Thanks to Jakob who marked it as to-read, I found this brilliant book of bewilderment, but since Jakob was recommended it by someone else, I guess I have to thank them as well. The only problem is that I don't know that person, so I have no other choice but to thank Jakob twice!
Poison for Breakfast is a philosophical, whimsical novel written by Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler). The story follows the narrator, who discovers a note claiming he was poisoned at breakfast.
"It won’t be necessary for you to remember what I had for breakfast, because I will keep mentioning it, but it was:
Tea
with honey,
a piece of toast
with cheese,
one sliced pear,
and an egg perfectly prepared,"
And thus the investigation begins.
We are taken on a leisurely journey to trace the origins of Snicket's meal. Along the way, we are treated to hilarious and deeply unsettling digressions on everything from supermarkets and libraries to ancient Greek philosophy.
"Here at So-and-so Market, the wall began, our primary concern is your happiness, and the phrase “primary concern” was a creepy way of saying that it is the thing the market or wall is thinking about most. Happiness, in my experience, is like a bowl of bananas, because if you pay too much attention, it gets gobbled away, but if you forget all about it, either a robber steals it or it ends up rotten mush. It can be tricky to keep one’s happiness intact, and the interference of a supermarket strikes me as only making things trickier. The sentences Our primary concern is that our food is not spoiled or Our primary concern is that the floors aren’t so slippery you will fall and break your leg or Our primary concern is that none of our bread has been poisoned, I thought, would be more welcoming. We’re here for you 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, the wall continued, and this struck me as alarming, because I didn’t want a supermarket thinking about me much more often than I thought about the supermarket. The supermarket should be thinking about the delivery schedules of its trucks full of turnips and noodles and duck, I thought, and whether the back door has been propped open to admit poisoners, instead of thinking about me, particularly late at night when I might be tucked into bed telling myself that of course there are no grocers peeking at me through the curtains."
A central theme is bewilderment, with Snicket asserting that none of us truly know anything, making writing an attempt to create truth and meaning in a confusing world.
"This book is about bewilderment, a word which here means “the feeling of being bewildered,” and “bewildered” is a word which here means “you don’t have any idea what is happening,” and “you” is a word which doesn’t just mean you. It means everyone. You have no idea what is happening, and nobody you know has any idea what is happening, and of course there are all the people you don’t know, which is most of the people in the world, and they don’t know what is happening either, and of course I don’t know what is happening or I wouldn’t have eaten poison for breakfast."
The novel directly confronts death by having Snicket repeatedly state, "she (or he or they) is dead now" after telling charming stories of people he once knew, emphasizing the inevitability of mortality.
The story is a philosophical treatise on life's big questions, urging readers to confront their lack of knowledge and find hope in continuing the journey.
"Philosophy has been called the pursuit of truth and wisdom, and “pursuit” is a word which refers to chasing after something, but of course you do not chase after truth and wisdom the way you chase after a tennis ball rolling down the driveway or an executive who has stolen your hat. The pursuit of truth and wisdom instead requires asking questions, and this part of the book asks one of the most famous and most difficult philosophical questions. ...You have likely heard the question yourself, although perhaps no one told you it was philosophical. The question is, “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”"
Poison for Breakfast is not a book for those who enjoy having a point brought to them quickly and without fuss. It is for those who enjoy watching a person contemplate their demise while simultaneously explaining how eggs should be prepared. It is for those who find a certain comfort in the absurd.
"The first way eggs can be prepared, and the most popular, is scrambled. “Scrambled eggs” is a phrase which here means “eggs taken out of their shell, mixed up, and cooked in a pan,” and the trick with scrambled eggs is never to eat them. Scrambled eggs are unreliable, a word which here means that you never know what scrambled eggs will be like, whether you make them yourself or convince someone else to make them for you. Scrambled eggs can be runny, a word as disgusting to read as it is to experience, or lumpy, as if they have been punched by a hammer or some deranged person. Scrambled eggs cool down very quickly, so they can be cold, and once you have eaten a bite of cold scrambled eggs it can take you a year to recover, but scrambled eggs also burn easily, so you may find something in your mouth that feels like the blazing sole of an old shoe. Scrambled eggs can make more than one of these mistakes, or even all at once, and the world knows this, which is why scrambled eggs often have other, more reliable things in them, such as cheese or tomatoes or oysters or onions, so that scrambled eggs become much more delicious dishes, like covering up your ugly underwear with a handsome pair of slacks, all because scrambled eggs are so dangerously unreliable.
The second way eggs can be prepared is fried, and the trick to fried eggs is to remember the words of a great composer. The composer I am thinking of wrote music that is very slow and quiet, and once when asked about his method of composing music, he replied that he never moved the notes around. “Not even a little bit?” he was asked, and he said no, not even a little bit. I do not know what this means, not even a little bit, but to make fried eggs, put a little butter in a pan and place the pan on something very hot, such as a flame. When the butter melts, crack an egg open and dump the insides in, tossing the shell someplace else. Then, remembering the composer’s bewildering words, do not move it around, not even a little bit. Cook the egg until the white part stops looking gleamy but the yellow part is still bright and sunny. Some people like to flip the egg over at this point, presumably because they prefer eating something that looks speckled and
greasy instead of something that looks like a sunrise. Do not trust these people. If they were composers, they would probably move the notes around.
The third way eggs can be prepared is poached, a word which here means “simmered and delicious,” and the trick to poaching eggs is to add a bit of vinegar to the water. Vinegar is a strong-smelling liquid which has a magical effect on a poached egg. To experience this magic, boil water in a small pot and then add a bit of vinegar. Then, crack an egg into a small cup, and, using a spoon, create a sort of whirlpool in the boiling water where the egg will go. The water cooks the egg and the vinegar makes it fluffy, so that eating a poached egg is like having a moon, shrouded in clouds, for one’s breakfast. One of the truest things I know is that if you do not like a poached egg, there is something wrong with you.
The fourth way eggs can be prepared is baked, and the trick to baked eggs is that you must burn your fingers. If you are a concert pianist or just enjoy pointing at people, you should have your baked eggs prepared by others, so that your fingers remain attractive and useful. The rest of us should turn on an oven to a high temperature and read a few pages of a book until the oven has heated itself up. Then, an egg can be emptied into a ramekin, a word which sounds like a nickname for your favorite sheep but is actually a small ceramic container which gets very hot in an oven. This is what you will burn your fingers on. Place the ramekin in the oven until the egg looks like something you want to eat. Turn off the oven and remove the ramekin, burning your fingers while you do so even if you are wearing an oven mitt. Eat your baked egg while crying and nursing your fingers, knowing that it happens to anyone who prepares a baked egg. There is no trick to stop yourself from burning your fingers, only the trick of telling yourself that this terrible thing will certainly happen from time to time.
The last way eggs can be prepared is boiled, and the trick to preparing a boiled egg is to remember that you will die. Boil water in a pot, and this is the world. Put an egg in the pot, and this is you. Prick it with a pin first, but do not worry, because the egg will not remember this, just as you do not remember your life before you were in the world. The hole made by the pin keeps the egg from cracking under pressure, which some eggs—and some people—occasionally do.
Once the egg is in the pot of boiling water, you must watch over it holding a slotted spoon. You are the figure of Death. The egg does not know how long it will be in the world, before the great spoon of Death will lift it away. Perhaps it will be a long time, because someone wants a hard-boiled egg, which is good at a picnic or to startle someone by tossing it at them. Or perhaps it will be a short time, three minutes perhaps, and enjoyed in an egg cup, a phrase for a cup which holds an egg."
All in all, Poison for Breakfast is a delightful, witty, and philosophical book that may cause laughter, sighs, and possibly lead to a reconsideration of breakfast choices. A brisk, straightforward plot is not present. Bewilderment may ensue.