Reviews for Comrades of the Storm

The average rating for Comrades of the Storm based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2013-12-23 00:00:00 Michael Bartosh È finita la commedia! This 2nd volume impressed me very much. I have been very thoughtful since I have finished reading the last page, while before of it, well, maybe not so much. Just fancy that! I am very lucky in this respect. I have tried to treat the matters of this whole volume as a joke, but this only made me more wretched. It was only pretending to be light-hearted for the sake of the idea, but eventually I had to try and bear it bravely. JKJ is an odd old fellow! Pardon, he was in his late 30' when this print was out, still we can say that he was old at 40 years of age, considering he saw the light in the nineteenth century. Anyhow, I seem to have grown to like and love him, especially his daring mockery of Time, World, Society as such. He certainly has not much respect for it. He seems to go out of his way almost to openly insult it. That is to say, it looks that he has grown to feel contempt for this so-called "hero" - whatever its name, which is himself (or herself) a short-lived, puny mortal- a little greater than some others, that is all-and now he sees into the littleness of those that make up for it, as a Society, which in most cases, especially when drunk with overwhelming sentiments and emotion, looms so great to our awed human eyes. He seems to know us quite well, he even grimly laughs, he might even say with certainty (at least, so it impresses on me): are you not but a phantom - a dream - like the rest of us here?! But then, from deep discouragement, he leaps straight into weighty encouragement, and make us feel immortal, oh, why! Fear not, everything is but a shadow upon the background of the immortality. Not that I feel better now…Well, in this 2nd volume, everything was so death-like! But this was not what I wanted to feel but instead to chase the great dream of life, to lure me on into trying to catch or see new images of its greatness, that is to say of Life itself, because it feels I have still this spirit of child-like faith in its integrity. These essays pretend to be harmless enough, but in truth they are not. They are full of interest and variety, so from this point of view, you cannot be disappointed. Funny though, you want to feel that, whatever may happen, you have done the right thing by reading, and that no blame can attach to you. The simple truth concerning it, or its great charm is its reliable uncertainty. I mean the entire volume, as such. But, then again, I incline to agree (most strongly) with JKJ, who says that "we should always be very careful never to give way to exaggeration, it is a habit that grows upon one. And it is such a vulgar habit, too...But, everybody exaggerates nowadays (well, he referred to 19th century, we can simply translate it also to 21st century…). It is an essential requirement, held to be most needful for the battle of life. We have sunk so low now that we try to act our exaggerations, and to live up to our lies. We call it "keeping up appearances"; and no more bitter phrase could, perhaps, have been invented to describe our childish folly." In other words, truth and fact are old-fashioned and out-of-date. JKJ seems like some wise old friend talking to you, and telling you about the old days and the old ways of thought, and the old life and the old people, which -and, this is really good news-, is also very much the same as with the present times, in almost all respects. I loved almost all the texts (95%), and I can even remark that I was impressed - eternally, that is- by a remarkably put question that seems to contain the answer(s) of all the riddles, raised throughout this collection of essays: "In my youth, the question chiefly important to me was - What sort of man shall I decide to be? At nineteen one asks oneself this question; at thirty-nine we say, "I wish Fate hadn't made me this sort of man." This is very, very confusing. Sometimes, I too wonder if I really am myself. It is a naïve confession. Tough luck! Well, don't pay too high attention to these words. These essays have all that is needed for a worthy experience of reading: strength of character, courage, power of self-forgetfulness, enthusiasm, even the part or role that they should play in our life. I have enjoyed them very much, but at the same time I think I took them in very seriously. Once again, my mistake! 😉

Review # 2 was written on 2020-03-25 00:00:00 Jeffery Michaels I think Jerome K. Jerome (curious name) is somewhat misrepresented as a humour author. His essays are certainly readable, and there's frequent humour ("He listened to me in rapt ecstasy. I might have been music.") but he's often capable of serious thoughtful comments about our habits and society in general: "Will it matter to the ages whether, once upon a time, the Union Jack or the Tricolour floated over the battlements of Badajoz? Yet we poured our blood into its ditches to decide the question... Why, if the universe be ordered by a Creator to whom all things are possible, the protoplasmic cell? Why not the man that is to be? Shall all generations be so much human waste that he may live? Am I but another layer of the soil preparing for him? ... Looking back the little distance that our dim eyes can penetrate the past, what do we find? Civilizations, built up with infinite care, swept aside and lost." This book (and the first, Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow) certainly aren't all this serious, but the fact that he can weave together an easygoing intelligence, humour and impressive observations make him as thoroughly enjoyable as he is worthy of your time. At one point a "put out the stars" reference seemed to me to be the inspiration for the famous W.H Auden poem, Funeral Blues. Based on these, I'm looking forward to another non-fiction title of his, Diary of a Pilgrimage.