snow

i have just completed 'snow'. it took me months to read it all. months. harry potter was a one night affair, but the nobel-prize-winning-contoversy-stirring-pamuk book was a never-ending fiasco.
and now i'm not satisfied. it spread civilized desolation. not apocalyptic post-nuclear warfare desolation, just the desolation of the human soul. it predicts bleakness where there is none, yet. and where there is still no bleakness, it can still be prevented. in my opinion. maybe i'm the romantic optimist anti-passivist.
it reminded me of another snowy, or rather, icy book, that we had to read in school.
"one day in the life of ivan denisovitch" about a concentration camp in siberia. the entire book spanned one day and you read about the piece of bread that slithered its way down ivan's throat. in 'snow' you read about people's thoughts and their non-actions. what puzzled me was that almost everyone could read everybody else's thoughts too, but they still acted the way the writer told you they were going to act. maybe i have a problem with the whole chechov-ian school, maybe i just want to read a prized novel that will also give me pleasure. lasting pleasure. hope? why not. real life displays so many excerpts of pessimistic nihilism and indifference, but since it's real, there's no end yet, and when there's no end, there's hope.
this may sound counter-intuitive, but sometimes i wish literature actually emulated real life.