Well. I am back with my words. Novel is brilliant, but it does never attain that supremacy in words, as the ideas it coveys. Much can be read between the lines. The ideas and their connotations are much superior to the happenings endlessly going on and on. The 500 pages could have gone far beyond to 1000. “Waiting for Godot”(A play) by Samuel Backett was something similar. But the novel practically fails in invoking the very same power in the emotional turbulence, with the reason simply being its too lengthy for its readers to keep up the pace. You tend to loose the track of it, if you just don’t gulp it down the throat in one sitting. There can not be a second sitting for it. Unfortunately..I couldn’t afford that eminence in labor of going through this binding and shirking novel in one sitting.
I would restate: The meaninglessness that plays on it is amazingly stupendous. With high soaring meaningless thoughts running across the heads of Yossarian and Clevinger are probably the most understandably associative to the thoughts that might have had infested the minds of then society.
Remember the lines ?
'That’s nothing to be ashamed of,' Major Major counseled him kindly. 'We’re all afraid.'
'I’m not ashamed,’ Yossarian said. ‘I’m just afraid.'"
It shows a shared feeling of loss and hopelessness shrouded in every action. What might happen next can go unpredictably hapless with utter lack of support by anything one can see around. The men have already lost their brains with the war, nature is just to be pitied with the destruction going on. There is a lack of sense. And the outburst is in Yossarian’s word in next 100 pages where he says “How can he live and I have to die? or Damn the thing how can I live and he has to die? “ Loss surround.
A brilliant novel if somebody really wants to delve the inner workings of psychology. And a useful penny for the thought of warring nations.