Brain Pain discussion

This discussion covers Philip Roth’s novella, The Breast.


“An odd rose is an odd rose is an odd rose.” – David Kepesh


The first big difference between Gregor Samsa’s metamorphosis and David Kepesh’s is that we get an explanation in some detail about how an otherwise healthy male morphed into a giant breast.

i just started this. My first impression? HA HA! HA HA HA!

so.....I guess he's saying that for all of our whatever-we-know and whatever-we-have-learned, despite all of our books, art, language, philosophies, relationships, medical and psychological wisdom, whether god is or is not, body/mind reality, throughout the time of human existence, we really know nothing about why we are or have any clue about our existence.

: p

aPriL eVoLvEs (ex-Groot) wrote: "so.....I guess he's saying that for all of our whatever-we-know and whatever-we-have-learned, despite all of our books, art, language, philosophies, relationships, medical and psychological wisdom,..."

Basically, yes.

One thing I got from the book, though probably indirectly, was the idea of what it must be like to wake up after some horrible accident, in a hospital bed, attached to machines, your body damaged/changed. How you have to come to terms with the transformation, your current condition/surroundings, the response of your loved ones and doctors, and basically having to find a way to accept that this is your new reality. I don't think Roth had this specifically in mind, but I think it's related...

Yep, it would leave one feeling full of doubt about everything you had been taught to wake up and realize you are irrevocably broken. In my case, it was abuse by 'loving' parents and then religious people telling me to 'stop being a trial to my mother' when I was covered in mud. What they didn't know was my mother was crying uncontrollably at church because she had buried me six hours before, came back, and had just dug me up. Surreal, yes? But true. One incident among many, most even worse. I was a child and I thought this was how the world worked, so I didn't complain much. Much of it wasn't illegal because there were no laws about child abuse at the time (1960's). I don't mention it too much because people get upset and act weird, while I've had tons of therapy and I'm ok now, more or less. It WAS 50 years ago.

Today, I probably have insight other people do not about certain manifestations of incomprehensible behaviors or how extreme tragedy/pain/loss might cause temporary derangements of logic or hard practical choices others find impossible to contemplate, although the persistance of bizarre beliefs like religious faith in spite of the incredible pain, suffering, murders, tortures, injustices and poverty innocents undergo every day is beyond my understanding.

aPriL eVoLvEs (ex-Groot) wrote: "Yep, it would leave one feeling full of doubt about everything you had been taught to wake up and realize you are irrevocably broken. In my case, it was abuse by 'loving' parents and then religiou..."

Six hours!?? The mind reels...

More or less.

It actually was a weird weird weird incident, from beginning to end. The time is something I know from clear identifications. She carried me in a large bag. I was two. (Strangely, some people remember everything about traumatic incidents while others forget everything. I have the remembering kind of reaction, I still have this reaction - I was held up in a pharmacy with others and the police said of all the witnesses, I had the best description of the robber when they caught him). We were on a bus. I was tied up. A man asked if she had a kitten in that bag, after asking where she was going at three in the morning. When she dug me back up, I noticed I was in a park. I don't remember much about being underground, except the dirt was lose, I was still in the bag until she dug me out, which was when she tore the bag and I got muddy. I think it was a very shallow hole. Church service was at nine, as her friends told her she was late for service and wouldn't allow her to go in the room in her state. While she cried incoherent (being too drunk/upset to speak, one of the women took me into a cloak room (dark hall-like, lots of hooks and coats) and yelled at me for being a bad girl.

Absurd, indeed. Of course, while I remember most of the parts of it, I had no critical judgement although I remember what people said. Judging my mother and finally losing my religion (after much back and forthing, with finality after studying History of Christianity and Comparative Religion and Ancient Greek Literature Myths in college) didn't happen until my 30's.

Kids are hardwired to love/attach to their parents when little, no matter what. Not much putting in context since there is not a lot of contextual knowledge when a tot. You are terrified mom won't want you unless you are good, even when you don't understand what she defines as good. Good becomes whatever people say it is, so they will give you food and not hurt you. I guess it does make a nonsense of cultural mores/beliefs/'truths' from the start.

For most people, noticing mores/customs/rules/religion are ridiculous results in teenage angst, not tot terror, like me. I remember feeling what I now know is cynicism about what I now know are cultural roles and definitions about correct behaviors, although I always complied with demands to sit up straight, no gum chewing, and making valentines for my parents in elementary school. It always was about survival, so it always was if you believe it, then I'll agree too, but inside I'm feeling you are an idiot about real life.

Later, with autonomy and a college education, I finally had context. It definitely affects my reading understanding. For instance, I stand with the authors who notice people who rely on rules and mores, love and being good as written in genetic/God-given rigid rock of certainty (or natural human 'decency' have never been in any real life-and-death survival situations, like war. As it happens, I know decency is the better survival mechanism, so I choose to live a moral life. However, I'm totally aware only people choose to save a bird in a tree, not any god watching over their wee heads.

My path to a thinking life came from my childhood, but a lot of authors travel the same path eventually. I didn't know Roth was one of them!

aPriL eVoLvEs (ex-Groot) wrote: "More or less.

It actually was a weird weird weird incident, from beginning to end. The time is something I know from clear identifications. She carried me in a large bag. I was two. (Strangely, s..."

It's always amazing to hear what people will do to each other, especially to children. I occasionally watch trauma story videos on youtube, most recently one about Beth Thomas, and another called "Tarnation" which is quite an amazing film. But being buried alive at age two, well that just moves you to the top of the list for bad things parents do to their kids. Dang!

Anyway, you're here, you're reading, so Deity-of-your-choice Bless You and have a Happy New Year!

Thank you, Jim. You have a happy New Year too!

Didn't even notice this on the schedule. Giving it a go before starting Orlando. Already like the opening line: "It began oddly."

Mkfs wrote: "Didn't even notice this on the schedule. Giving it a go before starting Orlando. Already like the opening line: "It began oddly.""

Sorry! It got tucked into the Kafka schedule. Enjoy!

Quite the complement to The Metamorphisis.

K turns into a giant insect, Kepesh into a giant breast. K gets pelted with rotten fruit, Kepesh gets laughed at. I cannot think of a better way to characterize the difference between the two writers.

I want to see Katsuhito Ishii make a short film out of this.