Tag Archives: Misery

Miss Disdain

I met a girl whose smirk was fire
when on the edge of thirteen.
I'd been a boy unblemished by desire
before she burned her brand on me.

Her disdain drove me to distraction.
Her antipathy struck me as wise.
She taught joy brings no satisfaction
and contempt is Love's favorite disguise.

Miss Disdain grew up and multiplied, 
and I have delighted in each Fury's spite.
Knowing all the flaws that I hide
their indifference can only be right.

She was the alpha of all cruel passions
whose touch would make lesser men wince
and in various forms and fashions
I've chased Miss Disdain ever since.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

High Fidelity – Music and Misery

Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity is narrated by Rob, a list maker whose love for music made him think it would be a good idea to purchase a failing record store. That’s the least of his troubles. He can’t commit to anything, which frustrates his girlfriend, Laura, so much she leaves him, though it would be more correct to say he drove her away. Recounting his other break-ups, he wonders “What came first – the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music?”

He believes he’s a decently average guy, but he’s a man-child who believes a lot of stupid things. Proof no.1: he thinks “it’s no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently, or if your favorite films wouldn’t even speak to each other if they met at a party.” Proof no. 2: he’s concerned that it’s not “possible to maintain a relationship and a large record collection simultaneously.” But the stupidest thing he believes is that he’s a decently average guy. He’s just a selfishly average guy, and that’s hard to like – though oddly women do seem to like him. It strains credulity, but here we are: expected to care whether Rob succeeds in winning Laura back. It’s a big ask, because Laura clearly should keep running.

Here’s the problem. Rob’s self-inflicted wounds and failures to launch would be more understandable and relatable if he was 25, but he’s 35. Gradually, he realizes that “it’s not what you like, but what you’re like that’s important.” Why did it take him 35 years (no, I’m sorry, he’s now 36) to reach this rather prosaic conclusion? Why is he stunted? Do we care? Why is this book 323 pages long? Haven’t these issues been examined ad nauseam for 100 years at least?

Granted, the story was published in 1995, and it’s set in the mid-1990s when slackers were as cool and interesting as they were ever going to be. But they’re rather dated and stale now. They don’t hold up 25 years later. We still have self-absorbed and selfish people, and they’re still annoying and exhausting; we just give them a different label. Here’s one: uninteresting. Rob’s journey towards self-discovery is funny at times. He does have excellent taste in music and books. But it’s a long journey, and the path has been traveled many times before and since.

Gladiola Overdrive, Chief Editor