/lit/ - Literature

Most of classical literature is useless to read these days, prove me wrong. While some themes of human struggle, pain and passions are universal, most of literature speaks of human behaviour, love and courtship, social relations and regulations, etc. All of the things that are proggresively becoming exctinct as they were known throughout history.

A typical young adult male simply cannot relate to Raskolnikov or other characters. There's no shared experience or social context. How can a person who mostly sits in frontof the computer or on the phone understand a young man that wanted to get married and had a child before they were even 22?

And don't bullshit me about muh literary value, most of books are interesting because they provide insight or universal lessons for life, and those are becoming less valuable by the minute in today's world. Huxley was right, art doesn't matter if its consumers don't have lived experience necessary to relate to it.

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>>21988650
>“Why don’t you let them see Othello instead?”

>“I’ve told you; it’s old. Besides, they couldn’t understand it.”

>Yes, that was true. He remembered how Helmholtz had laughed at Romeo and Juliet. “Well then,” he said, after a pause, “something new that’s like Othello, and that they could understand.“

>“That’s what we’ve all been wanting to write,” said Helmholtz, breaking a long silence.

>“And it’s what you never will write,” said the Controller. “Because, if it were really like Othello nobody could understand it, however new it might be. And if it were new, it couldn’t possibly be like Othello.”

>“Why not?”

>“Yes, why not?” Helmholtz repeated. He too was forgetting the unpleasant realities of the situation.

>“Because our world is not the same as Othello’s world. You can’t make flivvers without steel—and you can’t make tragedies without social instability. The world’s stable now. People are happy; they get what they want, and they never want what they can’t get. They’re well off; they’re safe; they’re never ill; they’re not afraid of death; they’re blissfully ignorant of passion and old age; they’re plagued with no mothers or fathers; they’ve got no wives, or children, or lovers to feel strongly about; they’re so conditioned that they practically can’t help behaving as they ought to behave. And if anything should go wrong, there’s soma. Which you go and chuck out of the window in the name of liberty, Mr. Savage. Liberty!” He laughed. “Expecting Deltas to know what liberty is! And now expecting them to understand Othello! My good boy!”

>The Savage was silent for a little. “All the same,” he insisted obstinately, “Othello’s good, Othello’s better than those feelies.”

>“Of course it is,” the Controller agreed. “But that’s the price we have to pay for stability. You’ve got to choose between happiness and what people used to call high art. We’ve sacrificed the high art. We have the feelies and the scent organ instead.”

>“But they don’t mean anything.”

>“They mean themselves; they mean a lot of agreeable sensations to the audience.”

>“But they’re ... they’re told by an idiot.”

>The Controller laughed. “You’re not being very polite to your friend, Mr. Watson. One of our most distinguished Emotional Engineers ...”

>“But he’s right,” said Helmholtz gloomily. “Because it is idiotic. Writing when there’s nothing to say ...”