“Vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.” – Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
I came upon the book during my school years. A double-edged sword it was, I’d say. Reading young flings open the door to a universe of thought and understanding, broadening horizons with an uncanny charm. Yet, it also acts as a dampener, limiting the depth of understanding. The juvenile mind, not yet polished by life’s trials and tribulations, can’t fully appreciate the narrative’s intricacies. The outlook of a high-schooler, although rich with enthusiasm, often falls short in depth and breadth.
Different books resonate differently to people, much like melodies to distinct ears. I feel lucky that this particular piece struck a chord with me. It’s a concoction of existential angst and profound philosophizing, a tale of unconventional lovers amidst war, crafted by a Czech maestro. Such factors can either enhance one’s connection or estrange the reader from the narrative. The storyline has faded from my memory, but the rich language and moving prose, even in Persian translation, left an indelible imprint. It explored mundane human situations laden with struggles of love and purpose with a unique subtlety. Such deep probes into the human psyche aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, and there’s nothing amiss about that. In my understanding, Kundera has a cult following, he isn’t a mainstream crowd-pleaser. I think it’s sad, but his work may come off as uninteresting for the modern consumer of novels.
What enchants me about his works is the way he maneuvers character perspectives. He illustrates situations symbolically, each action carrying a hint of the character’s past, enriching the moment. Then, with a sudden twist, the scene is retold from another angle, offering an entirely different interpretation. The author has a knack for transforming scenes within a few sentences. One moment, Tereza is atop a hill, the next moment, the scene morphs into something entirely different. In the middle of the narrative, he transforms into a critic, deconstructing the meaning of the novel. All in all, it definitely penetrated my thoughts for a while. Its stunning imagery and human-condition insights flowed into my everyday life.
His mastery in assimilating ideas from intellectual giants such as Hegel, Nietzsche, Beethoven, Bach, Stravinsky, and diving into the essence of a single concept is truly mesmerizing. In “Unbearable,” he explores eternal recurrence, suggesting that a single occurrence is inconsequential, like a tree falling unheard in a forest—it makes no impact. It must reiterate in different contexts, essentially the same event repeating time and again to hold weight. This intricate philosophy gave me a new lens to look at my life patterns.
As a bonus, his work amplified my admiration for classical music, particularly Beethoven’s Op. 111. This transformation is a testament to how “Unbearable Lightness” sculpted my persona. Despite the thin plot and scant drama, the book serves as a profound reflection.
At the time, I thoguht the book does paint a rather cynical perspective of the human condition. My teenage interpretation of “unbearable lightness” was our absolute irrelevance, and the pursuit of life’s meaning, rather pathetic. Sounds like the rantings of an atheistic adolescent, right? But don’t be fooled. Kundera’s craft is a league above my ramblings, worthy of being savored.
Later, I discovered the layers to the narrative. It’s not a simple, cynical declaration of life’s meaninglessness. It explores why and how we, despite such a bleak worldview, relentlessly search for life’s meaning. Kundera, rather than dismissing this pursuit as pathetic, considers it challenging but not worthless. A Kundera aficionado will surely find a kinship with Albert Camus’s philosophy and vice-versa.
Now I think, Kundera seems to neither advocate lightness nor weight. The novel ponders a philosophical-psychological question, the beauty of which lies in the question itself rather than any answer. The interpretations of lightness and weight, the life’s pursuits they symbolize, are left for us to decipher. I am yet to find an answer to the struggle between fate and free will. Reading the book though, has definitely helped me better see the question.
It’s also, of course, a very political novel. The book wields a potent political undertone, vividly portraying life in the Soviet Bloc and popular uprisings. It presents a sharp critique of collectivism. There’s a subplot - minor but notable - illustrating how the government exploits public life: political affiliations, social connections, to get what they want from individuals. If unsuccessful, they won’t hesitate to ruin the person’s life. The government also alters history, removing people from photographs and such. Set during the Prague Spring, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” intrigued me enough to pick it up. It was an enriching experience to learn about this significant event in history.
It subtly influenced the dating culture in Iran of my time, only to be supplanted by Haruki Murakami or perhaps Bulgakov’s The Master & Margarita. Then, I disdained pseudo-intellectual posturing during dates, a view I’ve since outgrown. During those initial stages of discovery and mystery, a book like Kundera’s fits the bill. His work’s complexity hinted at an undercurrent of depth, stoking the embers of physical attraction, and what’s yet to come.
I wholeheartedly recommend reading this work. I am due for a re-read myself, albeit with a sense of melancholy, this time. I have always been torn between my awe for the book and doubt about my initial understanding, something I have learned from the author himself. Re-reading it won’t change my life, but it will offer a fresh perspective on this classic.
“It does take great maturity to understand that the opinion we are arguing for is merely the hypothesis we favor, necessarily imperfect, probably transitory, which only very limited minds can declare to be a certainty or a truth.” – Milan Kundera, Encounter
While his fiction was noteworthy, Kundera’s non-fiction was truly astounding. “The Unbearable Lightness” was a masterpiece, but “Testaments Betrayed” outshines it. In this work, he dissects the art of the novel, a concept that nurtured my habit of re-reading novels.
“Unlike the puerile loyalty to a conviction, loyalty to a friend is a virtue— perhaps the only virtue, the last remaining one.” – Milan Kundera, Encounter