Breif explanation.
I was the only booklover in my house ,had an abusive family dynamic …would read anything to dissociate from it all.
I started as a child ,8 yo , reading 19th centuries books and never looked back : Tolstoy, Dostoevskij, Austen, Zola , Flaubert the list goes on and on.
it saved my life for the longest time.
Now that I’m in my mid thirties I see that I long for aspects I only found there, maybe my sense of what life should be like is quite unrealistic.
These books forged my personality in a sense: I am intense and intentional ,tulmutuos and everything around me seems mild , wishy washy.
Every type of emotion seems surface level from love to indignation, sadness
, anger etc I feel like Pavese felt , which is possibly quite alarming .
Do some of you feel the same ? How can I find joy in this quite disappointing life around me ?
by lightolivegal