Silence Is Not The Way

As I was heading out to meet Deb and David last Saturday, I was drawn in to (completely against my will, off course) one of Helsinki's many antiquarians to rummage around a while in their philosophy shelf. Ended up with a Swedish version of Sartre's Nausea and Simone de Beauvoir's Adieux. I never, and I repeat; never, put a book down before I've finished to start reading another one, but that evening I found myself well into Nausea even though I haven't even read through the first chapter of Auster's Book of Illusions. Strange indeed.

I love the book, though. Sartre writes about depression triggered anxiety in a way so tangible you can almost feel it on your skin. Although I have never experienced the extreme distance at which the main character finds himself from his surroundings and the physical distress caused by it, I recognize the idea of how I am with relationships sometimes. Daily life can just sometimes seem so far away from where you are mentally it almost disgusts you. Even the people you know and love can be so estranged, so contaminated by the "otherness" of everything.

What is undeniably good about Nausea is how its qualities as a novel does not suffer from its authors philosophical musings. And, it has got me sidetracked. The last time I was dragged off by a work of philosophy it took me halfway through a degree in comparative religion - and wouldn't you know it - Sartre has put me back on track. My enrollment at UiO is still valid, and yesterday I was lured back in by their tempting course plan and am once again a registered student. Bless my soul.

One of the saddest thing that I ever saw (was smokers outside the hospital doors) was the deaf wing of the Gaustad mental hospital in Norway. The hospital is located in a beautiful, old red brick factory-like complex north of the city centre, where vines cling to the walls and you just want to lay in the grass and watch the clouds. Why does a mental hospital have an own deaf wing? I understand that they will need a different type of care, but this place is huge. Do depressed people hurt themselves and go deaf, or are people separated from others by lack of hearing more prone to depression? I won't try to figure this out as I am not at all qualified to do so, but the thought breaks my heart. If you go to Oslo, you should visit.