M Sarki

http://msarki.tumblr.com/post/76422571840/to-whom-it-may-concern-by-raymond-federman

Weather, such as this winter of 2014 we are presently engaged in, can flat wear us out. There are times we question how much more we might take. But the weather comes at us like waves do, and with skill and some luck we often survive. But there are times the ferocious weather comes all at once and our ending is inevitable. Those of us who survive these storms make what we can of what is left to us. For a special few it may be what is called a good life, and for the rest of us who basically survive, we live until we die.

The two main characters of this novel have both seen terrible things due to the period during WWII. Their families have been destroyed as well as their homes and every possession. This morning I was reminded on the news that these atrocities are still happening around the world and likely will always continue as long as there are human beings on the planet. There is little mystery behind the fact that we can be an awful animal at times. And it seems the violence never ends. The two main characters of this book who physically survive their personal tragedies do go on to make something of themselves, to better the planet in some way, and to each perhaps raise a couple of kids in a way that might make a difference in the world some day. But these lives, and what they made of them, will never replace for them what has been lost.

There are scant reviews of this book from which to plunder or even get some idea what others might have thought about after reading it. It seems that those who actually did read this book like it, but they never tell us why. Perhaps they cannot express themselves sufficiently or confidently enough to satisfy the ingrates among us. Or perhaps they are not willing to place themselves in jeopardy as others of us are more wont to do. I do not mind people assuming these docile postures as it places me in a position much different than these readers and I feel even more outside and apart from those just grazing along and feeling safe within the confines of the massive herd of those just like themselves.

I felt all along that this book was an exercise for Raymond Federman, and he practiced it at the expense of us all, that is, if he decided to eventually have this title published, which is obvious to me now that he did. But I am not convinced he set out to write this book in the manner in which it was written. I believe the narrator when he says he was just trying things out in order to discover whether or not he could make a novel out of his notes and letters to his friend. Seems he did. And a pretty good one at that.