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"To the Singing Of Birds" is OUT OF TIME!
Professional writer sits down to his work with the dream of worldwide recognition. A truly ingenious book flows from the pen of someone who makes no claim to be a writer at all. Yet such is the mastery of their subject and originality of thought that the result is a minor masterpiece. The ‘The Singing of Birds’ is such a book. Oleg Krishtal is a world-famous neurophysiologist, one of the few who has gained the reputation as one of the all-time greats in his own lifetime. His collection of novel-essays "Singing of Birds" illustrates the imperfections, shortcomings, twists and turns of the human mind described with a combination of postmodern irony, anecdotes, humor, sadness, and his view ofthe human individual’s thirst for life, the real meaning of whichhas yet to be found. Life is a way of finding oneself and it is often an uncertain and sometimes painful process. A groping through darkness. Yet a very few have been able to tap into the power of the unconscious mind – which we all have - and fly to unimaginable heights. The people we refer to as ‘a genius’. This ability the author refers to as ‘talking in a Metalanguage’ It is an art given to very few. "To the Singing of Birds" is a unique take on the phenomenon of genius. Prepare for a journey of revelations...
Oleg Krishtal about his book "To The Singing Of Birds"
"For a long time I had not written anything but scientific articles on certain details of the physical arrangement of the brain. Then, all of a sudden, a phrase came into my mind, and so attractive it was that I jotted it down in my daybook which was laconic almost to inarticulateness and hardly ever kept daily:
“Motivation is a slave to the firefly of emotions.”
It is not the phrase itself that was enchanting but, rather, the state of my mind that was “different” indeed: this state had been my magical conduit to the phrase. The state took possession of me and changed my life for the three upcoming years. I lived, in fact, as before, except for the short spells, mostly in the morning, when new phrases would begin stringing together unpredictably into a text whose origination was in that very first phrase. The text did not seem a conscious concept of mine either, just like in the joke about a madman who is asked what he is doing.
- I’m writing a letter to myself.
- What is it about?
- I’ll know when I get it.
The firefly of emotions enthralled and carried me away into the realms for me unknown. My motivation in writing remained then vague, and it is only now, years later, do I understand what had engendered this text.
The problem of language occurs simultaneously, for example, with one’s attempt to say at least anything about the sense of one’s existence, or about one’s immortal soul. It is never clear, though, if in this attempt one is short of thoughts or, maybe, words. Wittgenstein said, “Die Grenzen meiner Sprache sind die Grenzen meiner Welt” (“The borders of my language are the borders of my world.”).
This is an unusual book. Ordinary fiction deals with a plot which is a sequence of events. The characters create these events and then endure their impact. They experience pertinent feelings, worries, and pains. The whole plot can be outlined in a synopsis."
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