Why old novels are long, melodramatic and at times depressing
What do you expect when you are reading a novel of an existentialist (Simone de Beauvoir) about the life of intellectuals in Paris in a post-war era? Though I (painfully) recognize most of the questions asked since the story concerns a group of 30+ up to 60 yrs old, sometimes it can get really long, melodramatic and at times depressing. It’s not that I am not enjoying myself, it’s just extremely long and slow.
Maybe I am not immune to the influence of internet, gadgets, apps etc after all, where news should be catchy, short and lack depth.
After all it was not that bad to have no TV, no smart-phone in the old times (hey, the smartphone still had to be invented), it was really my Lumbini period.