I read Zorba because my friend liked it and wanted to share it with me, and because I’m aware it’s regarded as a philosophical classic, which is generally up my alley. I disliked it and don’t recommend it. My friend had warned me that there is misogyny in the book, but he thought the book did not take that misogyny seriously; that undersell was substantial. This book hates women with a passion, and it reminds you of that fact truly every chapter through violence and disgust. The two main characters offer up essentially zero philosophy or perspective on life more complicated than “live it,” and their over-dialogued attempts and failures to figure out how to live life is a several-hundred-pages-too-long struggle that ought to be embarrassingly masturbatory, but that the book somehow presents as heroic. After I’d finished the book, my friend explained that what he liked about it was the friendship it presented between two people who do not have everything figured out, but who rely upon each other nonetheless. That element is there, but I think it simply must be presented better in other works.
I will admit, some of the language is beautiful, especially descriptions of the countryside. The author’s (or perhaps the translator’s?) commitment to metaphor would be well-suited for high fantasy. It’s a pity to be wasted here.