I picked up a few books at my former landlord’s yard sale today, including The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. The title captured my mood, and I know of Milan Kundera, even though I have not read him before.
Perhaps the title captured me because of its resonance with a potential title running through my head the past few days, The Summer of Hate and Love. I do not desire to call such a thing into being, but all the predictive indicators do seem to be in place. :-/
Kundera wastes no time, opening with “all that remains” (p. 3) are memories that have become “implausible, a caricature” (p. 5). “Ultimately,” Kundera writes, reciting a list of world events, “everyone lets everything be forgotten” (p. 7).
“I invent stories,” says Kundera, “confront one with another, and by this means I ask questions.”
I am not so invested in inventing stories; those that occur in the linear living of my picayune life are complicated enough (a nod to my Saturday morning breakfast buddy). It seems to me that putting our own stories (the ones we live) into direct interaction with each other – possibly even interrogating each other? – is a means of approaching conscious evolution. I suppose this is why I study small group (interpersonal/intercultural) communication: how is it that we do make meaning with each other?

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