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It may seem difficult to believe, but until yesterday, I had never before read Felix Salten's novel, Bambi: A Life in the Woods.
I was going to write about it at some length, but I think can sum up my thoughts fairly succinctly.
My most personal overall impression was that I have much more in common with Bambi than I ever imagined.
Reduced to its essence, the novel is about learning to accept the inevitability of living alone, growing old alone, and, ultimately, dying alone.
Love is also a recurring theme. First, maternal love, then courtship, then (surprisingly, at least to me) paternal love.
It was actually the death of Bambi's father, not his mother, that touched me most deeply. It was the only moment during my reading of the book that I wept openly.
Fittingly, there was no happy ending. There is a sense of continuance, but no resolution.
Only one thing remains certain in the end.
From now until the hour of our death, we will always be alone.
I was going to write about it at some length, but I think can sum up my thoughts fairly succinctly.
My most personal overall impression was that I have much more in common with Bambi than I ever imagined.
Reduced to its essence, the novel is about learning to accept the inevitability of living alone, growing old alone, and, ultimately, dying alone.
Love is also a recurring theme. First, maternal love, then courtship, then (surprisingly, at least to me) paternal love.
It was actually the death of Bambi's father, not his mother, that touched me most deeply. It was the only moment during my reading of the book that I wept openly.
Fittingly, there was no happy ending. There is a sense of continuance, but no resolution.
Only one thing remains certain in the end.
From now until the hour of our death, we will always be alone.
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