About book Weight: The Myth Of Atlas And Heracles (2005)
What a disappointing book. Almost masturbatory in some areas, and I don't just mean the extended bits where Heracles strums his own trumpet - you can actually imagine Winterson writing this and thinking to herself 'oh yeah, that's for the academics, that's the stuff'. Winterson clearly fancies herself up there with the greatest philosophers of all eras, and the texts she produces just don't merit that belief. This book pertains to discuss Atlas' burden as being not a physical burden, but more a psychological one - the twin burdens of choice and fate. Ostensibly an interesting premise, and one that made me eager to read this book - I've always enjoyed the myth of Atlas, and the numerous retellings that muse upon what his true burden really was. I expected to love this book. By Zeus, how wrong I was.The problem is that this book doesn't answer - or indeed ask - any questions that haven't been asked - and indeed answered - a million times before. An actual exchange from the book between Heracles and Hera reads as follows (slightly paraphrased due to my having blocked this featherlight, tedious tome from my memory):"How can I change my fate?""You have to make your own destiny."Well, thanks for that insight, Jeanette. I'd never heard that on an episode of Power Rangers before, or in literally every Nicholas Sparks adaptation ever. Honestly, parts of this book read more like a Judy Bloom novel than a serious academic retelling of Atlas - which, OK, this book is not a textbook, but if it attempts to deal with heavy issues (no pun intended) then it should do a better job of it.Another technique that Winterson often uses is the good old self insert. Sandwiched between the tales of Heracles and Atlas like a piece of forgotten ham is Jeanette Winterson's own life story. I almost skipped these pages. I just didn't want to read yet another groaning, moping account of her own life. We get it, Winterson. We've all read Oranges. It's all very sad, but can you write one book without an aside? Can you construct just one narrative without saying 'oh, by the way, in case you didn't know this about me, this book actually relates very well to my OWN life, and here's why...'? Not all fiction needs to hold a mirror up to the author, and if it does, it doesn't need to shine its reflection right in the reader's eyes like a laser pointer. I'm all for autobiographical authorial intent. Write a book as catharsis. That's fine. Just don't be so damn blatant about it. Subtlety is a fine art, and the brushstrokes here are childish.Add that to the fact that the version I read was groaning with typing errors and grammatical mistakes (I spotted three on one page at one point, and nearly threw the book out the window) and this book made for one of the most unpleasant hours of my life. I've given it 2 stars for two reasons: firstly, Jeanette Winterson can turn a phrase like no other; and secondly, it was blissfully short. Had it been an extra hundred pages, I doubt I'd have finished it. To be honest, I almost wish I hadn't. I've rarely read a book that's made me feel quite so empty, disappointed and borderline angry as this one. I've felt more fulfilled after reading leaflets on gum disease at the dentist, and at least those didn't pretend to be great works of literature. This is the third Winterson novel that I've read, after Oranges and Stone Gods, and I can honestly say that I'm going to have to implement a Three Strikes system here. I just can't put myself through it again. Like Heracles himself, I am ~choosing my own destiny~ and relieving myself of the burden of Winterson. God knows, I can't bear another burden like this. It's just too heavy, and yet nowhere near heavy enough.
Weight by Jeanette Winterson, part of the Canongate Myths collection along with Atwood’s Penelopiad, is a deconstructed retelling of the myth of Atlas. That sentence alone fails to capture the sweep of this slim little volume, or the depth to it. The book is really about the way we use narrative to construct ourselves and our identities.The two central characters of the book are Atlas, the titan monstrously strong enough to support the entire cosmos, and Heracles, the half-human half-divine hero who, in the course of his labors, shoulders Atlas’ burden for awhile. In Winterson’s portrayal, the two stand in sharp relief: Atlas is silent, still, thoughtful, patient. Heracles is all bluster, all action. Over the course of their interactions and their divergent lives, though, Winterson shows how each of them, at their core, is driven by the same thing: a sense of predetermination, of fate. I say a ‘sense of’ because once the book establishes this it begins to methodically deconstruct the idea of fate. The nature of self-fulfilling prophecy is explored in some depth, casting what both Atlas and Heracles perceive to be their fate, this course of their lives determined out of their grasp, as a fact of inertia and momentum from the choices they themselves have made. Much use is made of the idea of self-composed narrative as a manifestation of this: more than once Atlas “wants to tell the story again,” this time a different way, this time an attempt to push himself past the boundaries he’s built for himself. The book, then, is a meta-narrative as much as it is an actual story. Heracles falls prey to his self-made fate, but by the end of the book (set, curiously, during the space race and featuring poor Laika, the Russian cosmonaut dog sent to die in space) Atlas, sitting in the dark emptiness of space, telling and re-telling his story, manages to shrug his fate off. Thus, the double-edged sword of narrative—its capacity to constrain us and its capacity to set us free—is explored here.There is another character in this book, and it’s Winterson herself. The thoughts of Atlas are cut with occasional interludes from Winterson herself, who draws parallels between her lived experiences—childhood abuse and the resulting need for self-sufficiency, difficulties with intimacy, difficulties escaping the gravitational pull of her own life choices—and the struggles of Atlas. The result is a deeply personal exploration of the meaning of this particular myth. As someone with strikingly similar internal struggles as Winterson, this was a captivating thing to read. I recognized in her writing about herself the marks of a similarly wounded person: the feigned emotionlessness of the retelling, the matter-of-fact tone, the minimizing of the damage done. It’s incredibly honest and incredibly personal writing, and she incorporates it into the text in a way where it supplements the story she’s telling rather than the other way around. Even with Winterson’s meditations on herself as a modern-day Atlas the book remains the story of Atlas the mythological figure.
Do You like book Weight: The Myth Of Atlas And Heracles (2005)?
Заиграването с митовете, приказките и образите – еталони на цяло едно видово самосъзнание винаги трябва да се прави внимателно, методично и с чувство за хумор, без да се омърсява с реалност, възможност и ежедневие. Е, Джанет Уинтърсън туй явно не го е знаела, и е създала една поне малка книжка, съдържаща достойно тъжен текст, успял да ме поотврати с придаването на едно торба в повече хуманизъм у образите на богове и герои, които май им беше работата да ни вдъхновяват, влюбват и лекичко плашат метафизично, като се наложи. Имаме самотния Атлас, добряк и уморен наивник, искаш да бъде важен и все пак лелеещ свободата да бъде никой. На гости му идва Херкулес, тъповат развратник, агресивен побойник и емоционално нищожество , който не намира в себе си емпатията да свърши задачата, която вероятно би го освободила от мрачната му орис да мечтае за гърдите, сипващи отрова в кръвта му от първото засукване божественост. И накрая идва и кучето Лайка, убито в първия си полет към звездите в реалността, спасено от един титан в мисълта, което намира своя нов господар, който няма да намери в себе си достатъчно човечност да го предаде. И имаме и една авторка, която сипе горчиви сълзи върху съсипания си нормален живот, какъвто водим и преглъщаме милиони ежедневно. За една приказна история гнусотата на сивия призрак на реалността се усеща твърде силно по небцето. Не е моята книга определено.
—Ана Хелс
This is the only one I've ever been intrigued by, and it sorta feels like now I can say I've read one and just leave it at that. If you know what I mean?
—Daniel
This book is part of Canongate's 'Myth' series, where several writers retell a myth of their own choosing. Weight, is a "cover version" of the myth of Atlas and Heracles. The Titan Atlas, whose punishment it is to carry the world, literally, on his shoulders, is enlisted by the super-hero Heracles to help retrieve some golden apples, guarded by a dreadful serpent, from the Gardens of the Hesperides. To free Atlas for the task, Heracles must temporarily take over the burden of supporting the world - but the question is: will Atlas return to take the world back again, or will Heracles be left with it on his shoulders for ever?Heracles is a slippery figure in ancient myth; he is portrayed both as a drunken thug and noble saviour of humanity from barbarism; as a beefcake hero and an overweight strongman past his prime. Winterson negotiates her way through this by concentrating on ideas of masculinity, about what choices men must make on their way to becoming heroes and the simultaneously clubbable and treacherous nature of male friendship.Some of this is extremely funny, in particular the moment when Heracles ("no brains but plenty of cunning") tricks Atlas to take the world back, with some wheedling complaints about how Switzerland - more precisely "the bloody Matterhorn" - is sticking in his back. And Winterson's deadpan account of a hero's "typical day" is chilling in its casualness and domestic asides: take the wife breakfast in bed, gather an army, lay waste a city, then slit the throats of the enemy.
—Nesa Sivagnanam
