L. Doctorow’s new novel is no “Ragtime.” The author who once orchestrated grand plots involving Houdini, Freud, J.P. Morgan and a host of other real-life luminaries is now working in a cramped, dark cell. Instead of the breathtaking sweep of Sherman’s “March” through Georgia and the Carolinas, “Andrew’s Brain” leaves us trapped in the airless monologue of one hapless man. Fans of Doctorow’s award-winning historical novels will find this slim book especially puzzling. But that’s clearly intentional.
The whole story comes to us as the rambling testimony of a depressed scientist being patiently interviewed, possibly by a government psychiatrist. Andrew flits around the events that led him here — wherever here is: Early in the book he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” which makes two of us. He sometimes speaks of himself in the third person; he regularly mocks his unnamed interrogator; and he pays no attention to chronology. It’s our job to put the tragic incidents of his life in order, to unscramble the taunting clues, to unearth the profundities buried in this misanthropic rumination.
“Andrew’s Brain” hurt mine. The problem isn’t that the novel requires a significant degree of intellectual effort; it’s that it doesn’t provide sufficient reward for that effort.
Alternately dejected and self-aggrandizing, Andrew describes a litany of personal failures and bizarre accidents: He drops glasses, breaks a friend’s jaw, poisons a child, diverts a stranger’s car into a pole, lets his dog get eaten alive — the list rolls on and on. “Andrew, stop,” his psychiatrist pleads. He’s a walking disaster, a human bad-luck charm.
A particularly frank acquaintance tells him, “Well-meaning, gentle, kindly disposed, charming ineptitude is the modus operandi of the deadliest of killers.” In fact, it’s fear of what calamity he might cause next that inspires Andrew to drop off a baby with his ex-wife — a desperate plan to save the child. “I had reached the point,” he says, “where I felt anything I did would bring harm to anyone I loved.”
To Andrew’s rising annoyance, the psychiatrist keeps asking, “Did this really happen?” or “So this was not a dream?” But the questionable events are usually this novel’s finest parts and certainly its most compelling. His ruined first marriage, his dismal teaching career in brain science, his affair with a sweet undergraduate: These episodes demonstrate Doctorow’s power as a storyteller, but they arrive like oases in the desert of a tedious narrative. Aside from the mixed-up chronology, we have to wade through Andrew’s banal pronouncements about the brain and the nature of mind. “Consciousness without world is impossible,” he claims — but what about novel without plot?
The problem of what’s real here and what isn’t extends beyond the dubious events that Andrew describes. Although there’s no more intriguing subject than “how the brain becomes the mind,” this cognitive scientist doesn’t seem convincingly familiar with cognitive science or recent brain research. Instead, Andrew just pops off with little pop-philosophy conundrums. Decades after Daniel Dennett, John Searle and other contemporary scientists and philosophers began writing about consciousness for a lay audience, we deserve something more sophisticated from this novel — more cortex, less vortex. It’s fine for Andrew to claim that “free will is an illusion,” but he announces this as if he’s said something revelatory. “There is nothing you can think of except yourself thinking,” he goes on. “You are in the depthless dingledom of your own soul.”
Please, let’s leave my dingledom out of this.
Tellingly, Andrew sounds much more conversant with American literature, particularly Mark Twain’s work, which is closer to Doctorow’s skill set as a longtime English professor. Indeed, thematically, this novel echoes the cynical solipsism of Twain’s last attempt at a novel, “The Mysterious Stranger.” Andrew also speaks movingly about Twain’s struggle with depression: “I see his frail grasp of life at those moments of his prose, his after-dinner guard left down and his upwardly mobile decency become vulnerable to his self-creation. And the woman he loved, gone, and a child he loved, gone, and he looks in the mirror and hates the pretense of his white hair and mustache and suit, all gathered in the rocking-chair wisdom that resides in his bleary eyes. He despairs of the likelihood that the world is his illusion, that he is but a vagrant mind in a futile drift through eternity.”
But beautiful, emotionally genuine passages like that must vie in this novel with some surprisingly trite sections. Isn’t it awfully late to be using little people — whom Andrew nervously calls “diminutives” — for comic, surreal effect? Worse is the final quarter of the novel, set in the White House after the Sept. 11 attacks. With its well-worn vision of George W. Bush as an inept frat boy surrounded by maniacal advisers, the story stalls in limp political satire passed off as bitter historical analysis.
In the end, “Andrew’s Brain,” like Andrew himself, is merely a pretender — claiming more profundity than it can deliver, offering us something elliptical and vague as a simulacrum of intellectual provocation. Novelists such as Richard Powers and Alex Shakar have shown what a boundlessly fascinating subject the relationship between brain and mind can be, but exploring that issue in a meaningful way requires more than a collection of dramatic gestures and philosophical koans. When Andrew describes himself as a “fake person,” he has diagnosed the problem with this novel.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/enterta...
The whole story comes to us as the rambling testimony of a depressed scientist being patiently interviewed, possibly by a government psychiatrist. Andrew flits around the events that led him here — wherever here is: Early in the book he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” which makes two of us. He sometimes speaks of himself in the third person; he regularly mocks his unnamed interrogator; and he pays no attention to chronology. It’s our job to put the tragic incidents of his life in order, to unscramble the taunting clues, to unearth the profundities buried in this misanthropic rumination.
“Andrew’s Brain” hurt mine. The problem isn’t that the novel requires a significant degree of intellectual effort; it’s that it doesn’t provide sufficient reward for that effort.
Alternately dejected and self-aggrandizing, Andrew describes a litany of personal failures and bizarre accidents: He drops glasses, breaks a friend’s jaw, poisons a child, diverts a stranger’s car into a pole, lets his dog get eaten alive — the list rolls on and on. “Andrew, stop,” his psychiatrist pleads. He’s a walking disaster, a human bad-luck charm.
A particularly frank acquaintance tells him, “Well-meaning, gentle, kindly disposed, charming ineptitude is the modus operandi of the deadliest of killers.” In fact, it’s fear of what calamity he might cause next that inspires Andrew to drop off a baby with his ex-wife — a desperate plan to save the child. “I had reached the point,” he says, “where I felt anything I did would bring harm to anyone I loved.”
To Andrew’s rising annoyance, the psychiatrist keeps asking, “Did this really happen?” or “So this was not a dream?” But the questionable events are usually this novel’s finest parts and certainly its most compelling. His ruined first marriage, his dismal teaching career in brain science, his affair with a sweet undergraduate: These episodes demonstrate Doctorow’s power as a storyteller, but they arrive like oases in the desert of a tedious narrative. Aside from the mixed-up chronology, we have to wade through Andrew’s banal pronouncements about the brain and the nature of mind. “Consciousness without world is impossible,” he claims — but what about novel without plot?
The problem of what’s real here and what isn’t extends beyond the dubious events that Andrew describes. Although there’s no more intriguing subject than “how the brain becomes the mind,” this cognitive scientist doesn’t seem convincingly familiar with cognitive science or recent brain research. Instead, Andrew just pops off with little pop-philosophy conundrums. Decades after Daniel Dennett, John Searle and other contemporary scientists and philosophers began writing about consciousness for a lay audience, we deserve something more sophisticated from this novel — more cortex, less vortex. It’s fine for Andrew to claim that “free will is an illusion,” but he announces this as if he’s said something revelatory. “There is nothing you can think of except yourself thinking,” he goes on. “You are in the depthless dingledom of your own soul.”
Please, let’s leave my dingledom out of this.
Tellingly, Andrew sounds much more conversant with American literature, particularly Mark Twain’s work, which is closer to Doctorow’s skill set as a longtime English professor. Indeed, thematically, this novel echoes the cynical solipsism of Twain’s last attempt at a novel, “The Mysterious Stranger.” Andrew also speaks movingly about Twain’s struggle with depression: “I see his frail grasp of life at those moments of his prose, his after-dinner guard left down and his upwardly mobile decency become vulnerable to his self-creation. And the woman he loved, gone, and a child he loved, gone, and he looks in the mirror and hates the pretense of his white hair and mustache and suit, all gathered in the rocking-chair wisdom that resides in his bleary eyes. He despairs of the likelihood that the world is his illusion, that he is but a vagrant mind in a futile drift through eternity.”
But beautiful, emotionally genuine passages like that must vie in this novel with some surprisingly trite sections. Isn’t it awfully late to be using little people — whom Andrew nervously calls “diminutives” — for comic, surreal effect? Worse is the final quarter of the novel, set in the White House after the Sept. 11 attacks. With its well-worn vision of George W. Bush as an inept frat boy surrounded by maniacal advisers, the story stalls in limp political satire passed off as bitter historical analysis.
In the end, “Andrew’s Brain,” like Andrew himself, is merely a pretender — claiming more profundity than it can deliver, offering us something elliptical and vague as a simulacrum of intellectual provocation. Novelists such as Richard Powers and Alex Shakar have shown what a boundlessly fascinating subject the relationship between brain and mind can be, but exploring that issue in a meaningful way requires more than a collection of dramatic gestures and philosophical koans. When Andrew describes himself as a “fake person,” he has diagnosed the problem with this novel.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/enterta...
November 4, 2013
I've been reading E.L. Doctorow's novels for more than thirty years, starting with “The Book of Daniel,” a fictionalized account of the lives of the sons of executed spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. Among my favorites are “World's Fair,” the most clearly autobiographical of Doctorow's novels, about a young boy growing up in New York City in the 1930s; “Billy Bathgate,” about another New York City youngster taken in by Dutch Schultz's mob; “The March,” about the Civil War; and of course, “Ragtime,” which seamlessly blends fictional and historical characters and captures the rhythms of early 20th-century America. Doctorow novels are rich in character and plot seen through a brilliantly deployed historical lens. What then to make of “Andrew's Brain”? Surely we wouldn't pummel a writer for stretching his imagination and heading off in a new direction to contemplate the workings of the mind, its relationship to the brain, and the meaning of thought and memory. But Doctorow's fans may be disoriented for the better part of this book's 200 pages.
Andrew is a professor of cognitive science and so has a professional as well as a personal interest in the working of the mind, especially his own. The novel takes the form of a dialogue with a therapist in which Andrew recounts his past as the agent of inadvertent disaster, most notably how he came to lose two wives and two daughters and how he came to hang out in the White House with George W. Bush and his henchmen, Chaingang and Rumbum. Entertaining for sure. And sad, as our surpassingly unreliable narrator becomes more clearly unhinged.
Doctorow has lost nothing as a literary stylist and once you adjust to the lack of a driving plot and start to appreciate the gradual peeling back of layers of thought and memory, there are pleasures to be found here. But I couldn't help but feel that maybe those new to Doctorow would find “Andrew's Brain” more compelling than longtime fans. Living in Andrew's brain just wasn't as interesting as being transported to 1900's New Rochelle, a Civil War battlefield or even Homer and Langley's crumbling brownstone.
Andrew is a professor of cognitive science and so has a professional as well as a personal interest in the working of the mind, especially his own. The novel takes the form of a dialogue with a therapist in which Andrew recounts his past as the agent of inadvertent disaster, most notably how he came to lose two wives and two daughters and how he came to hang out in the White House with George W. Bush and his henchmen, Chaingang and Rumbum. Entertaining for sure. And sad, as our surpassingly unreliable narrator becomes more clearly unhinged.
Doctorow has lost nothing as a literary stylist and once you adjust to the lack of a driving plot and start to appreciate the gradual peeling back of layers of thought and memory, there are pleasures to be found here. But I couldn't help but feel that maybe those new to Doctorow would find “Andrew's Brain” more compelling than longtime fans. Living in Andrew's brain just wasn't as interesting as being transported to 1900's New Rochelle, a Civil War battlefield or even Homer and Langley's crumbling brownstone.
February 27, 2024
مسئله اینه که در دنیا برای ما یه اتفاق ناگزیر بیشتر نمیافته و اون اتفاق همون زندگیمونه. این زندگی در زمونهی سیاه و طالع نحس و قصهی بیدروپیکرش به هرحال زندگی ماست. بحران از جایی شروع میشه که بعضی افراد این زندگی رو نمیخوان. برای همین رویابافی میکنن، سعی میکنن زیر شاخوبرگ هنر سرپناهی پیدا کنن، به عشق و جزئیات کوچیک و آسمونهای ابری، سکوت شب���های برفی، یه چایی پشت پنجره در روز بارانی و چیزهای بیدوام دیگه مثل عشق چنگ میزنن که بیشتر زنده بمونن. بیشتر زنده بمونن تا شاید بالاخره این زندگی اون قصهای بشه که آدم دوست داشته باشه جزئی ازش باشه. اما در نهایت اغلب تصمیمهای بشری در منجلاب پشیمانی فرو میرن. یعنی فرقی نمیکنه که چه کاری با زندگیت میکنی، همیشه یه چیز درکناپذیر اون وسط هست که همهچی رو از درون میبلعه و تو گاهاً نمیتونی برای کسی تعریفش هم کنی. سردرگم میشی و این ازت آدم دمدمیمزاجی میسازه. شروع میکنی به تراشیدن آرزوهات تا تبدیل به چیزهای کوچیکتری بشن، فکر میکنی شاید اینطوری بتونی به جهان واقعیت بکشونیشون. فایدهای نداره و فقط این وسط تحلیل رفتی. چون مهم نیست از یه جایی که تو زندگی برات چی پیش خواهد اومد، تو دیگه راضی نمیشی! بعضی اوقات وقتی داری تو یه روز خیلی عادی تنها قدم میزنی، در هیاهوی خیابونها یه لحظه به این فکر میکنی که اونچه تو رو نکشه، فقط اونقدری قویترت میکنه که خودت ماشه رو بکشی.
رمان مغز اندرو در مورد آدمیه که تو کالبد خودش نتونسته به آرامشی برسه و بار و سنگینی اتفاقات ناگوار گذشته و زندگیش اونقدری تو ذهنش اختلال ایجاد کردن که دیگه حتی نمیتونه واقعیت رو از خیال تشخیص بده. آدمی که دست به هرچیزی زده اون نابود شده. در زندگی شخصی، حرفهی کاریش و روابطش، همیشه و همیشه ردی از مرگ وجود داشته. کتاب بین فرم اول شخص و سوم شخص در نوسانه. در ابتدا یه اثر داستانی بهنظر میرسه اما کمکم که پردهها بیافتن دو تا صندلی بیشتر روی صحنه باقی نمیمونه: یک روانشناس دولتی و اندرو. اندرو پیش یه روانشناس نشسته و داره سعی میکنه در پیچوتاب داستان زندگیش گم نشه و بتونه برای روانشناسش تعریف کنه که چه بلایی سرش اومده. میشه از همینجاها فهم��د که راوی به شدت نامطمئنه. یه جورایی همونطور که از اسم رمان پیداست ما وارد مغز شخصیت اصلی داستان میشیم. اندرو استاد علومشناختی هستش و در مورد ذهن و مغز و کارکردهای عجیبشون داخل رمان پیوسته بحثهای قدیمی اما همچنان جذابی رو مطرح میکنه. یکی از اون بحثها آزمایشی بود که اخیراً من هم راجعبهش شنیده بودم. یعنی اومده بودن امواج مغزی انسان رو در لحظهی تصمیمگیری بررسی کرده بودن و متوجه شدن مغز با اختلاف کمی، زودتر از خود انسان این امواج رو میفرسته. یعنی یه جورایی اینطور بهنظر میرسه که ما در توهمی از انتخاب به سر میبریم و برده مغزمون هستیم.
داستان پیرنگ خاص و مرتبی نداره و صرفاً یه سری خاطره گسسته از هم هستش که اندرو تعریفشون میکنه. متاسفانه بعضی از این خاطرات اصلاً جذاب نبودن که هیچی، خیلی در فضای رمان هم نمیگنجیدن بهنظر من و اتمسفر رو پیوسته بهم میزدن. اون فضای اولیه رمان و حالت سردرگمی و فرار به کوهها از دست انسانها خیلی عجیبه یهو به ورزش کردن و دمبل زدن توی باشگاه و بعد ماجراجویی با جورج بوش در کاخ سفید ختم بشه. که بخشی از نمرهای که کم میکنم بهخاطر همین موارده. اون داستان آخر و جریان کاخ سفید البته گل مجلس بدترین قسمت رمان حتی توی ریویوهای مثبت کتاب هم بود. یعنی نمیدونم چی شده بود که نویسنده به همچین جریانی کشوند رمان رو. اما از قلم نویسنده تا حدودی خوشم اومد، خیلی روون و بامزه و در عین حال گریزهایی به تلخیهای زندگی میزد و حرفهای پژوهشیای که این وسط از زندگی انسانها توی مونولوگهاش قرار میداد جالب بودن. یه جورایی جنس قلمش من رو یاد جولین بارنز میانداخت. اینکه پاراگرافهای جذاب خوبی ممکنه توش پیدا کنی اما مثل بارنز که همیشه در پیرنگ داستانهاش لنگ میزنه، دکتروف هم حداقل توی این اثر همین وضعیت رو داشت.
در پایان دیگه بیشتر از دو ستاره کم نکردم از رمان چون حداقل ویژگی مثبتش این بود که تونست من رو با صحنهی اولش جذب کنه و کتاب رو به اتمام برسونم و بعد یه دوری طولانی از کتابها همین برام خبر خوبی بود. خوندنش رو خیلی پیشنهاد نمیکنم، یعنی حداقل شاید دکتروف رو بهتر باشه از این اثر شروع نکنه آدم. ویژگیهای مثبتی توی رمان بود ولی افت میکرد.
رمان مغز اندرو در مورد آدمیه که تو کالبد خودش نتونسته به آرامشی برسه و بار و سنگینی اتفاقات ناگوار گذشته و زندگیش اونقدری تو ذهنش اختلال ایجاد کردن که دیگه حتی نمیتونه واقعیت رو از خیال تشخیص بده. آدمی که دست به هرچیزی زده اون نابود شده. در زندگی شخصی، حرفهی کاریش و روابطش، همیشه و همیشه ردی از مرگ وجود داشته. کتاب بین فرم اول شخص و سوم شخص در نوسانه. در ابتدا یه اثر داستانی بهنظر میرسه اما کمکم که پردهها بیافتن دو تا صندلی بیشتر روی صحنه باقی نمیمونه: یک روانشناس دولتی و اندرو. اندرو پیش یه روانشناس نشسته و داره سعی میکنه در پیچوتاب داستان زندگیش گم نشه و بتونه برای روانشناسش تعریف کنه که چه بلایی سرش اومده. میشه از همینجاها فهم��د که راوی به شدت نامطمئنه. یه جورایی همونطور که از اسم رمان پیداست ما وارد مغز شخصیت اصلی داستان میشیم. اندرو استاد علومشناختی هستش و در مورد ذهن و مغز و کارکردهای عجیبشون داخل رمان پیوسته بحثهای قدیمی اما همچنان جذابی رو مطرح میکنه. یکی از اون بحثها آزمایشی بود که اخیراً من هم راجعبهش شنیده بودم. یعنی اومده بودن امواج مغزی انسان رو در لحظهی تصمیمگیری بررسی کرده بودن و متوجه شدن مغز با اختلاف کمی، زودتر از خود انسان این امواج رو میفرسته. یعنی یه جورایی اینطور بهنظر میرسه که ما در توهمی از انتخاب به سر میبریم و برده مغزمون هستیم.
داستان پیرنگ خاص و مرتبی نداره و صرفاً یه سری خاطره گسسته از هم هستش که اندرو تعریفشون میکنه. متاسفانه بعضی از این خاطرات اصلاً جذاب نبودن که هیچی، خیلی در فضای رمان هم نمیگنجیدن بهنظر من و اتمسفر رو پیوسته بهم میزدن. اون فضای اولیه رمان و حالت سردرگمی و فرار به کوهها از دست انسانها خیلی عجیبه یهو به ورزش کردن و دمبل زدن توی باشگاه و بعد ماجراجویی با جورج بوش در کاخ سفید ختم بشه. که بخشی از نمرهای که کم میکنم بهخاطر همین موارده. اون داستان آخر و جریان کاخ سفید البته گل مجلس بدترین قسمت رمان حتی توی ریویوهای مثبت کتاب هم بود. یعنی نمیدونم چی شده بود که نویسنده به همچین جریانی کشوند رمان رو. اما از قلم نویسنده تا حدودی خوشم اومد، خیلی روون و بامزه و در عین حال گریزهایی به تلخیهای زندگی میزد و حرفهای پژوهشیای که این وسط از زندگی انسانها توی مونولوگهاش قرار میداد جالب بودن. یه جورایی جنس قلمش من رو یاد جولین بارنز میانداخت. اینکه پاراگرافهای جذاب خوبی ممکنه توش پیدا کنی اما مثل بارنز که همیشه در پیرنگ داستانهاش لنگ میزنه، دکتروف هم حداقل توی این اثر همین وضعیت رو داشت.
در پایان دیگه بیشتر از دو ستاره کم نکردم از رمان چون حداقل ویژگی مثبتش این بود که تونست من رو با صحنهی اولش جذب کنه و کتاب رو به اتمام برسونم و بعد یه دوری طولانی از کتابها همین برام خبر خوبی بود. خوندنش رو خیلی پیشنهاد نمیکنم، یعنی حداقل شاید دکتروف رو بهتر باشه از این اثر شروع نکنه آدم. ویژگیهای مثبتی توی رمان بود ولی افت میکرد.
December 31, 2013
"Cold hearted orb that rules the night, Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white. But we decide which is right. And which is an illusion? "
In his book The joys of Yiddish, Leo Rosten describes the difference between a schlemiel and a schlimazel. Both types of people suffer from chronic bad luck of one sort or another. The difference is that while the schlemiel is the type of person that trips while carrying a tray of soup in the cafeteria, the schlimazel is the person it lands on. In E.L. Doctorow's compelling new novel, Andrew's Brain, the protagonist Andrew is the schlemiel whilst all those closest to him end up being schlimazels.
Although not technically a mystery this book is one which can easily be spoiled by too full a description of the narrative. So I will start with some broad brush strokes and leave the rest to be discovered by the reader.
Andrew is talented and smart; he is a cognitive scientist with multiple degrees. His life, if his interior monologue is to be believed, has been dogged by a series of unfortunate events. Those events have left him physically unharmed. The physical harm involved has always struck those closest to him. The story is told mostly through the voice of Andrew's interior monologue and in snippets of conversation with another person, perhaps a psychiatrist or some other person tasked with getting Andrew's story told.
But the lack of physical harm is no indicator that Andrew has not been damaged and it appeared clear to me from the start that Andrew's monologue was really getting to the edges of his role in these events. Doctorow paints around those edges and it appeared to me that the reader is left to cut through those edges and find some way to burrow between the lines and dig deeper into Andrew's brain.
Andrew's Brain is one of those books that had me puzzled from the start. After the story ended I was still puzzled in many respects but it was a puzzlement that left me thinking about the story and its meaning well after I finished reading it.
I had a visceral reaction to the story. Unsettled as I may have been at not having Andrew's deeper thoughts explained to me it left me no alternative but to personalize the events and substitute my brain for Andrew's. What would I have thought, how would I have reacted, how would I attribute fault, if fault there was, for the events that transpired around me. Would I blame myself? Did my thoughts presage or facilitate these events? Lastly, and this is the key question the book posed for me: would I have stayed sane and would my own `interior monologue' represent a memory of actual events or would it represent some parallel universe of my own creation designed solely to protect me from some paralyzing pain induced by these events. Would I be cognitive enough to know the difference?
As noted above, it is hard to discuss this book adequately without laying out critical spoilers. And that for me is an indication of the power of the book. It is a book that is enriched by discussing it afterwards. I do not belong to any book clubs but this seems to me to be a book club's dream, one that would create a rich discussion in which it is likely that every member will have a different vision of what it said and what it meant to them.
I very much enjoyed Andrew's Brain. It is a book I continue to think about and for this reason alone I have no hesitation in recommending it to anyone willing to put their brain in Andrew's place, look at a life filled with sadness, and reflect upon how their own brain would hold up to the stress.
Red is grey and yellow white. But we decide which is right. And which is an illusion? "
In his book The joys of Yiddish, Leo Rosten describes the difference between a schlemiel and a schlimazel. Both types of people suffer from chronic bad luck of one sort or another. The difference is that while the schlemiel is the type of person that trips while carrying a tray of soup in the cafeteria, the schlimazel is the person it lands on. In E.L. Doctorow's compelling new novel, Andrew's Brain, the protagonist Andrew is the schlemiel whilst all those closest to him end up being schlimazels.
Although not technically a mystery this book is one which can easily be spoiled by too full a description of the narrative. So I will start with some broad brush strokes and leave the rest to be discovered by the reader.
Andrew is talented and smart; he is a cognitive scientist with multiple degrees. His life, if his interior monologue is to be believed, has been dogged by a series of unfortunate events. Those events have left him physically unharmed. The physical harm involved has always struck those closest to him. The story is told mostly through the voice of Andrew's interior monologue and in snippets of conversation with another person, perhaps a psychiatrist or some other person tasked with getting Andrew's story told.
But the lack of physical harm is no indicator that Andrew has not been damaged and it appeared clear to me from the start that Andrew's monologue was really getting to the edges of his role in these events. Doctorow paints around those edges and it appeared to me that the reader is left to cut through those edges and find some way to burrow between the lines and dig deeper into Andrew's brain.
Andrew's Brain is one of those books that had me puzzled from the start. After the story ended I was still puzzled in many respects but it was a puzzlement that left me thinking about the story and its meaning well after I finished reading it.
I had a visceral reaction to the story. Unsettled as I may have been at not having Andrew's deeper thoughts explained to me it left me no alternative but to personalize the events and substitute my brain for Andrew's. What would I have thought, how would I have reacted, how would I attribute fault, if fault there was, for the events that transpired around me. Would I blame myself? Did my thoughts presage or facilitate these events? Lastly, and this is the key question the book posed for me: would I have stayed sane and would my own `interior monologue' represent a memory of actual events or would it represent some parallel universe of my own creation designed solely to protect me from some paralyzing pain induced by these events. Would I be cognitive enough to know the difference?
As noted above, it is hard to discuss this book adequately without laying out critical spoilers. And that for me is an indication of the power of the book. It is a book that is enriched by discussing it afterwards. I do not belong to any book clubs but this seems to me to be a book club's dream, one that would create a rich discussion in which it is likely that every member will have a different vision of what it said and what it meant to them.
I very much enjoyed Andrew's Brain. It is a book I continue to think about and for this reason alone I have no hesitation in recommending it to anyone willing to put their brain in Andrew's place, look at a life filled with sadness, and reflect upon how their own brain would hold up to the stress.
January 26, 2014
This novel was too bizarre and scattered and I couldn't finish it. The narration jumps all over and I didn't care enough to see if the ending gets better. If you're a fan of experimental fiction, you might appreciate this more than me.
February 15, 2014
3.5 stars: What a fun novel to read! It’s short; it’s saucy; it’s provocative; it’s contemplative; it’s entertaining. Andrew is a cognitive scientist, who is telling his sad and interesting life story to “Doc”. The reader is not provided with the setting of the narration, nor with the information of who “Doc” is. At times, Andrew refers to his self in third person and does appear to be an unreliable narrator. What is engaging is Andrew’s perspective of the mind: how the brain becomes the mind. Andrew provides interesting ruminations on consciousness, memory, and perception. As I read, I thought, “where is this story going?” Doctorow keeps the reader captivated to the end. An interesting and thought-provoking read.
September 15, 2013
I have tried to think of a word - a single word that is suggested by reading this book. Fascinating is too remote, to inexact. Surprising has no real connotation. Unsettling is good because it reflects the fact that the narration is of a type I am not used to reading and it takes time to be brought in to Andrew's brain, Not the book title, but the neurological narrator. Insightful? Yes, but while the brain takes us on a path that is convoluted, like the brain itself, and it provides social and political commentary, it is also muddled and at times confusing. It is not always pleasant, it is often unpredictable, the antagonists are neither likable or horrible. The events are both world shaking and mundane. Maybe the word I want is provoking.
Doctorow has found a new voice - the brain - but of course the brain, while it controls speech, controls or manipulates thought cannot express itself without the resource of the person and in this case the presence of the psychiatrist who is us because it is the interjection in a stream of consciousness.
Life and death, perspectives on others and insights to the self, presidents and 9/11 athletics and intellectualism are all here in the players and in the perspective of who we are. Andrew is not just the owner of the brain, he is in fact a brain scientist and the psychiatrist is trained to probe and challenge the brain.
We see the brain in this as outside the individual. The brain can generate thought, expand beyond the immediate reality. It can conjecture, it can analysis and it can create decision or indecision. It is conscious and unconscious and which is us? It is a computer and it is an emotional sponge. It misfires and it makes insightful conclusions. It is a mind and a soul if we let it be. It is the function that truly stops life, more than the heart and lungs and tissues. So this ride through a life is incomplete because it is streaming images and ideas and events in a way that only a brain could perceive them or at least the way that the author sees a brain sorting out the world.
And therefore it is not always sequential and images flash by that we want to hold on and examine, but they move past quickly because the destination is somewhere else. The psychiatrist occasionally inserts a statement that the reader might want to make - why did it take so long to say that? But of course that is because the brain of the psychiatrist is like the reader - outside the brain that is spilling a sequence that can only come from one source - the self in the center of the tale. Or perhaps it is a collective mind with patches of previous existence - all existence.
The reader will find a mind in despair, we are not privileged to know where the story will take us, how it will end, even if it will end and as a reviewer I cannot tell you the ending - I can only share the journey.
Doctorow has found a new voice - the brain - but of course the brain, while it controls speech, controls or manipulates thought cannot express itself without the resource of the person and in this case the presence of the psychiatrist who is us because it is the interjection in a stream of consciousness.
Life and death, perspectives on others and insights to the self, presidents and 9/11 athletics and intellectualism are all here in the players and in the perspective of who we are. Andrew is not just the owner of the brain, he is in fact a brain scientist and the psychiatrist is trained to probe and challenge the brain.
We see the brain in this as outside the individual. The brain can generate thought, expand beyond the immediate reality. It can conjecture, it can analysis and it can create decision or indecision. It is conscious and unconscious and which is us? It is a computer and it is an emotional sponge. It misfires and it makes insightful conclusions. It is a mind and a soul if we let it be. It is the function that truly stops life, more than the heart and lungs and tissues. So this ride through a life is incomplete because it is streaming images and ideas and events in a way that only a brain could perceive them or at least the way that the author sees a brain sorting out the world.
And therefore it is not always sequential and images flash by that we want to hold on and examine, but they move past quickly because the destination is somewhere else. The psychiatrist occasionally inserts a statement that the reader might want to make - why did it take so long to say that? But of course that is because the brain of the psychiatrist is like the reader - outside the brain that is spilling a sequence that can only come from one source - the self in the center of the tale. Or perhaps it is a collective mind with patches of previous existence - all existence.
The reader will find a mind in despair, we are not privileged to know where the story will take us, how it will end, even if it will end and as a reviewer I cannot tell you the ending - I can only share the journey.
January 31, 2014
4.5 Stars
“I asked this question: How can I think about my brain when it’s my brain doing the thinking? So is this brain pretending to be me thinking about it?”
Wow, what a read! Andrew’s Brain by E.L. Doctorow is an exercise in mental manipulation. Our protagonist Andrew is a professor of cognitive science. He studies the mind, not the brain…Andrew gives the definition to unreliable narrator and as a result this story is not an easy read.
First, this is the first E.L. Doctorow book that I have read…Shame on me!!! What a gifted writer. I was blown away by the brilliance of his prose, his style, and his structure. It has been a while since I have read such an eloquent author…Wow, I am an instant fan.
This story is the life of Andrew, a man with mental obsessions, problems, and maybe illness too. We get told his story in an often disjointed way that adds to the confusion. I loved it! I cannot give anything away but I will say that this is a book that I will tell my friends and family to read. It is a great piece of fiction.
Some quotes that show his brilliant writings:
“…Because of course it never does, does it, my bosky babe, for if life is one definable thing of infinite form then we have to say it feeds on itself. It is self-consuming. And that is not very reassuring if you mean to depend on the world for your consciousness. Is it? If consciousness exists without the world, it is nothing, and if it needs the world to exist, it is still nothing.”
“We have to be wary of our brains. They make our decisions before we make them. They lead us to still waters. They renounceth free will. And it gets weirder: If you slice a brain down the middle, the left hemisphere and the right hemisphere will operate self-sufficiently and not know what the other is doing. But don’t think about these things, because it won’t be you anyway doing the thinking. Just follow your star. Live in the presumptions of the socially constructed life. Abhor science. Sort of believe in God. Put your failings behind you. Present your self-justifications to the bathroom mirror.”
This was a fabulous first read for me by Doctorow, I cannot wait for more…
READ THIS BOOK!
“I asked this question: How can I think about my brain when it’s my brain doing the thinking? So is this brain pretending to be me thinking about it?”
Wow, what a read! Andrew’s Brain by E.L. Doctorow is an exercise in mental manipulation. Our protagonist Andrew is a professor of cognitive science. He studies the mind, not the brain…Andrew gives the definition to unreliable narrator and as a result this story is not an easy read.
First, this is the first E.L. Doctorow book that I have read…Shame on me!!! What a gifted writer. I was blown away by the brilliance of his prose, his style, and his structure. It has been a while since I have read such an eloquent author…Wow, I am an instant fan.
This story is the life of Andrew, a man with mental obsessions, problems, and maybe illness too. We get told his story in an often disjointed way that adds to the confusion. I loved it! I cannot give anything away but I will say that this is a book that I will tell my friends and family to read. It is a great piece of fiction.
Some quotes that show his brilliant writings:
“…Because of course it never does, does it, my bosky babe, for if life is one definable thing of infinite form then we have to say it feeds on itself. It is self-consuming. And that is not very reassuring if you mean to depend on the world for your consciousness. Is it? If consciousness exists without the world, it is nothing, and if it needs the world to exist, it is still nothing.”
“We have to be wary of our brains. They make our decisions before we make them. They lead us to still waters. They renounceth free will. And it gets weirder: If you slice a brain down the middle, the left hemisphere and the right hemisphere will operate self-sufficiently and not know what the other is doing. But don’t think about these things, because it won’t be you anyway doing the thinking. Just follow your star. Live in the presumptions of the socially constructed life. Abhor science. Sort of believe in God. Put your failings behind you. Present your self-justifications to the bathroom mirror.”
This was a fabulous first read for me by Doctorow, I cannot wait for more…
READ THIS BOOK!
January 6, 2021
Andrew es un profesor de ciencias cognitivas, un tanto neurótico y egocéntrico, que mantiene un diálogo con un psiquiatra, al que le va contando los hechos más significativos de su vida. Ya desde el principio sabemos que Andrew ha pasado por situaciones tristes, perdiendo a una hija y una esposa. De hecho comienza contando cómo lleva a su primera mujer la hija, que todavía es un bebé, de su segunda esposa fallecida, ¿en qué circunstancias?, es algo que sabremos más adelante. A partir de aquí Andrew va dando datos de cómo conoció a esta segunda esposa, así como la manera de ver el mundo por su parte. A esto hay que añadir que Andrew es un personaje no fiable, es posible que esté mintiendo en algunos asuntos.
E.L.Doctorow nos acerca una historia agridulce, sobre la muerte y la pérdida, narrada de manera poco común, pero entendible. Los dos primeros tercios son notables, con un tono cómico e ingenioso, pero el giro posterior no llega a convencerme. Una obra interesante, por un autor magnífico.
E.L.Doctorow nos acerca una historia agridulce, sobre la muerte y la pérdida, narrada de manera poco común, pero entendible. Los dos primeros tercios son notables, con un tono cómico e ingenioso, pero el giro posterior no llega a convencerme. Una obra interesante, por un autor magnífico.
November 14, 2018
اولين كتاب بود كه از اين نويسنده خوندم و از اونجايى كه اين كتاب آخرين كتاب نويسنده اس ، شايد نتونم همه آنچه نويسنده ميخواد منتقل كنه رو بفهمم.
در اين كتاب ، شخصيت " اندرو " كه متخصص روانشناسى شناختى هستش ، داستان عجيب زندگى خودش رو براى شخصيت " دكتر " بيان ميكنه و لابه لاى حرفاش ، اشاره ها و نكته هاى زيادى در ارتباط با كاركرد مغز و اسم هاى تخصصى مربوط به علم شناخت مغز و همچنين نويسنده ها و وقايع ديگه رو گنجونده كه به نظر ميرسه اين حرفا ، حرفاى خود دكتروف هستش كه دوست داره ارادت خودش رو به برخى نويسنده ها و كتاب هاى خاص عنوان بكنه.
با توجه به اشارات و اسم هاى خاص ، قطعا اين كتاب براى افرادى كه تو اين رشته تحصيل ميكنن جذاب تر هستش و تنها دليلى كه ميتونم اين امتياز رو به كتاب بدم ، پايان بندى خوبش هست كه انتظار غافل گير شدن رو نداشتم.
*از اين به بعد خطر سپويل شدن داستان *
طبعا هدف اول اندرو از بيان كردن زندگى شخصيش ، ترس از ناكارآمدى و بى هدف بودن زندگيشه . جاى جاى كتاب ترس از تبديل شدن مغزش به يك ابر كامپيوتر داره و حتى جاهايى كارهاى عجيبى انجام ميده كه ناشى از تشنه ى پيروز بودن در هر شرايط هستش.
شخصيت " مغز " به خوبى كار خودش رو انجام ميده . در شرايطى كه بايد داستان احساسى بشه ، منطقى بودن خودش رو نشون ميده و به اندرو هشدار ميده كه مغزش رو تحت هيچ شرايطى فراموش نكنه.
در اين كتاب ، شخصيت " اندرو " كه متخصص روانشناسى شناختى هستش ، داستان عجيب زندگى خودش رو براى شخصيت " دكتر " بيان ميكنه و لابه لاى حرفاش ، اشاره ها و نكته هاى زيادى در ارتباط با كاركرد مغز و اسم هاى تخصصى مربوط به علم شناخت مغز و همچنين نويسنده ها و وقايع ديگه رو گنجونده كه به نظر ميرسه اين حرفا ، حرفاى خود دكتروف هستش كه دوست داره ارادت خودش رو به برخى نويسنده ها و كتاب هاى خاص عنوان بكنه.
با توجه به اشارات و اسم هاى خاص ، قطعا اين كتاب براى افرادى كه تو اين رشته تحصيل ميكنن جذاب تر هستش و تنها دليلى كه ميتونم اين امتياز رو به كتاب بدم ، پايان بندى خوبش هست كه انتظار غافل گير شدن رو نداشتم.
*از اين به بعد خطر سپويل شدن داستان *
طبعا هدف اول اندرو از بيان كردن زندگى شخصيش ، ترس از ناكارآمدى و بى هدف بودن زندگيشه . جاى جاى كتاب ترس از تبديل شدن مغزش به يك ابر كامپيوتر داره و حتى جاهايى كارهاى عجيبى انجام ميده كه ناشى از تشنه ى پيروز بودن در هر شرايط هستش.
شخصيت " مغز " به خوبى كار خودش رو انجام ميده . در شرايطى كه بايد داستان احساسى بشه ، منطقى بودن خودش رو نشون ميده و به اندرو هشدار ميده كه مغزش رو تحت هيچ شرايطى فراموش نكنه.
November 26, 2017
Andrew è un professore di neuroscienze un po’ goffo e per indole tendente al depresso che racconta la sua vita come fosse in una seduta terapeutica, sollecitato dalle domande di un ipotetico psichiatra, o psicologo, o confessore, o semplicemente una voce alter ego dello stesso Andrew.
Sull’identità di questo interlocutore Doctorow è estremamente vago, e in fondo chiarirlo non è funzionale alla storia, non aggiungerebbe alcunché perché sono le parole di Andrew che seguiamo nel suo flusso di pensieri di concatenazione di ricordi estremamente lucidi, di atti mancati dei quali si sente incolpevolmente responsabile, lutti, perdite incolmabili che lo hanno lasciato sordo e impermeabile, inaridendogli l’anima, da quegli eventi in poi riuscirà a vivere solo nel ricordo del passato.
Quale professore di neuroscienze Andrew si dedica all’esplorazione del cervello: gomitolo di lana da un chilo e mezzo scarso, intricato reticolo di infinite interconnessioni che animato da scariche elettriche ci innalza alla dignità di esseri umani.
Quando il cervello, organo non senziente, diventa mente?
Quando quell’agglomerato gelatinoso, diviso in due emisferi che non colloquiano tra loro assurge a coscienza? Forse nel momento in cui comincia a relazionarsi al mondo?
La coscienza esiste senza il mondo o ha bisogno del mondo per trovare la sua sussistenza?
Come posso pensare al mio cervello, quale elemento esterno a me, se è il mio stesso cervello che opera l’attività del pensare?
Queste sono le domande che Doctorow suggerisce, a questo punto potrebbe sembrare che il taglio dato al suo romanzo sia di natura specificatamente neuro scientifica o pseudo neuroscientifica, niente di meno corrispondente al vero, perché il romanzo di Doctorow è una storia di vita che ha misurate pretese in senso metafisico, se non limitarsi a suggerire qualche domanda.
Doctorow vuole confezionare un romanzo e non cade nell’errore di infarcirlo di notazioni troppo filosofiche o troppo cerebrali (ciò nonostante il titolo, che poi in inglese è Andrew’s brain, e che mi aveva notevolmente fuorviato).
La sua prosa scorre però così limpida e fluida, procede veloce, senza intoppi e gli occhi che leggono seguono riga dopo riga, da sinistra a destra, da su a giù e mentre si legge si perde la cognizione di tempo e spazio diventando un tutt’uno con lo scritto, e in questo ho ravvisato il suo pregio maggiore. Ecco, quando si verifica la simultaneità di queste coincidenze di immersione quasi da apnea nella lettura io sento che mi trovo innanzi ad una opera ben fatta, ben concepita, oliata al punto giusto, anche se non ha il merito, né l’onere, di fare vibrare a fondo ogni fibra del mio essere, non ruba la mia anima , non mi lascia affaticata e prostrata non incidendo in me un segno indelebile, ma alla letteratura non possiamo richiedere ogni volta uno sforzo ed un risultato così alto.
Sull’identità di questo interlocutore Doctorow è estremamente vago, e in fondo chiarirlo non è funzionale alla storia, non aggiungerebbe alcunché perché sono le parole di Andrew che seguiamo nel suo flusso di pensieri di concatenazione di ricordi estremamente lucidi, di atti mancati dei quali si sente incolpevolmente responsabile, lutti, perdite incolmabili che lo hanno lasciato sordo e impermeabile, inaridendogli l’anima, da quegli eventi in poi riuscirà a vivere solo nel ricordo del passato.
Quale professore di neuroscienze Andrew si dedica all’esplorazione del cervello: gomitolo di lana da un chilo e mezzo scarso, intricato reticolo di infinite interconnessioni che animato da scariche elettriche ci innalza alla dignità di esseri umani.
Quando il cervello, organo non senziente, diventa mente?
Quando quell’agglomerato gelatinoso, diviso in due emisferi che non colloquiano tra loro assurge a coscienza? Forse nel momento in cui comincia a relazionarsi al mondo?
La coscienza esiste senza il mondo o ha bisogno del mondo per trovare la sua sussistenza?
Come posso pensare al mio cervello, quale elemento esterno a me, se è il mio stesso cervello che opera l’attività del pensare?
Queste sono le domande che Doctorow suggerisce, a questo punto potrebbe sembrare che il taglio dato al suo romanzo sia di natura specificatamente neuro scientifica o pseudo neuroscientifica, niente di meno corrispondente al vero, perché il romanzo di Doctorow è una storia di vita che ha misurate pretese in senso metafisico, se non limitarsi a suggerire qualche domanda.
Doctorow vuole confezionare un romanzo e non cade nell’errore di infarcirlo di notazioni troppo filosofiche o troppo cerebrali (ciò nonostante il titolo, che poi in inglese è Andrew’s brain, e che mi aveva notevolmente fuorviato).
La sua prosa scorre però così limpida e fluida, procede veloce, senza intoppi e gli occhi che leggono seguono riga dopo riga, da sinistra a destra, da su a giù e mentre si legge si perde la cognizione di tempo e spazio diventando un tutt’uno con lo scritto, e in questo ho ravvisato il suo pregio maggiore. Ecco, quando si verifica la simultaneità di queste coincidenze di immersione quasi da apnea nella lettura io sento che mi trovo innanzi ad una opera ben fatta, ben concepita, oliata al punto giusto, anche se non ha il merito, né l’onere, di fare vibrare a fondo ogni fibra del mio essere, non ruba la mia anima , non mi lascia affaticata e prostrata non incidendo in me un segno indelebile, ma alla letteratura non possiamo richiedere ogni volta uno sforzo ed un risultato così alto.
August 12, 2016
I received Andrew's Brain as a First Reads Giveaway. If you're interested in reading the ramblings of a self-adsorbed man who lacks maturity, then this book is for you. If you’re looking for a book with plot or direction, then you’re not going to find it here. I assume that part of the allure of this book is supposed to be the fact that Andrew’s thought patterns are quirky and unique, but I believe it could have been achieved more effectively. I didn’t care about Andrew (or any of the characters) even as I finished the last few pages; I mostly just wanted him to stop talking. The last third of the book becomes completely topsy-turvy and ridiculous. If this book has been any more than 200 pages, I probably wouldn’t have wasted my time. I’m rating this book with two stars as I did find it amusing is a couple of spots, however I felt I’d have rather spent my time on another book so that’s all the stars this one’s getting from me.
This is my first book by E.L. Doctorow that’s I’ve read. Based on other’s comments, I intend to give his other works a shot. However, Andrew’s Brain was a total blunder in my opinion.
This is my first book by E.L. Doctorow that’s I’ve read. Based on other’s comments, I intend to give his other works a shot. However, Andrew’s Brain was a total blunder in my opinion.
September 7, 2016
Let me just say at the beginning here that I loved this book, but I didn't realize how much I liked it until it was over. Add this one to your list of most-unreliable-narrator novels, or just to your list of books you should definitely read. It is a novel filled with surprises, the entire book a conversation between Andrew, a cognitive scientist whose life up to this point has been one of inadvertent disaster, and a psychotherapist/psychologist/shrink to whom he tells his "not pretty" story. Or maybe not, depending on how you choose to read it. So -- this post won't be a standard book discussion, but more my reaction to the novel, since it is really one of those books where the reader makes up his/her own mind about what's actually going on. Or not. Plus, it would sort of be unfair to spill its contents -- doing so might throw prospective readers into major spoiler alert territory. I'll say this: Andrew's Brain is something very different than anything I've seen before. Forget the usual linear narrative format, and forget any kind of basic quasi-understanding normally provided by the author that all will be explained. The book focuses on how we view brain and mind, memories, free will and fate, truth and deception, and overall how we see ourselves. At the same time, Andrew muses about the mind as a "kind of jail" for the brain, which according to him, can often pretend to be one's soul, posing the question of one's ability to actually know and understand one's self.
Reading this novel took me on an interesting ride. The narrative started feeling way too random and repetitive at times, and while my normal thing to do when I read a novel with an unreliable narrator is to try and figure out what's really going on, this time I started getting frustrated and felt like giving up. But then I thought, this is E.L. Doctorow, an author I've been reading for years, so there's got to be something here I'm missing. So midway through, I started completely over, relaxed, and changed my own way of thinking about the whole thing. Suddenly the randomness and the flashes of repetition made sense, as I came to realize that this book is offering an opportunity to look through a window at how this person's traumatized brain works, making for a much better reading experience and allowing me to become more comfortable with what was going on here.
Andrew's Brain is definitely a novel where a) the reader is left to judge for himself/herself just what might be going on during these conversations, and b) you have to think outside of the box, freeing yourself from whatever expectations you might have as soon as you open the book. With apologies for being so vague here, I don't want my take on it to ruin anyone else's appreciation. This novel is getting very mixed reviews, but I found it intriguing and I had a lot of fun trying to figure things out after I'd finished it, coming up with several different interpretations of what I'd just read, all of which made perfectly good sense to me. It's often funny and is populated by some very interesting characters here and there; at the same time, it can be downright heartbreaking.
You can find professional reviews that will tell you more, but I'd strongly suggest not reading them. My thanks to the people at Random House -- I've given my ARC to another reader and bought a real copy of this novel to revisit later. The challenge of going through it again is just irresistible.
February 12, 2024
روایتی از یک گفتگوی طولانی بین اندرو و فردی که اون رو دکتر خطاب میکنه.
همین اول بگم کسایی که کتاب اتاق شماره ۶ و نازنین رو دوست داشتن قطعا از این کتاب لذت میبرن.
شخصیت پردازی اندرو عالیه. اندرو وقتی عاشق میشه و وقتی دید خودش رو نسبت به زنی که دوسش داره توصیف میکنه با اینکه خیلی هیز و کثافته ولی شما نمیتونین عشقی که اندرو به برایانی داره رو دوست نداشته باشین. شاید نکته هم در همینه، بنظرم خیلی رئال به عشق نگاه کرده، سهمی از عشق کاملا فیزیکاله و ما همه این رو تجربه میکنیم در ذهن و مغزمون ولی وقتی این رو خیلی عریان و در کلام میبینیم یا میخونیم بنظرمون یک چیز کثافت میاد در حالی که وجود داره.
ایدهای که درباره مغز مطرح میکنه هم چیز جالبیست. اینکه وقتی ما درباره کارکرد مغز فکر میکنیم درواقع خود مغز که داره راجع به این فکر میکنه، پس آیا ما اصلا میتونیم به یک درک و شناخت کامل از مغز برسیم؟ حالا این رو شما استعاره در نظر بگیر از اینکه آیا ما میتونیم همدیگه رو کامل بفهمیم و درک کنیم و بدونیم چی تو فکر طرف میگذره و چه دیدی به این ماجرا داره؟ این موضوع خیلی واضح توی روایت ماجرای مردن بچه اندرو توی همون صفحات ابتدایی هست.
این عدم قطعیت در فهم کردن، با توجه به داشتن راوی نامطمئن در تمام رمان وجود داره.
نوع روایت دکتروف در عین سادگی پیچیدهس. ما معمولا کتابهایی میخونیم که راوی اون یا اول شخصه یا سوم شخص ولی اینجا جوری دکتروف این دو شکل روایت رو در هم تنیده که ما هردوی این تکنیکهارو توامان باهم داریم.
مغز اندرو یک اثر درجه یک و بسیار خواندنیه و لایق ۵ ستاره، اون یدونه رو فقط بخاطر اینکه توی یک سوم پایانی و بعد از ورود به کاخ سفید قصه بنظرم افت کرد و یکم حوصله سربر شد ندادم که خب این خیلی نظر شخصیایه و به شکل تکنیکی خیلی ایرادی نمیشه به این وارد کرد.
همین اول بگم کسایی که کتاب اتاق شماره ۶ و نازنین رو دوست داشتن قطعا از این کتاب لذت میبرن.
شخصیت پردازی اندرو عالیه. اندرو وقتی عاشق میشه و وقتی دید خودش رو نسبت به زنی که دوسش داره توصیف میکنه با اینکه خیلی هیز و کثافته ولی شما نمیتونین عشقی که اندرو به برایانی داره رو دوست نداشته باشین. شاید نکته هم در همینه، بنظرم خیلی رئال به عشق نگاه کرده، سهمی از عشق کاملا فیزیکاله و ما همه این رو تجربه میکنیم در ذهن و مغزمون ولی وقتی این رو خیلی عریان و در کلام میبینیم یا میخونیم بنظرمون یک چیز کثافت میاد در حالی که وجود داره.
ایدهای که درباره مغز مطرح میکنه هم چیز جالبیست. اینکه وقتی ما درباره کارکرد مغز فکر میکنیم درواقع خود مغز که داره راجع به این فکر میکنه، پس آیا ما اصلا میتونیم به یک درک و شناخت کامل از مغز برسیم؟ حالا این رو شما استعاره در نظر بگیر از اینکه آیا ما میتونیم همدیگه رو کامل بفهمیم و درک کنیم و بدونیم چی تو فکر طرف میگذره و چه دیدی به این ماجرا داره؟ این موضوع خیلی واضح توی روایت ماجرای مردن بچه اندرو توی همون صفحات ابتدایی هست.
این عدم قطعیت در فهم کردن، با توجه به داشتن راوی نامطمئن در تمام رمان وجود داره.
نوع روایت دکتروف در عین سادگی پیچیدهس. ما معمولا کتابهایی میخونیم که راوی اون یا اول شخصه یا سوم شخص ولی اینجا جوری دکتروف این دو شکل روایت رو در هم تنیده که ما هردوی این تکنیکهارو توامان باهم داریم.
مغز اندرو یک اثر درجه یک و بسیار خواندنیه و لایق ۵ ستاره، اون یدونه رو فقط بخاطر اینکه توی یک سوم پایانی و بعد از ورود به کاخ سفید قصه بنظرم افت کرد و یکم حوصله سربر شد ندادم که خب این خیلی نظر شخصیایه و به شکل تکنیکی خیلی ایرادی نمیشه به این وارد کرد.
November 7, 2016
Il mondo è un posto sicuro
“Siamo tutti impostori, dottore, anche tu. Specialmente tu. Perché sorridi? Fingere è il pane quotidiano del cervello. È quello che fa. Riesce perfino a fingere di non essere se stesso. Ah sì? E che cosa sa fingere di essere, tanto per fare un esempio? Be', per lunghissimo tempo, e fino all’altro ieri, l’anima.”
La voce narrante di Doctorow è inaffidabile, crea sconnessione e disarticolazione. Il protagonista insegue una visione coerente del mondo, cerca ostinatamente una coscienza delle cose e disperato aspira alla consapevolezza, ma rigoroso e tragico fallisce ogni tentativo, come in una scienza del disastro. Il viaggio nella mente di Andrew, scienziato cognitivo, è pieno di sarcasmo e disgrazia, il suo amore per la studentessa e seconda moglie Briony è doloroso e muto, la sua esistenza si trasforma in una messinscena delirante e incontrollabile, tra le vicende drammatiche e assurde della storia e un'individualità svuotata di ogni razionalità e ordine; Andrew è una specie di pericolo pubblico, di indesiderato e sfortunato e clownesco pseudo-soggetto, perseguitato da una maledizione, da una malasorte inedita, che lo porta alla follia. Un automobilista ha un incidente a causa sua; il suo cane viene assalito nel parco, la sua prima figlia è vittima di una sciagura. Così i suoi errori e la sua sofferenza rispecchiano quella di un paese intero, del quale si indaga l'inconscio con delicatezza e con sapienza, e una buona dose di humour. Due cose proprio non mi sono piaciute: l'invenzione infelice di due personaggi, i genitori di Briony, che sono individui diversi intelligenti e gioiosi e la satira politica sui falchi della compagnia Bush, decisamente trattati con stile di basso livello, per quanto inquietanti e credibili. Un testo angosciante e irriverente, con buone suggestioni ma esiti non sempre ispirati. La vita è una malattia impenetrabile, in certi casi, secondo l'autore, e la letteratura un mestiere misterioso, un esperimento maniacale che ne allevia o asseconda i sintomi. Tra sensi di colpa e paradossi cognitivi, una storia metaforica e fredda, che discorre del presente con allucinata forza predittiva.
“Siamo tutti impostori, dottore, anche tu. Specialmente tu. Perché sorridi? Fingere è il pane quotidiano del cervello. È quello che fa. Riesce perfino a fingere di non essere se stesso. Ah sì? E che cosa sa fingere di essere, tanto per fare un esempio? Be', per lunghissimo tempo, e fino all’altro ieri, l’anima.”
La voce narrante di Doctorow è inaffidabile, crea sconnessione e disarticolazione. Il protagonista insegue una visione coerente del mondo, cerca ostinatamente una coscienza delle cose e disperato aspira alla consapevolezza, ma rigoroso e tragico fallisce ogni tentativo, come in una scienza del disastro. Il viaggio nella mente di Andrew, scienziato cognitivo, è pieno di sarcasmo e disgrazia, il suo amore per la studentessa e seconda moglie Briony è doloroso e muto, la sua esistenza si trasforma in una messinscena delirante e incontrollabile, tra le vicende drammatiche e assurde della storia e un'individualità svuotata di ogni razionalità e ordine; Andrew è una specie di pericolo pubblico, di indesiderato e sfortunato e clownesco pseudo-soggetto, perseguitato da una maledizione, da una malasorte inedita, che lo porta alla follia. Un automobilista ha un incidente a causa sua; il suo cane viene assalito nel parco, la sua prima figlia è vittima di una sciagura. Così i suoi errori e la sua sofferenza rispecchiano quella di un paese intero, del quale si indaga l'inconscio con delicatezza e con sapienza, e una buona dose di humour. Due cose proprio non mi sono piaciute: l'invenzione infelice di due personaggi, i genitori di Briony, che sono individui diversi intelligenti e gioiosi e la satira politica sui falchi della compagnia Bush, decisamente trattati con stile di basso livello, per quanto inquietanti e credibili. Un testo angosciante e irriverente, con buone suggestioni ma esiti non sempre ispirati. La vita è una malattia impenetrabile, in certi casi, secondo l'autore, e la letteratura un mestiere misterioso, un esperimento maniacale che ne allevia o asseconda i sintomi. Tra sensi di colpa e paradossi cognitivi, una storia metaforica e fredda, che discorre del presente con allucinata forza predittiva.
March 13, 2021
اولین چیزی که نظرم رو بیشتر جلب کرد اینه که، انگار نویسنده یا بهتره بگم راوی داستان، عاشق مارک تواین هس و در طول داستان هرازگاهی از تواین و کتابهاش نام میبره و این حس رو در خواننده ایجاد میکنه که اونم اگه از مارک تواین چیزی نخونده به سراغ کتاباش بره و مطالعهشون کنه.
کتاب حاوی یه سری اطلاعات عصبشناسی و علوم شناختی و نحوه ادراک و کارکرد مغز هس، که انگار خود نویسنده در اینباره تحقیقاتی داشته و حالا همونها رو در قالب داستان به خواننده عرضه میکنه.
نوع روایت داستان طوری هس که شاید همه پسند نباشه و بهنظرم دوستانِ کتابخوانی که از کتاب، انتظار روایت خوب و یا داستان و موضوع بکری دارن، نتونن باهاش کنار بیان.
اما در دل داستان، یکسری نکات ارزنده و حرفهای تامل برانگیزی هس که سرآخر خواننده رو از اختصاص وقت برای خوندنش پشیمان نکنه و راضی نگه داره.
کتاب حاوی یه سری اطلاعات عصبشناسی و علوم شناختی و نحوه ادراک و کارکرد مغز هس، که انگار خود نویسنده در اینباره تحقیقاتی داشته و حالا همونها رو در قالب داستان به خواننده عرضه میکنه.
نوع روایت داستان طوری هس که شاید همه پسند نباشه و بهنظرم دوستانِ کتابخوانی که از کتاب، انتظار روایت خوب و یا داستان و موضوع بکری دارن، نتونن باهاش کنار بیان.
اما در دل داستان، یکسری نکات ارزنده و حرفهای تامل برانگیزی هس که سرآخر خواننده رو از اختصاص وقت برای خوندنش پشیمان نکنه و راضی نگه داره.
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January 13, 2019به گروه خون ما نمیخورد. همون بهتر که بعد از پنج صفحه گذاشتمش کنار😂
August 24, 2017
Andrew, uno scienziato cognitivo (ma potrebbe essere un computer intelligente, dotato di “coscienza”) si apre a Doc, uno psicologo (o qualcuno o qualcosa che tale parrebbe), raccontandogli la sua storia, avvincente e parecchio sfortunata: l'ultimo romanzo (2014) di E.L. Doctorow (1931-2015) è strano, stimolante e... bello.
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January 24, 2014Yes, this is not the E.L. Doctorow you know. Don't bug out, though, okay? I mean, the dude is 83 and has won or been nominated for every major fiction award since his career began in 1960. Let's cut him some slack, yeah?
Really, you should. Because Andrew's Brain is — oh, I'm trying not to overreact here, believe me, but... — in fifty years, this may be one of those kinda-sorta career-defining novels.
I know, I know. Ragtime! Billy Bathgate! The March! Dude's got chops. Dude's got a shelf full of BOSS. But the great thing about what Doctorow's done before is that he can take chances now. Andrew's Brain is most definitely a chance. I'm glad he took it.
This Andrew, this guy with the brain, he's such a bitch, honestly. Guy blames himself for every damn thing that's gone wrong in his life, in the lives of those around him, hell, in the world at large, it seems. I'm probably exaggerating — am exaggerating, but only slightly — but this guy is depression personified. Not the kind of depression that leads to suicide; the kind of depression that leads to being a cynical asshole who has serious issues with the way humanity has evolved into a big, steaming pile of what-the-fuck.
Andrew has excuses, though. He's had a life full of bad experiences. He suffered through the death of his first child (totally his fault), the demise of his marriage (kind of his fault), and the death of a lover half his age who also birthed his second child, who he then leaves with his ex because he fears he can't be an adequate father. After all this, he finds himself teaching high school and then working in the White House before winding up detained somewhere undergoing psychological treatment.
Follow?
OK, cool, because now you should know that Andrew is completely unreliable. UNRE-FUCKING-LIABLE. Up front, you learn he calls himself Andrew the Pretender. And he says things like "Pretending is the brain's work" and "I can't trust anyone these days, least of all myself." And then you can't help but wonder if what Andrew says, what he sees, or what he's experienced is even real at all.
But you'll be OK with that. I was, because, really, I deal with that every day. And so do you. We're all unreliable narrators, and so is everyone around us.
Either way, Andrew's Brain, on top of being another of those head-scratching mindfucks — why do I keep signing up for these? — is funny, playful, thought-provoking, disturbing, sly, and just plain different. The fact that this came from Doctorow's brain still blows mine. It's a worthy entry into his catalogue, even if you're left at your leisure to put the pieces together.
That's what brains are for though, right?
--
Review by Ryan Peverly
Check out more from this review at LitReactor (http://litreactor.com/reviews/booksho...)!
Really, you should. Because Andrew's Brain is — oh, I'm trying not to overreact here, believe me, but... — in fifty years, this may be one of those kinda-sorta career-defining novels.
I know, I know. Ragtime! Billy Bathgate! The March! Dude's got chops. Dude's got a shelf full of BOSS. But the great thing about what Doctorow's done before is that he can take chances now. Andrew's Brain is most definitely a chance. I'm glad he took it.
This Andrew, this guy with the brain, he's such a bitch, honestly. Guy blames himself for every damn thing that's gone wrong in his life, in the lives of those around him, hell, in the world at large, it seems. I'm probably exaggerating — am exaggerating, but only slightly — but this guy is depression personified. Not the kind of depression that leads to suicide; the kind of depression that leads to being a cynical asshole who has serious issues with the way humanity has evolved into a big, steaming pile of what-the-fuck.
Andrew has excuses, though. He's had a life full of bad experiences. He suffered through the death of his first child (totally his fault), the demise of his marriage (kind of his fault), and the death of a lover half his age who also birthed his second child, who he then leaves with his ex because he fears he can't be an adequate father. After all this, he finds himself teaching high school and then working in the White House before winding up detained somewhere undergoing psychological treatment.
Follow?
OK, cool, because now you should know that Andrew is completely unreliable. UNRE-FUCKING-LIABLE. Up front, you learn he calls himself Andrew the Pretender. And he says things like "Pretending is the brain's work" and "I can't trust anyone these days, least of all myself." And then you can't help but wonder if what Andrew says, what he sees, or what he's experienced is even real at all.
But you'll be OK with that. I was, because, really, I deal with that every day. And so do you. We're all unreliable narrators, and so is everyone around us.
Either way, Andrew's Brain, on top of being another of those head-scratching mindfucks — why do I keep signing up for these? — is funny, playful, thought-provoking, disturbing, sly, and just plain different. The fact that this came from Doctorow's brain still blows mine. It's a worthy entry into his catalogue, even if you're left at your leisure to put the pieces together.
That's what brains are for though, right?
--
Review by Ryan Peverly
Check out more from this review at LitReactor (http://litreactor.com/reviews/booksho...)!
January 23, 2016
That was a surprisingly good book. I went into it not knowing what to expect. It was my first Doctorow novel. The wiring is impeccable, the flow of narration spotless, the idea original and it's execution skillful. 3 stars only bcd of it being a bit narrow in scope. Short novella which although I enjoyed immensely felt like something that would be better suited for a bigger novel. I feel like I skimmed through it barely touching the surface of something potentially great. Sill would recommend it though and looking forward to read another Doctorow's book.
June 16, 2023
Andrew is a cognitive scientist and professor. He is (presumably) talking to a therapist he calls “Doc.” We learn of his life through his therapy sessions. He speaks of his ex-wife, his second wife (the love of his life and his former student), his daughter, and his memories. He believes that he is responsible for numerous tragedies in his life. He tells some rather far-fetched and questionable stories. To say the least, he is an unreliable narrator. We wonder if all these things really happened, as does his therapist.
It explores the relationship between the brain and the mind, consciousness, and the nature of memories. There are some beautifully written passages. Parts of it venture into philosophy. It flits from one topic to the next, as memories are wont to do. It gets increasingly more bizarre. It is told in stream-of-consciousness and puts the reader in the role of psychiatrist. I also wonder if “Doc” represents the author, Doctorow, which would explain why Andrew occasionally speaks in third person. It could also be reflective of Andrew's mental state.
I am torn between believing it is a sketch of an individual’s response to trauma or a portrayal of someone unraveling mentally, or perhaps both. Or maybe we are watching Andrew’s mind become just a brain. Or maybe it doesn’t matter if these things actually happened as long as Andrew believes they did. Definitely a book for a person that wants to think about relationships among the soul, mind, brain, consciousness, free will, and the role of chance in the direction of one’s life. It is one of those books that can be interpreted in many ways.
It explores the relationship between the brain and the mind, consciousness, and the nature of memories. There are some beautifully written passages. Parts of it venture into philosophy. It flits from one topic to the next, as memories are wont to do. It gets increasingly more bizarre. It is told in stream-of-consciousness and puts the reader in the role of psychiatrist. I also wonder if “Doc” represents the author, Doctorow, which would explain why Andrew occasionally speaks in third person. It could also be reflective of Andrew's mental state.
I am torn between believing it is a sketch of an individual’s response to trauma or a portrayal of someone unraveling mentally, or perhaps both. Or maybe we are watching Andrew’s mind become just a brain. Or maybe it doesn’t matter if these things actually happened as long as Andrew believes they did. Definitely a book for a person that wants to think about relationships among the soul, mind, brain, consciousness, free will, and the role of chance in the direction of one’s life. It is one of those books that can be interpreted in many ways.
August 8, 2023
Un libro un po' impegnativo, non mi è dispiaciuto ma credo di essermi perso dei contenuti che la grana poco fine della mia intelligenza e conoscenza non ha trattenuto. Molto stimolante e curioso ma mi è appunto rimasto poco. Lettura originale.
November 14, 2020
Premetto che questo non è il mio genere di libro, che mi sento imbarazzata a doverlo commentare perché sono sicurissima di non averlo capito al 100%.
Andrew è un professore di scienze cognitive che parla con un interlocutore sconosciuto, forse immaginario, in un flusso ininterrotto di pensieri, raccontando la sua vita sicuramente un po' bizzarra in cui, da piccolo e grande imbranato, ha combinato non pochi guai, alcuni anche terribili. Parla della prima moglie, da cui ha divorziato dopo la morte accidentale, ma neanche tanto, della loro bambina; della bambina avuta dalla seconda moglie, una sua ex-studentessa morta all'improvviso (sapremo più avanti come), che Andrew porta a far crescere dalla prima moglie.
Comunque credo che leggerò altri libri di questo autore, magari i titoli più famosi, sperando di sentirmi all'altezza.
Andrew è un professore di scienze cognitive che parla con un interlocutore sconosciuto, forse immaginario, in un flusso ininterrotto di pensieri, raccontando la sua vita sicuramente un po' bizzarra in cui, da piccolo e grande imbranato, ha combinato non pochi guai, alcuni anche terribili. Parla della prima moglie, da cui ha divorziato dopo la morte accidentale, ma neanche tanto, della loro bambina; della bambina avuta dalla seconda moglie, una sua ex-studentessa morta all'improvviso (sapremo più avanti come), che Andrew porta a far crescere dalla prima moglie.
Comunque credo che leggerò altri libri di questo autore, magari i titoli più famosi, sperando di sentirmi all'altezza.
May 26, 2014
So. That was weird. It seems there are two possibilities here. Either I am way out of my depths and too obtuse to cotton on to what Doctorow is trying to do, or he is, in his old age, going a bit dotty.
I'm reading along, and yes I know the narrator-- since this is I'd say, a confessional novel and we know he's talking to some kind of therapist-- I know he's unreliable, but you get to a certain point and you wonder how far gone is this Andrew person, can you trust anything he's said so far? Delusions of grandeur. Some kind of nut? Or are we really to believe that he knows these famous people he is claiming to have access to? I don't think we ever get the answer to that question. I sure didn't get it.
Is Doctorow trying to point to the insanity of the previous (Bush) administration? The insanity of this entire country in general? Did Doctorow start writing one novel and not know how to end it or get bored, and so took a sharp turn and start in on a new novel? An abrupt end provides no explanations. Well, it's EL Doctorow, so he can do anything he wants. . .
Here's what I like: the way Doctorow can use just a few words to suggest a thing, and yet you can see it as clear as if it was a movie playing out in front of you. I can really respect that. It's a beautiful thing, it's a gift. I could see Briony, I could see her parents' house and her parents, I could see Andrew, and the great hulking husband of Andrew's ex wife, and the university campus in the Wasatch mountains--all of it.
And I know Doctorow is alluding to BIG ideas here, about cognitive science, consciousness, what makes us human, the difference between brain and mind, the question of how far science will go to create a conscious being. Maybe if I thought and wrote longer and harder about this novel I'd come to some cogent conclusions.
Still, though, what if a nobody wrote a novel like this? A story that started out one way and took a strange turn and became something, seemingly, altogether different, and then didn't resolve itself at all, would anyone publish it? I think not. They'd tell you to go 'back to the (proverbial) old drawing board.'
There are many allusions to Mark Twain and I'm sure Doctorow is wanting to be known as a literary descendant. But this book didn't remind me much of Twain, instead I kept thinking of Nabakov's Lolita. Dirty old man falls for an innocent young thing and takes her across America, to her ultimate demise. Andrew's not that likable.
And, may I just say that Doctorow doesn't understand women. He can't make them come to life. I know, I know. But still it makes me crazy. What if Jane Austen hadn't known how to imagine men or write male characters? Hmmm? Would she get ANY respect? But Hemingway, Salinger, Styron, Doctorow, and the list goes on and on of the venerable writers who can't write a believable female character. Yes, you say, but Doctorow knows that Briony isn't well rounded, he even alludes to it. Well. That doesn't get him off the hook. Don't tell me he does it on purpose to try and make some point about something.
I don't know maybe Briony is supposed to represent something good and pure about America that got destroyed in 9/11? Anyway, I don't think this one will stick with me, just evaporate.
I'm reading along, and yes I know the narrator-- since this is I'd say, a confessional novel and we know he's talking to some kind of therapist-- I know he's unreliable, but you get to a certain point and you wonder how far gone is this Andrew person, can you trust anything he's said so far? Delusions of grandeur. Some kind of nut? Or are we really to believe that he knows these famous people he is claiming to have access to? I don't think we ever get the answer to that question. I sure didn't get it.
Is Doctorow trying to point to the insanity of the previous (Bush) administration? The insanity of this entire country in general? Did Doctorow start writing one novel and not know how to end it or get bored, and so took a sharp turn and start in on a new novel? An abrupt end provides no explanations. Well, it's EL Doctorow, so he can do anything he wants. . .
Here's what I like: the way Doctorow can use just a few words to suggest a thing, and yet you can see it as clear as if it was a movie playing out in front of you. I can really respect that. It's a beautiful thing, it's a gift. I could see Briony, I could see her parents' house and her parents, I could see Andrew, and the great hulking husband of Andrew's ex wife, and the university campus in the Wasatch mountains--all of it.
And I know Doctorow is alluding to BIG ideas here, about cognitive science, consciousness, what makes us human, the difference between brain and mind, the question of how far science will go to create a conscious being. Maybe if I thought and wrote longer and harder about this novel I'd come to some cogent conclusions.
Still, though, what if a nobody wrote a novel like this? A story that started out one way and took a strange turn and became something, seemingly, altogether different, and then didn't resolve itself at all, would anyone publish it? I think not. They'd tell you to go 'back to the (proverbial) old drawing board.'
There are many allusions to Mark Twain and I'm sure Doctorow is wanting to be known as a literary descendant. But this book didn't remind me much of Twain, instead I kept thinking of Nabakov's Lolita. Dirty old man falls for an innocent young thing and takes her across America, to her ultimate demise. Andrew's not that likable.
And, may I just say that Doctorow doesn't understand women. He can't make them come to life. I know, I know. But still it makes me crazy. What if Jane Austen hadn't known how to imagine men or write male characters? Hmmm? Would she get ANY respect? But Hemingway, Salinger, Styron, Doctorow, and the list goes on and on of the venerable writers who can't write a believable female character. Yes, you say, but Doctorow knows that Briony isn't well rounded, he even alludes to it. Well. That doesn't get him off the hook. Don't tell me he does it on purpose to try and make some point about something.
I don't know maybe Briony is supposed to represent something good and pure about America that got destroyed in 9/11? Anyway, I don't think this one will stick with me, just evaporate.
July 22, 2016
The Mind/Brain Problem
This was a wonderfully easy book to get into and enjoy; now I just need to figure out what it was about! Although there are no quotation marks, it seems to be a dialogue: a man whom we later identify as Andrew talking to what appears to be some kind of psychologist, someone who studies the mind. Andrew himself is a cognitive neuroscientist; he studies the physical brain. On one level, Doctorow seems to be examining the distinction between the two, as though Andrew's mind were behaving in ways that Andrew's brain alone cannot explain.
There are strange discrepancies in the narrative at first. Andrew refers to himself mainly in the first person, but occasionally in the third; is this perhaps his brain talking, rather than the man himself? He hears voices. He relates the same event in different time-frames and different ways, yet he insists he is not dreaming. At times, the narrative tricks reminded me of Paul Auster, though the more bizarre elements here do little more than ruffle the surface of an apparently straightforward story.
Andrew seems to leave a wake of disaster behind him. At the beginning, he tells of being at his wits' end, giving his divorced first wife the baby he had with his late second wife because he cannot look after her alone. We will soon hear about the tragedy that led to the divorce. The tragedy of the second wife's death will take over half the book to emerge, but we will get there through a glowing love story that is the greatest source of joy in Doctorow's intriguing novel, and the place where Andrew comes most completely to life as an individual.
I won't say much more about the plot. It is important, I think, that Doctorow does not at first tell us how long ago these events happened, who the psychologist is, or where Andrew is now. All these things will be revealed towards the end, as the book, now broken down into ever-shorter sections, impinges on real events in recent American history—but impinges upon them in increasingly unreal ways. There is an element of near-fantasy at the end, which makes me wonder whether Andrew is intended as a real person after all?
There is some evidence for this. One topic that interests Andrew is the question of "group brain" -- the communal consciousness that gives meaning to a colony of ants, or enables a flock of birds to fly and wheel as one. He wonders if this applies to humans, too: if there is such a thing, for instance, as a "government brain," or if a presidential election does not represent something more than a simple majority at the ballot box, but a kind of national wish-fulfillment? Doctorow has often used his novels to examine and critique specific periods in American history. At the end of this one, I was just beginning to think of Andrew less as the weirdly unreliable narrator of the first part, less even as the fortunate lover of the middle section, but perhaps simply as a symbol for the changes in the national psyche over the decade or so during which the main action takes place?
This was a wonderfully easy book to get into and enjoy; now I just need to figure out what it was about! Although there are no quotation marks, it seems to be a dialogue: a man whom we later identify as Andrew talking to what appears to be some kind of psychologist, someone who studies the mind. Andrew himself is a cognitive neuroscientist; he studies the physical brain. On one level, Doctorow seems to be examining the distinction between the two, as though Andrew's mind were behaving in ways that Andrew's brain alone cannot explain.
There are strange discrepancies in the narrative at first. Andrew refers to himself mainly in the first person, but occasionally in the third; is this perhaps his brain talking, rather than the man himself? He hears voices. He relates the same event in different time-frames and different ways, yet he insists he is not dreaming. At times, the narrative tricks reminded me of Paul Auster, though the more bizarre elements here do little more than ruffle the surface of an apparently straightforward story.
Andrew seems to leave a wake of disaster behind him. At the beginning, he tells of being at his wits' end, giving his divorced first wife the baby he had with his late second wife because he cannot look after her alone. We will soon hear about the tragedy that led to the divorce. The tragedy of the second wife's death will take over half the book to emerge, but we will get there through a glowing love story that is the greatest source of joy in Doctorow's intriguing novel, and the place where Andrew comes most completely to life as an individual.
I won't say much more about the plot. It is important, I think, that Doctorow does not at first tell us how long ago these events happened, who the psychologist is, or where Andrew is now. All these things will be revealed towards the end, as the book, now broken down into ever-shorter sections, impinges on real events in recent American history—but impinges upon them in increasingly unreal ways. There is an element of near-fantasy at the end, which makes me wonder whether Andrew is intended as a real person after all?
There is some evidence for this. One topic that interests Andrew is the question of "group brain" -- the communal consciousness that gives meaning to a colony of ants, or enables a flock of birds to fly and wheel as one. He wonders if this applies to humans, too: if there is such a thing, for instance, as a "government brain," or if a presidential election does not represent something more than a simple majority at the ballot box, but a kind of national wish-fulfillment? Doctorow has often used his novels to examine and critique specific periods in American history. At the end of this one, I was just beginning to think of Andrew less as the weirdly unreliable narrator of the first part, less even as the fortunate lover of the middle section, but perhaps simply as a symbol for the changes in the national psyche over the decade or so during which the main action takes place?
March 12, 2024
I’m just soooo confused. Like I get the premise, I understand what he was going for, I just feel like a ton of words were shoved into my brain in a way I don’t know what to do with them.
I can tell that he is a great writer, the words flow in a way, but I had to make myself finish this.
I think a lot of it was the lack of punctuation and the use of first and third person.
It had parts that were interesting, like his time with the president, but he wasn’t an endearing character and I had a hard time feeling anything for him as he seemed to be the perpetrator of most of his misfortune, although not all of it.
I’m glad I made myself finish it but i don’t know what to think about it.
I can tell that he is a great writer, the words flow in a way, but I had to make myself finish this.
I think a lot of it was the lack of punctuation and the use of first and third person.
It had parts that were interesting, like his time with the president, but he wasn’t an endearing character and I had a hard time feeling anything for him as he seemed to be the perpetrator of most of his misfortune, although not all of it.
I’m glad I made myself finish it but i don’t know what to think about it.
September 7, 2013
...hmm.
The word that came to mind while reading this is "self-indulgent". The narrator, Andrew, who refers to himself in the third person sometimes for no apparent reason, is a faceless, unidentifiable, and unsympathetic character prone to psychobabble ramblings and laundry lists of how he's been responsible for random tragedies throughout his life. The one question that kept me reading was: How did Briony die, and was Andrew responsible? The answer is... really? You went there? Then, he ends up working for the President, who, by the way, he was roommates with in college. And then he's arrested.
And that's kind of it. Weak sauce.
What is the point of this book? If you find out, let me know, because as far as I can tell this is a self-indulgent study in insecurity and "cog science". It's well-written. But... why?
The word that came to mind while reading this is "self-indulgent". The narrator, Andrew, who refers to himself in the third person sometimes for no apparent reason, is a faceless, unidentifiable, and unsympathetic character prone to psychobabble ramblings and laundry lists of how he's been responsible for random tragedies throughout his life. The one question that kept me reading was: How did Briony die, and was Andrew responsible? The answer is... really? You went there? Then, he ends up working for the President, who, by the way, he was roommates with in college. And then he's arrested.
And that's kind of it. Weak sauce.
What is the point of this book? If you find out, let me know, because as far as I can tell this is a self-indulgent study in insecurity and "cog science". It's well-written. But... why?
April 10, 2016
**I received this book for free through Goodreads First Reads in exchange for an honest review.**
This was a waste of my time. It made me feel stupid because I really couldn't follow it, it made no real sense and I didn't even care about the character. If I hadn't said I would review it, I wouldn't have finished it.
Next day: After thinking about it more, I think I understand a little more what the author was trying to do, however he didn't make me care enough about Andrew to care what he thought or did/didn't feel. One review said it was tedious and I felt the same. Even his referring to Andrew in the first and then third person was annoying. I'm sure the author did this on purpose, but it just helped to turn this reader off. This is not one I will purchase or recommend.
This was a waste of my time. It made me feel stupid because I really couldn't follow it, it made no real sense and I didn't even care about the character. If I hadn't said I would review it, I wouldn't have finished it.
Next day: After thinking about it more, I think I understand a little more what the author was trying to do, however he didn't make me care enough about Andrew to care what he thought or did/didn't feel. One review said it was tedious and I felt the same. Even his referring to Andrew in the first and then third person was annoying. I'm sure the author did this on purpose, but it just helped to turn this reader off. This is not one I will purchase or recommend.
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