My affair with the Glass Bead Game
Thirty years ago, my brain was soft and elastic, it could take the shape of any mold. The Glass Bead Game by Herman Hesse was the first to shape it. Followed by Salinger’s Franny and Zooey. Followed by …, I don’t want to list them all, like I don’t want to make a list of past lovers. Books are better than lovers in so many ways. I can take a book from the shelf and another volume will not bite my hand for it.
I’m a bit unsure about the Glass Bead Game, though. I read a page of it a few days ago. (I hadn’t touched it for years.) It was late night, my brain tired and receptive. I was waiting for the magic to wash me away, to drag me into the story. Like finishing a glass of wine kicks in after ten minutes. No effect, this time.
I was reading a dead page, full of sentences that felt like a promenade of old men in a foreign city. They are busy with some strange activity that makes no sense to me. Is it a funeral or a festival, I had no way to tell.
I have an unwritten list of titles for my desert island library. Some don’t qualify anymore.
Good bye, Glass Bead Game. I loved you. Now go and be happy with someone else.
