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Main Street by Lewis -- Compellingly realistic.
Wow, I am utterly stunned at the sheer feat of characterization in this novel. Carol has to be one of the most well-rounded individuals I've ever read and so stunningly and strikingly relatable despite the novel being written 100+ years ago. The tale of an ordinary dreamy girl with unrealistic aspirations and innate characteristics that seem to do more harm than good and her struggle of finding herself in the midst of family, community, environment, and the crisis of never having known herself at all. That's what's going on in the broader sense but Lewis' way of weaving in the social context and touching on the philosophy of being and the paradoxes that we subject ourselves to and the resolutions that we find within ourselves that only really allow us to continue, to persevere, to be at peace in the face of no real, tangible change in situation is sickening. Through everything, I could agree that this was a romance and a coming of age book but written in a way that shows that there are no winners, there is no sure path, there may not be a way to wholly reconcile the life you lead with your morals and philosophy and, yet, you will find a way. The subtle inevitability of this concept Lewis paints is almost daunting, there's something sinister about it; there is something disquieting about us wanting to be different from what we are and making things difficult to interest ourselves, whether consciously or not, and then adopting an outlook to make peace with that. And there is no value in this change of outlook besides the one we give it, life mostly doesn't change, but the recognition of that daily struggle (to reconcile the difference) as monotonously tedious and ordinary and necessary for the self can allow one to--continue.
The critique of the small town is interesting but, in the later chapters, I find that he says the same of elsewhere. The problems she finds in GP are more a reflection of the people and society--the same people and society you can find everywhere just under a lens. It was a great avenue for thinking about a person in relation to her surroundings and situation--who is Carol on her own without a city's distractions and the sheer mass of persons to hide behind...

Anna of the Five Towns by Bennett -- Best in totality, best in retrospection, best in hindsight. Another victim of a somewhat overly flowery style but that becomes part of its charm. The religious throughline and how that gets woven into the passive everyday thoughts of Anna is so good, and this portrait of her small, constricted life literally blooms with every enlargement of the scope and world in which she inhabits. It's perfect for anyone with a religious upbringing who lived under that very specific patriarchal hierarchy.

A Happy Death by Camus -- Reads like a young Camus ought to, slightly overly wordy but the story is great and the themes are interesting. I don't think I've ever read something about 'a happy death' and figuring out the ideal life but from a somewhat passive/absurd pov. It's definitely 'male absurdist, kinda depressed' so I don't take it exactly as it comes but it was a beautiful, captivating read.

The Possessed by Dostoevsky -- His worst work in my honest opinion, with an entirely frivolous writing style and equally absurd and vacuous characters but, after a while, I couldn't help but come to care for them even with how plotless and arbitrary everything felt (not in a good way :/). The ending was seriously interesting though and I will continue to think about it on and off for a while.

Factotum by Bukowski -- Definitively vulgar & grim and exemplary of a particular time in 20th century American literature.

Metamorphosis by Kafka -- A candid portrayal of the inherent disgust in responsibility and the complicated desire for freedom.

I can't remember exactly what I was going through at the time but I was in a distinctly Kafka-esque mood thus the perfect time to pick up this classic. An extremely relatable and, again, candid read, it was fun to exacerbate my own circumstances and fit them into the picture that Kafka paints here. I understood Gregor as his miserable yet hopeful and kind self and it was interesting to think about how that laid the foundation for the disgust he felt in himself for not being able to provide better for his family while simultaneously feeling guilty about not wanting to have the burden in the first place. These responsibilities were thrust upon him and although there were some good sides to it (his love for his family being reflected in what he was able to do for them, in how much he could sacrifice for, say, his sister by sending her to the conservatory), those positives ultimately added to the guilt and subsequent disgust with himself. I take the transformation to be Kafka's method of forcing that inward disgust out into the open and forcing us to think about what it feels like to have those vulnerabilities out in the open. At first, I fully thought that the other people couldn't see the roach exterior (thanks to all the Metamorphosis memes I've seen in my day) but it's a sad, bitter, and still somehow hopeful look at exposing hidden vulnerabilities. Through Gregor's final sacrifice is his family able to realize their own ability an dachieve what Gregor had set out to do for them; through Gregor's final sacrifice is Gregor able to achieve what he set out to do and end his pain in one fell swoop. Everyone loses Gregor in the end (although Gregor's loss of himself is gradual and torturous, wrapped up in hi sunderstanding of what his family thinks of him throughout it all) and Gregor doesn't get to live on in his successes although they fulfill themselves nonetheless.
To wrap, I love the totalizing misery in this because of that touch of beauty, of hope, lightness. Inherent within the madness that is the transformation into obsession over your deepest horrors and vulnerabilities is a knowledge of the end and a wish that what you were able to start any amount of work on continues without you.

Dead Souls by Gogol -- An unfortunate victim of perfectionism.

I could see the bones of it--how it's about the journey to gain wealth on the backs of the true, hard-working Russian, those not touched by the vague idea of Europeanism. It's not even being mean or bitter in that claim, sure those individuals are fools who have had everything handed to them their entire lives but there's the notion that, with proper discipline, even that Russian can cultivate their understanding of the land and become a good leader for the lower classes (because they need the direction--Gogal asks, how can the peasants need education when education is what turned the noble class into the fools they've become?). Yet, this is all pretty regular stuff. That's the basic message for every great Russian classic which is interesting and I understand that Russian confusion surrounding some idea of a European identity is a major part of its history. Still, that's the less interesting part of Dead Souls and what I enjoyed the most is that central allegory of buying up souls in order to gain land and be respected amongst the landed gentry; it's so obvious but treated so seriously and I am always a fan of that. This idea that owning peasants isn't what really matters to the government or in society, rather it's the facade of it all, the ability to completely fool others into believing that you are an aristocrat. Deeper than even that, it speaks to the importance of performance and manipulation as the essential, truly valuable skills in upward mobility (similar to modern media such as Talented Mr. Ripley) and Gogol was absolutely masterful in portraying that in the dialogue and inward thoughts of the main character while also keeping him genuine and relatable. Maybe the audience for this is the richer, more well-educated but I still think it might've been meant as a wake-up call to the folly inherent in their education and a wish for the kinder, more nostalgic parts of Russian culture. I absolutely loved its beautiful prose about the actual land and about the moments in Russian culture such as the times when there was a guest for dinner and they're still there afterwards, musing with you in the middle of the night with a cigar and a bottle of kvass. It reads spectacularly and my only wish is that it was completed because there's so much there and it would've been interesting to see which ending specifically Gogol would've chosen.

And thus ends my russian lit kick...for now lol, I still need to read Oblomov but I have no other classic russian lit books on my list as a priority and actually just made a book order for 1 absurdist book, 1 american drama book, and 1 of Nietzsche's most popular books. I have Metamorphosis in my collection right now so I'm reading that slowly while I wait.