book reviews
Book reviews by and for those seeking to understand the human mind for all its strengths, quirks and shortcomings.
The Sewing Box
The box had been there for years — untouched, unspoken, and always in the same corner of Nana’s old attic. Covered in lace that had long since yellowed, it waited like a quiet witness. When Nana passed away that winter, I returned home after seven years to settle her affairs — not entirely ready for what I would find.
By Arshad khan6 months ago in Psyche
INTP Mircea Cărtărescu's BLINDING (vol. 2): the body (translated from Romanian)
I no longer truly experience anything, even though I live with an intensity that simple sensations couldn't possibly convey. Even when I open my eyes, I still cannot see. To no avail, I linger rigid in front of my oval window, chasing echoes that slip away. As if my being extends beyond ordinary senses to myriad ways of knowing--each unique, each responsive to different stimuli: one sensitive only to my coffee cup's form, another receptive exclusively to the pattern of last night's dreaming. Another attuned to that terrifying whisper in my ears, heard distinctly a few years ago, as I was sitting, in a ragged pajama, with the soles of my feet on the radiator, in my room on Ștefan cel Mare Boulevard. I no longer register modifications of light, variations in the pitches of sound, the chemical composition of the carnation and the kitchen dishwater, but whole scenes swallowed instantly by a virtual sense, opened on the spot in the center of my mind solely for that glassy and transient scene like a wave of water, reacting with it, altering it, flattening it, invading it like an amoeba and forming together another reality, primordial and immediate, illuminated by desire and made obscure by peculiarity. It is as though it were the case that everything that happens to me, in order for it to be able to come to pass for me, surely it is something that must have happened to me already, as if all of it already exists inside me, but not fully formed or complete: rather, dormant, in shriveled little layers, rudimentary, coiled tightly within each other, somewhere in the brain's structures--but also in the glands, in the organs, in my twilight, and in my ruined houses--all waiting for confirmation and nourishment from the modulated flame of existence, which itself remains unfulfilled and embryonic. I no longer feel except what I have already felt once, I can no longer dream except dreams already dreamed. I open my eyes, although not to perceive color or contour--for light no longer refracts into corpuscles to traverse my crystalline lens and the translucent layers of my retina, no longer produces rhodopsin in my cone-shaped cells; instead, whole images manifest fully formed, sculpted directly in rhodopsin, and accompanied as if by an aura of sound's fringes and delicate strands of tastes and aromas, alternating icy cold and searing heat, of suffering and compassion, of a head turning to the right--an action simultaneously verified and questioned by my inner ear's cochlear knowledge. Entire neighborhoods materialize, each bearing their own time, their own space, and their own emotional weather, and especially their own degree of reality--because they can be actual or dreamed, or imagined, or transmitted via the ineffable filaments that connect our lives to those who came before us--lips and genitals arrive, and streetcars sliding along iron tracks during winters with filthy snow, my mother comes once in a while to bring me food, sometimes Herman comes. I wouldn't be able to understand any of this if it weren't being reconfigured, in another way, in my internal landscape (my world), if it weren't opening the ocular buds from there, unless I whispered to myself every moment: "I have experienced this before, I have already been in this place," just as you cannot perceive light if light hasn't already existed in the back of your mind's experience, cultivating the faculty for light within you. Hence, my life is but a life already lived, and my book one already written--for the past encompasses all, while the future is but a void.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR7 months ago in Psyche
The Soul of Raskolnikov as a Mirror of Human Contradiction
Over 150 years ago, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky published one of the best-known works of Russian literature: Crime and Punishment. First serialised in a literary magazine in 1866, the novel tells the story of Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, a young law student in Saint Petersburg. Since then, readers have repeatedly returned to its central, haunting questions: What drives someone to kill in cold blood? What goes through the mind of a murderer? And what kind of society breeds such individuals? These questions have remained controversial and unanswered for generations, ever since humans began to explore philosophy, logic, and psychology.
By Sergios Saropoulos8 months ago in Psyche
Why You Sometimes Cry for No Reason—The Brain-Heart Connection Explained
There are moments when it just hits you. A random wave of sadness. Tears welling up with no warning. No big event. No tragedy. Just emotion, raw and overwhelming, rising out of nowhere. And you wonder, Why am I crying? What’s wrong with me? But what if nothing’s wrong at all? What if your tears are not a mental glitch but a message—from your heart to your brain?
By Noman Khan 8 months ago in Psyche
"The Gentle Path to Healing"
It sounds like you've shared a really thoughtful piece about healing and self-care. Here are a few ways to reword it, focusing on slightly different angles: Option 1 (Focus on the Turning Point): > Her presence was a turning point. She didn't judge or try to solve my problems; she simply offered support when I needed it most. Shortly after, I started therapy, which felt daunting at first. Expressing my inner turmoil was a challenge, but with consistent effort, I began to understand myself better. Healing wasn't a quick fix, but reaching out for help was the crucial first step in rediscovering my true self. > > Learning to set boundaries became an act of self-love. I used to say "yes" to everything, fearing I'd disappoint others or appear difficult. I mistakenly believed I was being helpful, but in reality, I was neglecting my own needs. Each time I agreed to something that didn't align with my well-being, I was denying myself the chance to nurture my own happiness. Saying "no" wasn't about becoming cold; it was about valuing my own capacity and limits. Surprisingly, establishing these boundaries didn't disrupt things – instead, it felt like an act of self-care. > > The path to healing isn't a straight line. Some days bring lightness and hope, while others feel heavy with old stresses. I used to think feeling down meant I was failing, that healing was a final destination. But the truth is, healing is a winding, uneven journey with forward steps, backward steps, and sideways moments. The important thing is to keep returning to yourself, to keep making choices that support your healing, even when it feels impossible. Now, when darkness returns, I can meet it with calm and acceptance, knowing it's part of the process. > > In conclusion, remember that whatever you're facing, you are not broken – you are human. It's perfectly okay to step back, rest, or seek support. It takes courage to acknowledge your limits and ask for help. Sometimes, our lowest points can lead to profound personal growth, as they did for me. When I felt like I had hit rock bottom, I was actually beginning a slower, more authentic life, one I can finally be proud of. As you navigate your own journey, remember that the light will return. It comes in moments, big and small, reminding you that you are here, and that you matter. > Option 2 (Focus on Self-Compassion): > The simple presence of a supportive person, who offered understanding without judgment, encouraged me to seek therapy soon after. Initially, therapy felt intimidating, as I struggled to articulate my inner world. However, with time and persistence, I began to gain clarity about my experiences. Healing wasn't instantaneous; it was the act of asking for help that initiated my journey back to my authentic self. > > Learning to establish boundaries became an essential act of self-compassion. My tendency to always say "yes" stemmed from a fear of disappointing others or appearing selfish. I mistakenly believed I was doing the right thing by agreeing to everything, even when it conflicted with my own needs. In reality, I was betraying myself. Each time I overextended myself, I was denying myself the opportunity to nurture my own well-being and happiness. Saying "no" wasn't about becoming unkind; it was about recognizing and honoring my own limits. I was surprised to find that setting boundaries didn't create chaos; instead, it felt like a profound act of self-love. > > The journey of healing is rarely linear. There will be days filled with lightness and hope, and others when old feelings resurface. I used to interpret these low points as setbacks, believing that healing meant reaching a permanent state of well-being. However, healing is a fluid process, characterized by progress that isn't always consistent. There will be forward steps, backward steps, and detours. The crucial element is to continually return to yourself, to keep making choices that support your healing, even when it feels incredibly challenging. Now, when difficult feelings arise, I can approach them with a sense of calm, allowing myself to feel them and remembering that they are a natural part of the journey. > > Ultimately, please remember that whatever you are experiencing, you are not flawed; you are human. It is perfectly acceptable to need to withdraw, take a break, or seek support. It requires courage to acknowledge your limits and ask for help. Often, our most challenging moments can pave the way for significant personal transformation, as they did for me. When I felt like I had lost everything, I was actually beginning to embrace a more intentional and genuine way of living, a life I now value deeply. As you navigate your own path, hold onto the understanding that the light will return. It finds you in moments, both big and small, reminding you of your presence. You are here, and that is significant. > Option 3 (More Concise): > Her non-judgmental support led me to therapy, which was initially scary as I didn't know how to express myself. Over time, I began to understand my inner world. Healing wasn't immediate; asking for help was the start of my journey back to myself. > > Setting boundaries became an act of self-love. My "yes-saying" came from a fear of disappointing others, but it was a betrayal of my own needs. Saying "no" wasn't cold; it was valuing my limits and surprisingly kept things running smoothly. > > Healing isn't linear, with good days and bad days. I used to think feeling low was a failure, but healing is an uneven process. The key is to keep returning to yourself and making choices that aid healing, even when it's hard. Now, I meet darkness with calm, knowing it's part of the journey. > > Remember, you're not broken, just human. Needing breaks or support is normal and takes courage. Breakdowns can lead to growth, as mine did. When I felt I'd lost everything, I began a slower, more real life I'm proud of. Know that the light returns in moments, big and small, reminding you that you are here and that you matter. > Let me know if you'd like me to try rephrasing it in a different way or focusing on a specific aspect!
By Nasir Khan8 months ago in Psyche
Brainwashed by Algorithms
Imagine opening your phone just to check one quick message—and suddenly, you're 47 minutes deep into scrolling TikTok, comparing vacuum reviews on YouTube, and debating whether that $300 infrared sauna blanket on Instagram is the secret to your new self. You didn’t plan that. But the apps did.
By Noman Khan 8 months ago in Psyche
A Journey into the Human Mind
Wow, the world’s basically a circus these days—memes flying, phones buzzing nonstop. Somehow, Max carved out a tiny oasis inside his own noggin. This dude, he’s not exactly a rock star. Just a low-key psych student, glued to his mountain of books, trying to figure out what makes people tick. Honestly, he spent more time staring into the abyss of the human mind than going to parties. But he always felt like he was peeping through a window at his own brain, wondering what weirdness was lurking beneath. So, he whips out a journal—nothing fancy, just some battered notebook—and starts scribbling.
By Cotheeka Srijon8 months ago in Psyche
Me and My Anxiety
I don’t remember the first time anxiety showed up. It wasn’t like some dramatic movie scene where the world tilts, and suddenly, everything changes. It was more like a whisper. A knot in my stomach before school. A restless night before a simple conversation. A racing heart for reasons I couldn’t name.
By THE STORY ROOM8 months ago in Psyche
Why Do People Like Music?
The Enduring Allure of Music: A Universal Language Music, an art form as ancient as humanity itself, transcends borders, languages, and eras to unite people in a shared experience of joy, sorrow, and connection. From the gentle lullabies soothing infants to the vibrant anthems echoing through stadiums, music weaves itself into the fabric of human existence. Its profound impact stems from a remarkable interplay of science, psychology, culture, and emotion, making it one of the most cherished forms of expression. But what is it about music that captivates us so deeply? The answer lies in its multifaceted ability to engage the mind, stir the heart, and foster unity.
By MAROOF KHAN8 months ago in Psyche
