mass market paperback, 224 pages
English language
Published March 1, 1984 by Bantam.
Until he was thirty-two, Charlie Gordon --gentle, amiable, oddly engaging-- had lived in a kind of mental twilight. He knew knowledge was important and had learned to read and write after a fashion, but he also knew he wasn't nearly as bright as most of the people around him. There was even a white mouse named Algernon who outpaced Charlie in some ways. But a remarkable operation had been performed on Algernon, and now he was a genius among mice. Suppose Charlie underwent a similar operation... ([source][1])
This was part of my middle school curriculum. I initially read it in seventh grade and a few times later in my early teens. This is one of the few books that I have a full memory of. It haunted me. It still does. Is it better to have something and lose it or never have it at all?
Poignant, sad, and deeply insightful
I had been assigned a watered-down adaptation of this in Junior High, so I went into this with some knowledge of what the general arc would be. What I didn't expect is that I would be reading until the sun came up, bawling my eyes out, absolutely shaken.
From the very first page, I liked Charlie Gordon. He comes across as innocent and sweet, with good intentions and a very one-dimensional frame of reference to the world. There's a few moments where people ask Charlie things that made me chuckle, like his initial confusion at the Rorschach test, but his attitude is strangely endearing.
The prose in this book is phenomenal. The gradual narrative shift from crude writing to eloquent philosophical insight is kind of an amazing writing trick, and the development of Charlie's awareness is hypnotic to watch.
In a way, I was kind …
Poignant, sad, and deeply insightful
I had been assigned a watered-down adaptation of this in Junior High, so I went into this with some knowledge of what the general arc would be. What I didn't expect is that I would be reading until the sun came up, bawling my eyes out, absolutely shaken.
From the very first page, I liked Charlie Gordon. He comes across as innocent and sweet, with good intentions and a very one-dimensional frame of reference to the world. There's a few moments where people ask Charlie things that made me chuckle, like his initial confusion at the Rorschach test, but his attitude is strangely endearing.
The prose in this book is phenomenal. The gradual narrative shift from crude writing to eloquent philosophical insight is kind of an amazing writing trick, and the development of Charlie's awareness is hypnotic to watch.
In a way, I was kind of reminded of the story of Faust, where a man tries to use his seemingly unlimited knowledge to get out of an inevitable outcome. I'd argue that Charlie is a far more sympathetic character, but watching his mind develop and deteriorate, along with his strained efforts to work against time, made for one hell of a roller coaster.
Beautiful, beautiful story. I haven't cried like that in a while.
Having read the synopsis, I knew this book could potentially be quite sad. I don't do sad. Not in books, not in movies, not in any medium. However, the premise was so intriguing I had to give it a chance anyway. (I've somehow avoided seeing any of the cinematic versions.) I'm really glad I did. It did turn out to be sad, but totally worth it. Something I especially enjoyed was the accuracy with which the psychology was presented. Since this book came out in the 60s, I had guessed that it might espouse full on behaviorism, or worse, psychoanalysis. After all, I still see Freudian terminology bandied about today, as if the approach wasn't decrepit and discredited. It's not an uncommon theme in fiction, either. Fortunately, it turns out Daniel Keyes is a psychologist himself.
For my obligatory nitpick, I'll choose to point out that a few techniques in …
Having read the synopsis, I knew this book could potentially be quite sad. I don't do sad. Not in books, not in movies, not in any medium. However, the premise was so intriguing I had to give it a chance anyway. (I've somehow avoided seeing any of the cinematic versions.) I'm really glad I did. It did turn out to be sad, but totally worth it. Something I especially enjoyed was the accuracy with which the psychology was presented. Since this book came out in the 60s, I had guessed that it might espouse full on behaviorism, or worse, psychoanalysis. After all, I still see Freudian terminology bandied about today, as if the approach wasn't decrepit and discredited. It's not an uncommon theme in fiction, either. Fortunately, it turns out Daniel Keyes is a psychologist himself.
For my obligatory nitpick, I'll choose to point out that a few techniques in the book actually have been scrapped today. The author's masterful approach here leaves me nothing but these technicalities to criticize. Everything is spot on for it's time, of course, but a few things haven't aged well (IE the Rorschach test).
