“Sir, two comments. The first is that I’ve never been able to get on with my story without some demon or other butting in, and yet yours flows uninterrupted. It’s like life. One man can run through a blackberry hedge without getting scratched, while another, however carefully he places his feet, finds brambles in the middle of the widest road and is skinned alive by the time he gets to wherever he’s going.”
At this current moment, I’m quite vexed about how little Denis Diderot is talked about in our current time. Every time I go to my local bookstores and ask about Diderot, I’m met with a facial expression closely related to the one we all use when we smell something awful. After spelling the name and internally praying that maybe today will be different, I’m met with the same answer, “Sorry, we don’t have anything for *squints at screen* Did-er-OT”. It is at that point that I become jaded, since I know what’s next. Inevitably I will have to order said “Did-er-OT” books from the same online website everyone knows about.
But enough about the process of getting the book, I’m sure you are here to just read my review. That is, if you haven’t already clicked away since this is already presenting itself to be quite long winded. But to that I say, “AH HA!” *looks to the rest of you*, “Now that they are gone…” . Denis Diderot takes readers on the adventure of the– would it be century? I mean it could be, but he wrote it nearly 300 years ago so it would be more like the adventure of the tri-century (doesn’t quite have the same ring to it). Jacques the Fatalist is a story that tells stories about stories. Some are the same and some are different. It is at this point, where I think it would be conventionally appropriate to summarize the book and then provide my personal viewpoints. But this point won’t happen.
To summarize this book and give away all the meaning of it would be illogical. You’re likely saying “What? , it is perfectly logical to summarize and analyze books for the purpose of reviewing. This so-called reviewer seems to be playing a game.”. Well, it’s quite hard to tell you the ending of a story that doesn’t really begin. And YES! I am precisely playing a game. But it is you who is asking me to win the game, transfer the winnings to you at the low cost of free, and– we could debate all day. It’s what I like to do anyway. In the interest of time, and for your sanity, I’ll illustrate an analogy that might adequately represent the sentiment of the book.
Since we were speaking of games (you brought it up!), think of playing pin ball. Before playing the game that won you 1st place on the leaderboard, you look over your shoulder to tell a friend, “Hey watch this! This game I’ll take #1.” Was this because you freely chose just the right moves to win or was it because of a series of causes that got you there? If it was free choice, how did you get to the arcade and what motivated you to go to the arcade? Undoubtedly, your answers will create some causal chain that landed you in the arcade on that day ready to claim victory. But if it is all determined and set up from the beginning, why did you feel joy, and wasn’t it you pressing all the buttons just at the right time? After the experience you go home and tell your family about your glorious victory where your father says, “Nice work” and your mother says, “It was meant to be”. But ultimately, these are just stories, right? And pin ball is just a game, right? Either way, you’re on your way; back to the elusive beginnings and ends.