One mark of great literature is the ability to portray an experience so convincingly that it does more than recreate the moment in the reader's mind; it forces the reader to live what is written in his or her own life. Such was my experience with this book.
Understand, though, that I have an affinity for Plath already. So closely does The Bell Jar follow my own path that I can mark the exact page at which it diverges: 170. The words at certain points might have come out of my own mouth--only probably not as beautifully. Some examples:
"The thought that I might kill myself formed as clearly in my mind as a tree or a flower" (97).
"I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like a water glass that is too unsteady and too full" (101).
And there is more, not single lines but entire chapters. The fig tree filled with dreams between which she cannot choose--and which wither on the branch--and the calm with which she overdoses on sleeping pills. Most people think of suicide springing from despair, but Plath describes it as only one who has been there knows: springing not from despair, but from numbness.
So closely did The Bell Jar serve as a mirror, it was in fact dangerous to read. After putting it down, I found myself back there. My own mind and body has assimilated Plath's writing and made it reality. I felt the same invisible hand that worked Esther/Sylvia like a marionette grab hold of my strings again, and it was rather scary to feel him grasping for me. I wonder what would have happened if my path continued along Esther's after page 170, if somebody had checked me in somewhere. Would I have ended up like her? Or like her creator?
BTD: 22ish
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
George Bernard Shaw: Androcles and the Lion and Saint Joan
A long time ago, in another life, Shaw was my favorite author. I felt an affinity with his wit and especially his evident scorn for everything and everyone around him. I read as many of his texts as I could find--provided they were in the matching Penguin edition with which I started. My anal retentive library tastes were evident even then. When I was young.
But now I am old--shut up--and hadn't read anything by Shaw for five years at least. Blessed with much backstage time during the run of Princess Ida (a smashing success, if you're interested), I decided to revisit my old friend and exercise some of my age-ripened reading skills. Like many things from that period of my life--marriage, for one--I found that I no longer have a taste for it. At least, not in the same way.
There is still plenty to recommend Shaw. Certain of his characters are just as indelible as Shakespeare's, if slightly more interchangeable. I'm thinking of The Captain in Androcles and Robert in Saint Joan, who might well be the same character, though I didn't mind because that character is so cool. The Captain's line "Are your Christian fairy stories any truer than our stories about Jupiter and Diana, in which, I may tell you, I believe no more than the Emperor does, or any educated man in Rome," and her response "A man cannot die for a story and a dream . . . If it were anything small enough to know, it would be too small to die for." express perfectly and touchingly Shaw's view of religious experience, and that scene is the one truly cosmic moment in either play. "There lives more faith in honest doubt," as Tennyson said, "believe me, than in half the creeds."
Sadly, Shaw does not touch this height as often as I had thought. The plays are too often didactic and as such lack layers of meaning, a criterion by which I judge all literature. I don't grieve my old regard for him, but I have been semi-consciously searching for Shaw's replacement ever since.
But now I am old--shut up--and hadn't read anything by Shaw for five years at least. Blessed with much backstage time during the run of Princess Ida (a smashing success, if you're interested), I decided to revisit my old friend and exercise some of my age-ripened reading skills. Like many things from that period of my life--marriage, for one--I found that I no longer have a taste for it. At least, not in the same way.
There is still plenty to recommend Shaw. Certain of his characters are just as indelible as Shakespeare's, if slightly more interchangeable. I'm thinking of The Captain in Androcles and Robert in Saint Joan, who might well be the same character, though I didn't mind because that character is so cool. The Captain's line "Are your Christian fairy stories any truer than our stories about Jupiter and Diana, in which, I may tell you, I believe no more than the Emperor does, or any educated man in Rome," and her response "A man cannot die for a story and a dream . . . If it were anything small enough to know, it would be too small to die for." express perfectly and touchingly Shaw's view of religious experience, and that scene is the one truly cosmic moment in either play. "There lives more faith in honest doubt," as Tennyson said, "believe me, than in half the creeds."
Sadly, Shaw does not touch this height as often as I had thought. The plays are too often didactic and as such lack layers of meaning, a criterion by which I judge all literature. I don't grieve my old regard for him, but I have been semi-consciously searching for Shaw's replacement ever since.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sir Cecil Maurice Bowra: Primitive Song
I had such high hopes for this book. I casually researched Bowra on teh internets [sic], and found him to be quite a wit--the Oscar Wilde of anthropology. "Buggers can't be choosers", he once quipped, and "I expect to pass through this world but once and therefore if there is anybody I want to kick in the crotch I had better kick them in the crotch now, for I do not expect to pass this way again." Surely such a wit would bring a fresh and axiomatic flair to his seemingly dry thesis: that the very earliest, paleolithic forms of human song could be extrapolated from those of certain primitive peoples. The age of a society, he rightly posits, has nothing to do with its similarity to paleolithic society, and modern Selk'nam and Yamana tribes likely bear a closer resemblance to our primitive forbears than ancient Greece or Rome.
I don't necessarily find anything wrong with this sort of textual scrutiny; scholars do it all the time. We isolate a single anapest in Shakespeare and write at length on how brilliantly the choice of scansion illustrates the overrarching themes of the oeuvre. I remember being guilty of it myself in an essay about Dickinson's poem "Much Madness is Divinest Sense". "By capitalizing the word 'Eye', Dickinson invokes the word 'I'." I wrote. "Suddenly, the 'discerning Eye' does not belong to some unidentified person, but to the author herself, and even to the reader." Barf.
But even this is not as nauseating as the conclusions drawn by Bowra from the most primitive of texts. Here is just one example: from the single-line poem "The Old One--to me--weather from the West", he
extrapolates
"It is a bald statement of fact, but it is nonetheless infused with emotion, with anxiety and implied complaint. Each word does its utmost by hinting beyond what it actually says, and nothing could be more compressed. But it is certainly a work of art, an exhibition of words set to action through passion by restraint. It catches what matters most in the blah blah blah etc."
Double barf. I am a big fan of close reading, but this goes too far, and throughout the entire book. Not only are such conclusions meaningless, they are disreputable. Bowra goes so far that his authority is undermined and the reader discounts the entire book. The only thing that makes reading it less than a complete waste of time is that I invariably find more to write about texts that I don't like than those I do. Et voila!
I regretfully report that Bowra does not live up to my expectations, however, and I consider this the first time that Philip Ward's recommendation has led me wrong. Even such tedious texts as Tacitus' or Saint Teresa's at least had some literary value, and inspired some worthwhile thought. Not only is Primitive Song empty of Bowra's celebrated wit, it is without scholarly merit, and even approaches certain analytical fallacies for which scholars are infamous.
Borges famously satirized the propensity of scholars to project onto a text and overattribute to it in his short story "Pierre Menard: Author of Don Quixote". There Borges describes a modern writer who reproduces Don Quixote word for word, and picks his text apart. Menard does not translate Cervantes' work; he writes it anew without ever having read it--a Borgesian situation to be sure. In the fashion of a smirking academic, Borges proceeds to show how the two identical texts are completely different, hilariously overreading between the lines and close reading the work to death.
But even this is not as nauseating as the conclusions drawn by Bowra from the most primitive of texts. Here is just one example: from the single-line poem "The Old One--to me--weather from the West", he
extrapolates
"It is a bald statement of fact, but it is nonetheless infused with emotion, with anxiety and implied complaint. Each word does its utmost by hinting beyond what it actually says, and nothing could be more compressed. But it is certainly a work of art, an exhibition of words set to action through passion by restraint. It catches what matters most in the blah blah blah etc."
Double barf. I am a big fan of close reading, but this goes too far, and throughout the entire book. Not only are such conclusions meaningless, they are disreputable. Bowra goes so far that his authority is undermined and the reader discounts the entire book. The only thing that makes reading it less than a complete waste of time is that I invariably find more to write about texts that I don't like than those I do. Et voila!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Ramon de la Serna: Greguerías
For an updated version of this project
This may well be a lifetime project, but I have decided to translate the entire work into English. There doesn't seem to be an existing translation of the entire work in print, although collections of selected greguerías are out there. I also hope it will improve my Spanish. There are thousands of them, so check back to this post regularly as I slog my way through them, bit by colloquial bit. Since this is not to be seen as a scholarly translation, I have taken liberties to make them sound more natural in English. I am under the impression that translators do this regularly anyway . . . for those of you who don't know, the Greguerías is a collection of traditional saying from the Spanish populace.
The inside of a piano is a loom, and weaves tasseled veils.
Garlic practically drops onto amateurs chefs.
How strange life is! Always, the brush is left, but the glue is gone.
To prepare a bath carefully is like brewing good tea.
The violin bow sews, like needle and thread, notes and souls, souls and notes.
The spine is the cane we swallow at birth.
When a woman orders fruit salad for two, she perfects the original sin.
"Ditto" is a good pseudonym for plagiarism.
He who splits sausage is a false purse (this one clearly contains some figure of speech that escapes my translation skills).
The laboratory rabbits murmur, "They wouldn't dare to do this if we were bears!"
The poet feeds himself on cookies from the moon.
Sometimes we wonder how terrible people survived The Great Flood with Noah and his family--but we have to realize that they stowed away.
That unique, passionate fruit, the pomegranate, holds life ajar so we can see it.
The machine gun was born from the hunter's crazy desire to have a belt between the trigger and the barrel.
The unit of power for airplane engines shouldn't be horsepower, but hippogriffpower.
The artichoke is the food of carpenters, cabinetmakers and woodcarvers.
The hussars go around dressed as X-rays of themselves.
The train seems like the firecracker of the landscape.
I never know if the rooster's comb is a king's crown, or a peasant's cap.
When we call a shotgun wedding a "nuptial feast", it feels like the festival of the last dance.
The moon of the skyscrapers is not the same as the moon of the horizon (one of my favorites so far).
The usher's flashlight leaves a stain of light on the suit.
Eve was born from Adam's rib, but she later returned it with interest in the form of children (I've probably taken the most liberties with this one).
Photographs plant us in the most unnatural poses, while pretending that they are the most natural.
The pari of eggs we eat seem like twins, but they're not even third cousins.
Mushrooms and toadstools come from the world of gnomes.
Every Saturday, Dante went to the theater to trim his laurels.
Plumes of grain tickle the wind.
A chicken is the only cook who knows how to make, out of a little corn with no eggs, an egg with no corn.
A man who cups his hand to his ear to hear seems to hunt for the fly of what is said.
Wednesday: a long day by any account--even by number of letters (again, a few liberties taken).
Whoever spills the last beer might as well have taken the butler in his arms (even my students couldn't help translate this one. I expect this is a terrible translation).
"Penguin" is a word attacked by flies (WTF? I bet they're talking about the umlaut over the word, not a common punctuation in Spanish).
Only the poet can take the full measure of the moon (liberties).
The moon is a little mirror in which the nearby playful and impertinent sun reflects as he peeps over the balcony.
Women are so silly: pantyhose can't be wrinkled, but gloves can.
Ice sleeps in a glass of whisky like a crystal bell on a goat.
The spade is the ultimate friend of man: at first in the sandbox, at last in the grave.
Dogs show us their tongue as if we had taken them to the doctor.
The horsefly sings dirges for the flowers.
A monologue means a mono (monkey) talking to himself (this hinges on a play on words, and loses something in the translation).
Haikus are poetic telegrams.
"T" is the hammer of the alphabet.
You know the chicken is grilled perfectly when it is the color of a violin.
Sparks are the sneezes of Satan.
Hosting a party is like playing a musical instrument (liberties taken).
The most important thing in life is not to die.
There aremore germs on a banknote than dollars in a bank.
The have to use both your nostrils to perceive distant gardens.
There are no magicians anymore. Nowadays, everybody has crystal shoes!
Falcons are the hunting dogs of the sky.
Academics have to have the right to use their sleeping caps during lessons.
El Cid made a knot in his beard to conciliate those about to die.
The electric iron seems to serve coffee to the shirts.
The wind rides the weather vane like a bicycle (liberties).
The crocodile is a suitcase that travels on credit.
An orator is a wind instrument that one plays solo.
Dogs anxiously search for a dream they had in a past life.
The moon needs cats, but she cannot make what nobody gives her back.
Frogs are always right in the heat of a swimming contest.
English Saturday is a graft of Sunday and Friday.
A demon is nothing more than the smartest of monkeys.
The camel is always moth-eaten.
The moon is the bank of ruined metaphors.
The sculpture museum is where fathers listen to their kids saying, "Papa! It hasn't even stuck a leaf out at me!" (translation doubtful).
The crocodile is a shoe with the nails pulled out.
A caterpillar of toothpaste.
"Bring me a bottle of carbonated water."
"Ah yes, the water that cramps and tastes like a sleeping foot."
The moon is the eye of an ox on the boat of the night.
All the jewelers blushed. They had seen a communist!
All cameras want to be accordions, and vice versa.
The moon and the sand made frenzied love.
The green lobster gets its red choler up when boiled.
We can't really enjoy the song of the nightingale, because we always doubt if it is really a nightingale.
The man carrying a double bass seems like an ant carrying a splinter that is too big for him.
The accordion juices musical lemons.
The Dictionary wants to say "Millionaire" in words.
This may well be a lifetime project, but I have decided to translate the entire work into English. There doesn't seem to be an existing translation of the entire work in print, although collections of selected greguerías are out there. I also hope it will improve my Spanish. There are thousands of them, so check back to this post regularly as I slog my way through them, bit by colloquial bit. Since this is not to be seen as a scholarly translation, I have taken liberties to make them sound more natural in English. I am under the impression that translators do this regularly anyway . . . for those of you who don't know, the Greguerías is a collection of traditional saying from the Spanish populace.
The inside of a piano is a loom, and weaves tasseled veils.
Garlic practically drops onto amateurs chefs.
How strange life is! Always, the brush is left, but the glue is gone.
To prepare a bath carefully is like brewing good tea.
The violin bow sews, like needle and thread, notes and souls, souls and notes.
The spine is the cane we swallow at birth.
When a woman orders fruit salad for two, she perfects the original sin.
"Ditto" is a good pseudonym for plagiarism.
He who splits sausage is a false purse (this one clearly contains some figure of speech that escapes my translation skills).
The laboratory rabbits murmur, "They wouldn't dare to do this if we were bears!"
The poet feeds himself on cookies from the moon.
Sometimes we wonder how terrible people survived The Great Flood with Noah and his family--but we have to realize that they stowed away.
That unique, passionate fruit, the pomegranate, holds life ajar so we can see it.
The machine gun was born from the hunter's crazy desire to have a belt between the trigger and the barrel.
The unit of power for airplane engines shouldn't be horsepower, but hippogriffpower.
The artichoke is the food of carpenters, cabinetmakers and woodcarvers.
The hussars go around dressed as X-rays of themselves.
The train seems like the firecracker of the landscape.
I never know if the rooster's comb is a king's crown, or a peasant's cap.
When we call a shotgun wedding a "nuptial feast", it feels like the festival of the last dance.
The moon of the skyscrapers is not the same as the moon of the horizon (one of my favorites so far).
The usher's flashlight leaves a stain of light on the suit.
Eve was born from Adam's rib, but she later returned it with interest in the form of children (I've probably taken the most liberties with this one).
Photographs plant us in the most unnatural poses, while pretending that they are the most natural.
The pari of eggs we eat seem like twins, but they're not even third cousins.
Mushrooms and toadstools come from the world of gnomes.
Every Saturday, Dante went to the theater to trim his laurels.
Plumes of grain tickle the wind.
A chicken is the only cook who knows how to make, out of a little corn with no eggs, an egg with no corn.
A man who cups his hand to his ear to hear seems to hunt for the fly of what is said.
Wednesday: a long day by any account--even by number of letters (again, a few liberties taken).
Whoever spills the last beer might as well have taken the butler in his arms (even my students couldn't help translate this one. I expect this is a terrible translation).
"Penguin" is a word attacked by flies (WTF? I bet they're talking about the umlaut over the word, not a common punctuation in Spanish).
Only the poet can take the full measure of the moon (liberties).
The moon is a little mirror in which the nearby playful and impertinent sun reflects as he peeps over the balcony.
Women are so silly: pantyhose can't be wrinkled, but gloves can.
Ice sleeps in a glass of whisky like a crystal bell on a goat.
The spade is the ultimate friend of man: at first in the sandbox, at last in the grave.
Dogs show us their tongue as if we had taken them to the doctor.
The horsefly sings dirges for the flowers.
A monologue means a mono (monkey) talking to himself (this hinges on a play on words, and loses something in the translation).
Haikus are poetic telegrams.
"T" is the hammer of the alphabet.
You know the chicken is grilled perfectly when it is the color of a violin.
Sparks are the sneezes of Satan.
Hosting a party is like playing a musical instrument (liberties taken).
The most important thing in life is not to die.
There aremore germs on a banknote than dollars in a bank.
The have to use both your nostrils to perceive distant gardens.
There are no magicians anymore. Nowadays, everybody has crystal shoes!
Falcons are the hunting dogs of the sky.
Academics have to have the right to use their sleeping caps during lessons.
El Cid made a knot in his beard to conciliate those about to die.
The electric iron seems to serve coffee to the shirts.
The wind rides the weather vane like a bicycle (liberties).
The crocodile is a suitcase that travels on credit.
An orator is a wind instrument that one plays solo.
Dogs anxiously search for a dream they had in a past life.
The moon needs cats, but she cannot make what nobody gives her back.
Frogs are always right in the heat of a swimming contest.
English Saturday is a graft of Sunday and Friday.
A demon is nothing more than the smartest of monkeys.
The camel is always moth-eaten.
The moon is the bank of ruined metaphors.
The sculpture museum is where fathers listen to their kids saying, "Papa! It hasn't even stuck a leaf out at me!" (translation doubtful).
The crocodile is a shoe with the nails pulled out.
A caterpillar of toothpaste.
"Bring me a bottle of carbonated water."
"Ah yes, the water that cramps and tastes like a sleeping foot."
The moon is the eye of an ox on the boat of the night.
All the jewelers blushed. They had seen a communist!
All cameras want to be accordions, and vice versa.
The moon and the sand made frenzied love.
The green lobster gets its red choler up when boiled.
We can't really enjoy the song of the nightingale, because we always doubt if it is really a nightingale.
The man carrying a double bass seems like an ant carrying a splinter that is too big for him.
The accordion juices musical lemons.
The Dictionary wants to say "Millionaire" in words.
The sea is always wanting to make corkscrews, but never quite succeeds.
The banana is a fruit dressed up in red skin.
Nostalgia: neuralgia of the memories.
The edges of the fog are rags.
The real turkey is a jubilant myth.
The swallow shrinks its shoulders in mid-flight
Camoens and Cervantes are like two friends in an asylum: one missing an eye, the other missing a hand.
First Motion Animation
To this sequence, I added a photo and sank it into the background and motion tracked it to move with the camera.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Text Shmext
Roland Barthes: The Pleasure of the Text
The only time I have had more difficulty with a book, had to look up more words, was in trying to read Immanuel Kant. Like that text, I feel like I only incompletely understood Barthes' meaning. Unlike it, however, I don't feel guilty or inferior as a result. Barthes lays out early that the pleasure of a text does not come from comprehensive comprehension. It is "our very avidity for knowledge impels us to skim or to skip certain passages . . . has anyone ever read War and Peace word for word?" (11).
I did grasp it enough to resonate with its central premise: that getting bliss (literally: orgasm) from a text is different from getting pleasure. Bliss cannot come from words, sentences, it is inscrutable and comes unbidden. It is the act of the writer cruising, yes cruising the reader without the two ever meeting. The writer of bliss does not speak to the reader; he makes love to him.
This is much like what Lin Yutang writes in The Importance of Living. There, he describes love affairs he has had with certain authors, insatiably devouring all of their works in a lustful frenzy. I have never had this experience, although I keep expecting to encounter an author who makes love to me. It was not Lin Yutang, and so far, it is not Barthes, but I plan on revisiting this quick and impossible read anyway. Perhaps next time my literary morals will be a bit more lax.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Leaf Storm and other stories
My trouble with Marquez has always been similar to my trouble with Toni Morrison: they have a run in every literary suit but theme. Each marvelous, magically realistic story remains but a story. I know, I know, who says that literature has to say anything? But I am not a postmodernist, and it is unlikely I shall be one ever. Text can have, as Morrison and Marquez always do, indelible characters, inventive and surprising situations, and a superhuman gift for the laying down of words, but if they do not go even further, their attempts to make love to me result in blue balls.
Which is why I am so grateful to Marquez for at least trying to give this collection thematic unity. If I didn't know better, I would say it was written after One Hundred Years of Solitude, for it feels even more sophisticated in parts. The two books treat the same fictional village of Macondo, and have a similar texture, but the stories of Leaf Storm, both individually and collectively, have more of the thematic rhythm that I enjoy so much. Robert often chastises me for my insistence that movies and books be tied up with neat little bows, but he is only partly right. I have no problem with plot lines, character arcs, sentences or anything else dangling incompletely in a text. What I object to is for themes to be left incompletely treated, without a proper arc.
Marquez does himself a service in this regard by giving Leaf Storm etc. an epigraph that tips his hand thematically. The selection from Antigone regarding Creon's refusal to bury her brother perfectly mirrors the way things can never be buried in the little village of Macondo. In the eponymous story, the entire town conspires to refuse a literal burial, but the theme opens up further with the exposed memories of the three narrators. Likewise, the title character in "The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World" is unburiable, and it is fitting that these two stories are the first in the collection. They represent the exposition in the thematic arc, and the beginning of rising action. My favorite, though not the best in the book, "Blacaman the Good, Vendor of Miracles", raises the action with a variation: a man who is buried, but is resurrected in his very tomb. The climax then comes with "Monologue of Isabel Watching the Rain in Macondo". This structurally vague but emotionally desperate story takes the theme to its ultimate length, one hinted at in "Leaf Storm": for Isabel, even time itself never truly passes. The denouement then comes with "Nabo", which is engaging, but not challenging, as a denouement should be.
I realize all of this makes me a heathen among literary critics. But for me, the metanarrative is not yet dead. It lives, it will always live, for books like this one are beats of its heart. Wow, that was melodramatic.
Sylvia Plath: collected poems of 1956
I decided to tackle this project in bits, as though each year of Plath's collected works are individual books. It would be easy to read through this quickly and cross it off my list, but I've been leaning in the other direction lately, as seen from my ponderous posts on The Bible. Sorry about those, BTW.
I've never had a particular taste for Plath. All of her famous poems (especially the Ariel set) seemed woefully confessional for me. These earlier poems, however, have had an interesting effect. I find that the content of them is not what grabs my attention, but rather the texture. I found myself hypnotized by the rhythm, the unique way she has with consonants and syllables, that I had never appreciated before. I guess the obligatory teaching of silly little things like alliteration and assonance has had an effect on me, but often I was so taken in by the tactile layer of the poems that I didn't even know what they were about. Let us take a random example, and I will show you what I mean. Let's see . . . the book falls to:
Channel Crossing
On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul. (already we see example of some of her neatest tricks: "storm-struck" is, of course, alliteration, and Plath is seemingly addicted to it, but it is also an example of her tmesis:the taking out of intermediary words to make new and rhythmically stronger hybrids. "Wind Sirens" is another example of this in the same line.)
With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship (more alliteration, and a nice example of her parsimony with words: blunt is an almost onomatopoetically precise and surprising choice)
Cleaves forward into fury; dark as anger, (the semicolon here is not grammatically appropriate--a colon would have been a better choice--but in Plath's world "dark as anger" is a complete thought and requires its own clause.)
Waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull. (more alliteration, and the first instance in this poem of her other favorite: slant rhyme. Her rhyme scheme and meter are so subtle as not to be noticed unless you have been teaching Freshman English: these lines are pentameter [ish], but they don't feel like it. They rhyme [sorta] but do not seem to.)
Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up (assonance flanked by more slant rhyme)
Grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer (a sly variation on her meter that accents the very word such variations would in Shakespeare: longer).
I had intended to break apart a whole poem, but as you can see, even one stanza has so much packed into it that it would be a real undertaking, and I think I have Swine Flu. I had better not tax myself too much.
All of this is very well, but I have to say that Plath overdoes it a bit. It comes across as a bit too forced, almost pretentious, as though she were modeling for a poetry textbook. It got in the way of her content, which took a second reading to even notice, let alone grasp. Once grasped, the content revealed things that could never be taught: mad, cold, biting, desperate, these poems make the reader want to lash out--whether at himself or at the nearest piece of furniture. Her affectionate images of nature invariably are dashed to pieces, and revealed in the fragments are more jewels of longing, discontent and hatred. I am especially fond of "Street Song", and can relate to the narrator's disbelief that passersby don't notice her gaping metaphorical wounds, each of which "reeks of the butcher's cleaver / its heart and guts hung hooked / and bloodied as a cow's split frame" (7-9) . "Resolve" even reminds me of something I might have written, though I would have undoubtedly taken more words to do it. In fact,I did write one called "Re:solution", now that I think of it. In the "bent bow of thorns" which she addresses lie the same gaping wounds as in "Street Song", but in a more subtle expression (16). Happily, despite these wounds, hers and mine, "Miracles occur, / if you care to call those spasmodic / Tricks of radiance miracles". All is not completely dark, and in spite of the hurt that drove Plath and has driven me to terrible ends, "with luck, . . . I shall / patch together a content / Of sorts" ("Black Rook in Rainy Weather, 32-38).
The only time I have had more difficulty with a book, had to look up more words, was in trying to read Immanuel Kant. Like that text, I feel like I only incompletely understood Barthes' meaning. Unlike it, however, I don't feel guilty or inferior as a result. Barthes lays out early that the pleasure of a text does not come from comprehensive comprehension. It is "our very avidity for knowledge impels us to skim or to skip certain passages . . . has anyone ever read War and Peace word for word?" (11).
I did grasp it enough to resonate with its central premise: that getting bliss (literally: orgasm) from a text is different from getting pleasure. Bliss cannot come from words, sentences, it is inscrutable and comes unbidden. It is the act of the writer cruising, yes cruising the reader without the two ever meeting. The writer of bliss does not speak to the reader; he makes love to him.
This is much like what Lin Yutang writes in The Importance of Living. There, he describes love affairs he has had with certain authors, insatiably devouring all of their works in a lustful frenzy. I have never had this experience, although I keep expecting to encounter an author who makes love to me. It was not Lin Yutang, and so far, it is not Barthes, but I plan on revisiting this quick and impossible read anyway. Perhaps next time my literary morals will be a bit more lax.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez: Leaf Storm and other stories
My trouble with Marquez has always been similar to my trouble with Toni Morrison: they have a run in every literary suit but theme. Each marvelous, magically realistic story remains but a story. I know, I know, who says that literature has to say anything? But I am not a postmodernist, and it is unlikely I shall be one ever. Text can have, as Morrison and Marquez always do, indelible characters, inventive and surprising situations, and a superhuman gift for the laying down of words, but if they do not go even further, their attempts to make love to me result in blue balls.
Which is why I am so grateful to Marquez for at least trying to give this collection thematic unity. If I didn't know better, I would say it was written after One Hundred Years of Solitude, for it feels even more sophisticated in parts. The two books treat the same fictional village of Macondo, and have a similar texture, but the stories of Leaf Storm, both individually and collectively, have more of the thematic rhythm that I enjoy so much. Robert often chastises me for my insistence that movies and books be tied up with neat little bows, but he is only partly right. I have no problem with plot lines, character arcs, sentences or anything else dangling incompletely in a text. What I object to is for themes to be left incompletely treated, without a proper arc.
Marquez does himself a service in this regard by giving Leaf Storm etc. an epigraph that tips his hand thematically. The selection from Antigone regarding Creon's refusal to bury her brother perfectly mirrors the way things can never be buried in the little village of Macondo. In the eponymous story, the entire town conspires to refuse a literal burial, but the theme opens up further with the exposed memories of the three narrators. Likewise, the title character in "The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World" is unburiable, and it is fitting that these two stories are the first in the collection. They represent the exposition in the thematic arc, and the beginning of rising action. My favorite, though not the best in the book, "Blacaman the Good, Vendor of Miracles", raises the action with a variation: a man who is buried, but is resurrected in his very tomb. The climax then comes with "Monologue of Isabel Watching the Rain in Macondo". This structurally vague but emotionally desperate story takes the theme to its ultimate length, one hinted at in "Leaf Storm": for Isabel, even time itself never truly passes. The denouement then comes with "Nabo", which is engaging, but not challenging, as a denouement should be.
I realize all of this makes me a heathen among literary critics. But for me, the metanarrative is not yet dead. It lives, it will always live, for books like this one are beats of its heart. Wow, that was melodramatic.
Sylvia Plath: collected poems of 1956
I decided to tackle this project in bits, as though each year of Plath's collected works are individual books. It would be easy to read through this quickly and cross it off my list, but I've been leaning in the other direction lately, as seen from my ponderous posts on The Bible. Sorry about those, BTW.
I've never had a particular taste for Plath. All of her famous poems (especially the Ariel set) seemed woefully confessional for me. These earlier poems, however, have had an interesting effect. I find that the content of them is not what grabs my attention, but rather the texture. I found myself hypnotized by the rhythm, the unique way she has with consonants and syllables, that I had never appreciated before. I guess the obligatory teaching of silly little things like alliteration and assonance has had an effect on me, but often I was so taken in by the tactile layer of the poems that I didn't even know what they were about. Let us take a random example, and I will show you what I mean. Let's see . . . the book falls to:
Channel Crossing
On storm-struck deck, wind sirens caterwaul. (already we see example of some of her neatest tricks: "storm-struck" is, of course, alliteration, and Plath is seemingly addicted to it, but it is also an example of her tmesis:the taking out of intermediary words to make new and rhythmically stronger hybrids. "Wind Sirens" is another example of this in the same line.)
With each tilt, shock and shudder, our blunt ship (more alliteration, and a nice example of her parsimony with words: blunt is an almost onomatopoetically precise and surprising choice)
Cleaves forward into fury; dark as anger, (the semicolon here is not grammatically appropriate--a colon would have been a better choice--but in Plath's world "dark as anger" is a complete thought and requires its own clause.)
Waves wallop, assaulting the stubborn hull. (more alliteration, and the first instance in this poem of her other favorite: slant rhyme. Her rhyme scheme and meter are so subtle as not to be noticed unless you have been teaching Freshman English: these lines are pentameter [ish], but they don't feel like it. They rhyme [sorta] but do not seem to.)
Flayed by spray, we take the challenge up (assonance flanked by more slant rhyme)
Grip the rail, squint ahead, and wonder how much longer (a sly variation on her meter that accents the very word such variations would in Shakespeare: longer).
I had intended to break apart a whole poem, but as you can see, even one stanza has so much packed into it that it would be a real undertaking, and I think I have Swine Flu. I had better not tax myself too much.
All of this is very well, but I have to say that Plath overdoes it a bit. It comes across as a bit too forced, almost pretentious, as though she were modeling for a poetry textbook. It got in the way of her content, which took a second reading to even notice, let alone grasp. Once grasped, the content revealed things that could never be taught: mad, cold, biting, desperate, these poems make the reader want to lash out--whether at himself or at the nearest piece of furniture. Her affectionate images of nature invariably are dashed to pieces, and revealed in the fragments are more jewels of longing, discontent and hatred. I am especially fond of "Street Song", and can relate to the narrator's disbelief that passersby don't notice her gaping metaphorical wounds, each of which "reeks of the butcher's cleaver / its heart and guts hung hooked / and bloodied as a cow's split frame" (7-9) . "Resolve" even reminds me of something I might have written, though I would have undoubtedly taken more words to do it. In fact,I did write one called "Re:solution", now that I think of it. In the "bent bow of thorns" which she addresses lie the same gaping wounds as in "Street Song", but in a more subtle expression (16). Happily, despite these wounds, hers and mine, "Miracles occur, / if you care to call those spasmodic / Tricks of radiance miracles". All is not completely dark, and in spite of the hurt that drove Plath and has driven me to terrible ends, "with luck, . . . I shall / patch together a content / Of sorts" ("Black Rook in Rainy Weather, 32-38).
Liveblogging The Bible: Luke III
13:3 Still depressing. He even answered the question succinctly: not typical.
13:9 He seems to be talking out of both sides of his mouth: on the one hand, violent death is not to be considered an ordained punishment for sin. On the other, if the people to whom he is talking don't shape up, they will die violently.
13:12 He simply affirms the truth, and it happens. Again, very Ernest Holmes.
13:18-21 In this context, the KOG is a truth, an idea, not an event.
13:28 but in this context, it is a place or condition.
13:30 An important distinction: some who are last will be first (being last in itself is not a virtue).
14:11 Wait a minute. He already said this once, but differently and better. The same, now that I think of it, with v5. Does this mark the point of Luke's dual authorship? Is this where one stops and another begins?
14:15 And here the kingdom is once again a place, not an idea or a person.
14:26 is he trying to winnow the crowd down to a more manageable size?
14:34 this is another one that feels out of place with the preceding dialogue.
15:6,9 The unlikeliness of these reactions in a real context saps the strenth of these parables a little.
15:12 Again, how likely is this to really happen? The father giving up his legacy before he gives up the ghost?
15:28 The way this parable is told, this seems like a perfectly rational reaction. In fact, to react otherwise would be almost superhuman.
16:9 I had forgotten about this parable. What a strange thing to encourage people to do, and a rather oblique application as well.
16:12 And isn't this the exact opposite of the preceding parable?
16:16-18 Wow. This shapter just keeps getting weirder. I'm not even sure what he's saying here.
16:19-31 There was an old Witness in Belize who was a member of what they call "The Anointed", those specially blessed and going to be rulers in heaven. He used to say that the entire Bible was explained in this one parable. I wish I had asked him to explain what he meant. This whole chapter feels out of place, even anachronistic.
17:5-6 This doesn't seem like much of a response. If they had said, "We're hungry", and he replied, "If you had food, you wouldn't be so hungry," the point might be clearer.
17:10 So, it wasn't just the preceding chapter that made Jesus seem angrier, more taciturn. I put the shift at between chapters 10 and 11. Either there was a change in authorship, or a shift in the ministry itself.
17:19 So, the others had the same amount of faith? They too were made well . . .
17:30 What day would that be? The day of the transfiguration? Or the resurrection?
17:37 Even his parables have gotten macabre.
18:1,9 This way of framing a parable doesn't match up with the rest of the book of Luke.
18:15 What possible reason could the disciples have had for objecting?
18:26 This is a silly question.
18:31 This part feels revisionist.
18:39 Again with this. What makes the disciples not want Jesus to perform miracles? Jealousy? Propriety? Fear?
13:9 He seems to be talking out of both sides of his mouth: on the one hand, violent death is not to be considered an ordained punishment for sin. On the other, if the people to whom he is talking don't shape up, they will die violently.
13:12 He simply affirms the truth, and it happens. Again, very Ernest Holmes.
13:18-21 In this context, the KOG is a truth, an idea, not an event.
13:28 but in this context, it is a place or condition.
13:30 An important distinction: some who are last will be first (being last in itself is not a virtue).
14:11 Wait a minute. He already said this once, but differently and better. The same, now that I think of it, with v5. Does this mark the point of Luke's dual authorship? Is this where one stops and another begins?
14:15 And here the kingdom is once again a place, not an idea or a person.
14:26 is he trying to winnow the crowd down to a more manageable size?
14:34 this is another one that feels out of place with the preceding dialogue.
15:6,9 The unlikeliness of these reactions in a real context saps the strenth of these parables a little.
15:12 Again, how likely is this to really happen? The father giving up his legacy before he gives up the ghost?
15:28 The way this parable is told, this seems like a perfectly rational reaction. In fact, to react otherwise would be almost superhuman.
16:9 I had forgotten about this parable. What a strange thing to encourage people to do, and a rather oblique application as well.
16:12 And isn't this the exact opposite of the preceding parable?
16:16-18 Wow. This shapter just keeps getting weirder. I'm not even sure what he's saying here.
16:19-31 There was an old Witness in Belize who was a member of what they call "The Anointed", those specially blessed and going to be rulers in heaven. He used to say that the entire Bible was explained in this one parable. I wish I had asked him to explain what he meant. This whole chapter feels out of place, even anachronistic.
17:5-6 This doesn't seem like much of a response. If they had said, "We're hungry", and he replied, "If you had food, you wouldn't be so hungry," the point might be clearer.
17:10 So, it wasn't just the preceding chapter that made Jesus seem angrier, more taciturn. I put the shift at between chapters 10 and 11. Either there was a change in authorship, or a shift in the ministry itself.
17:19 So, the others had the same amount of faith? They too were made well . . .
17:30 What day would that be? The day of the transfiguration? Or the resurrection?
17:37 Even his parables have gotten macabre.
18:1,9 This way of framing a parable doesn't match up with the rest of the book of Luke.
18:15 What possible reason could the disciples have had for objecting?
18:26 This is a silly question.
18:31 This part feels revisionist.
18:39 Again with this. What makes the disciples not want Jesus to perform miracles? Jealousy? Propriety? Fear?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Liveblogging The Bible: Luke II
7:3 Why would he have sent the Jewish Elders? This does not seem to be the best way to get Jesus on your side . . .
7:6 well, it worked, I guess.
7:8 But this is the best way to get Jesus on your side: tell him a good parable.
7:22 Is this reluctance still to say, "Yes, I am he."?
7:23 What a curious response. "Blessed is he who takes no offense at me." What does that mean?
7:24 there seems to be something in this verse lost in translation. What possible meaning could "A reed shaken by the wind" have?
7:28 So, was Jesus not born of women?
7:30 So the Pharisees allowed themselves to be baptized by John, but not by Jesus.
7:32 this parable has never worked for me. The implication seems to be that there is no pleasing some people, but the person in the parable whom there is no pleasing is the one being sung to , not the one singing. Whereas in the application, Jesus seems to imply that the "generation" is addressing John and him saying "you're no fun!"
7:35 another non sequitir, ala vs.23. I wonder if these would mean something all put together?
7:40 I think Luke was quite convinced of Jesus' telepathy.
7:50 From what was this woman saved by her faith? From sin? Surely not.
8:1-3 The men followed for different reasons than the women it seems: the men were called, the women moved by gratitude. Maybe the woman in 7:50 was saved from loneliness :)
8:10 or he didn't want to say directly what he was thought about the hooey polloi.
8:11 By "The Word of God", did Jesus mean himself?
8:21 Much different than other versions. Luke's Jesus requires more from people than jsut showing up.
8:25 are they just now getting it?
8:39 here's the shift from "tell no one" to "oh, alright. You can tell people."
8:46 this remains one of the most fascinating verse. Jesus' power is A.) limited B.) passively active C.) perceptible. Certainly one of the few reputable insights into metaphysical science.
8:50 this does discredit to the idea that Jesus merely perceived that she was in a coma. He knows before he gets there that she is resurrectable.
8:51 this seems to indicate that Luke would have had to talk to one of these five for his sources; he even details that there was laughter.
I am developing a perception of Jesus as Neo from The Matrix. The secret to his power seems just to be that he doesn't see the spoon. He believes this or that and it is so.
9:1 this would seem to belie my previous statement. The power, as it is seen here, is an actual thing, something that can be given.
9:7 I seem to remember there being more to this piece of the story . ..
9:13 Jesus does not seem to have performed this type of trick before. No wonder the disciples were unable to do it.
9:21 In verse 2, he had just told them to go out an proclaim "the kingdom of God", but the details of his Messiahship seem to still be Verboten--even this late into his ministry. Perhaps he doesn't want to spoil the surprise for everybody.
9:25 not the translation I'm used to: "themselves" instead of "their souls"
9:28 So if the transfiguration is "the kingdom of Gos" from verse 27 and, presumably, vs. 2, the what is the Messiahship? The resurrection? Wasn't I asking all of these same questions in Mark?
9:30 How would they recognize Moses and Elijah?
9:34 they entered the cloud? Walked into the pillar of cloud? Not the visual I am used to associating with this scene.
9:40 One of the more troubling accounts. Whom was Jesus berating? His disciples? If so, it seems like he owes them an apology afterward.
9:42 missing from this version: the rebuke not to tell anyone who he is
9:44-45 Jesus seems very intent on them understanding this message, so what agency was concealing it from them?
9:50 I need to remember this sometimes. It's very Zen
9:51-56 This section is weird. Does "set his face" have a connotation which is lost?
9:57-62 these three accounts are uncharacteristically related. It seems as though Luke is engaging in a bit of editing here, placing them together in the narrative for thematic purposes.
10:1 By definition, these 70 should be called "apostles" too
10:4 why greet no one on the road? I thought this was an evangelizing trip.
10:11 This is "the kingdom of God" used in a different way. Before, it's reported presence has always coincided with Jesus' presence.
10:18 Is this vision the same as the vision John later has in Revelation? In which case, who was foreseeing, and who was aftseeing?
10:20 This seems to be in direct contradiction of the practice of snake handling. Jesus says not to rejoice in the ability to handle snakes and such.
10:21-24 The fact that several of the quotations in Luke are non sequitirs or even appear not to make any sense actually lends the book an air of credibility. It's as if Luke thought, "Well, I'm not sure why he said this, but I had better include it."
10:25 How does Luke know that he was testing? It sounds like a perfectly honest question to me.
10:27 But there is no mention of eternal life in the law, nor scarcely any mention of a reward at all.
10:36 This corollary doesn't quite follow. The man asks who a man's neighbor is. Jesus answers that the Samaritan was the mans neighbor. Are our neighbors those who treat us wellthen? this is nitpicky, I know. It's still a good parable.
10:42 I like this part. There truly is only need of one thing.
11:3-8 I had not put these two thoughts together in my mind heretofore. It actually gives some cachet to the practice of rote prayer, though. The Witnesses had always said that Jesus was just giving an example, not a specific prayer, and that prayers should be composed from the heart instead of repeated. Jesus clearly says otherwise here, and he says it in connection with a specific prayer, sooooo . . . why not that one?
11:9 Totally in line with Ernest Holmes' concept of affirmative prayer. Yes, you don't get a scorpion when asking for an egg, but you may well get a scorpion when asking for a scorpion.
11:16 as though he hadn't just taken someone off of mute . . .
11:17 I really should be counting these occurrences.
11:23 At first I wondered why he would even bother to answer such charges, but he turns it right around in this verse rather beautifully.
11:24 And then turns it into a teaching moment without missing a beat.
11:31 The Witnesses always considered this a prophecy, but it sure feels more like a metaphor here.
11:29 Just when I was about to wonder why he's revealing these things--after concealilng them for so long--he answers. Jesus is reading my mind too!
11:45 Wow, that's one awkward dinner party.
11:53 I suppose I would be too after that.
12:7 In context, this parable has a fairly ominous tone.
12:8 and this definitely confirms a change in tone. He feels almost vengeful here.
12:12 There are a few times in my life where my words have been given to me spontaneously. I don't know where they came from, but they changed my life each time. I'm sure that's what is meant here.
12:13 Ooh, this would piss me off if I were Jesus. Here I am trying to impart the secrets of the universe, and some brat yelss, "Daaaaad, he's touching meeeeee!"
12:14-15 But he does two great pedagogical things instead: he refuses to get sucked in, and he turns it into a teachable moment.
12:18 hehe. I used to think he pulled down his barns so he could use the wood from the barns to make bigger ones. But then how did he make bigger ones? this perplexed me as a youth.
12:24 Why repeat this parable? Is it of special significance? It is certainly of great elegance and brevity.
12:25 Possibly the most epigrammatic verse in the whole book so far.
12:31 Ah, but you have never been quite clear what you mean by "the kingdom".
12:39-40 But don't stress or anything . . . the balance that needs to be struck between being present and surrendering is one that escapes most.
12:42 This is pretty Socratic of him.
12:49 Again with this side! Not attractive.
12:50 Well, that does make it understandable. Even humanizing . . .
12:56 I feel like he's about to cry. Wow, The Buddha never had mood swings.
12:57 whoawhoawhoa. What just happened here? This has no perceptible relation to the preceding narrative.
7:6 well, it worked, I guess.
7:8 But this is the best way to get Jesus on your side: tell him a good parable.
7:22 Is this reluctance still to say, "Yes, I am he."?
7:23 What a curious response. "Blessed is he who takes no offense at me." What does that mean?
7:24 there seems to be something in this verse lost in translation. What possible meaning could "A reed shaken by the wind" have?
7:28 So, was Jesus not born of women?
7:30 So the Pharisees allowed themselves to be baptized by John, but not by Jesus.
7:32 this parable has never worked for me. The implication seems to be that there is no pleasing some people, but the person in the parable whom there is no pleasing is the one being sung to , not the one singing. Whereas in the application, Jesus seems to imply that the "generation" is addressing John and him saying "you're no fun!"
7:35 another non sequitir, ala vs.23. I wonder if these would mean something all put together?
7:40 I think Luke was quite convinced of Jesus' telepathy.
7:50 From what was this woman saved by her faith? From sin? Surely not.
8:1-3 The men followed for different reasons than the women it seems: the men were called, the women moved by gratitude. Maybe the woman in 7:50 was saved from loneliness :)
8:10 or he didn't want to say directly what he was thought about the hooey polloi.
8:11 By "The Word of God", did Jesus mean himself?
8:21 Much different than other versions. Luke's Jesus requires more from people than jsut showing up.
8:25 are they just now getting it?
8:39 here's the shift from "tell no one" to "oh, alright. You can tell people."
8:46 this remains one of the most fascinating verse. Jesus' power is A.) limited B.) passively active C.) perceptible. Certainly one of the few reputable insights into metaphysical science.
8:50 this does discredit to the idea that Jesus merely perceived that she was in a coma. He knows before he gets there that she is resurrectable.
8:51 this seems to indicate that Luke would have had to talk to one of these five for his sources; he even details that there was laughter.
I am developing a perception of Jesus as Neo from The Matrix. The secret to his power seems just to be that he doesn't see the spoon. He believes this or that and it is so.
9:1 this would seem to belie my previous statement. The power, as it is seen here, is an actual thing, something that can be given.
9:7 I seem to remember there being more to this piece of the story . ..
9:13 Jesus does not seem to have performed this type of trick before. No wonder the disciples were unable to do it.
9:21 In verse 2, he had just told them to go out an proclaim "the kingdom of God", but the details of his Messiahship seem to still be Verboten--even this late into his ministry. Perhaps he doesn't want to spoil the surprise for everybody.
9:25 not the translation I'm used to: "themselves" instead of "their souls"
9:28 So if the transfiguration is "the kingdom of Gos" from verse 27 and, presumably, vs. 2, the what is the Messiahship? The resurrection? Wasn't I asking all of these same questions in Mark?
9:30 How would they recognize Moses and Elijah?
9:34 they entered the cloud? Walked into the pillar of cloud? Not the visual I am used to associating with this scene.
9:40 One of the more troubling accounts. Whom was Jesus berating? His disciples? If so, it seems like he owes them an apology afterward.
9:42 missing from this version: the rebuke not to tell anyone who he is
9:44-45 Jesus seems very intent on them understanding this message, so what agency was concealing it from them?
9:50 I need to remember this sometimes. It's very Zen
9:51-56 This section is weird. Does "set his face" have a connotation which is lost?
9:57-62 these three accounts are uncharacteristically related. It seems as though Luke is engaging in a bit of editing here, placing them together in the narrative for thematic purposes.
10:1 By definition, these 70 should be called "apostles" too
10:4 why greet no one on the road? I thought this was an evangelizing trip.
10:11 This is "the kingdom of God" used in a different way. Before, it's reported presence has always coincided with Jesus' presence.
10:18 Is this vision the same as the vision John later has in Revelation? In which case, who was foreseeing, and who was aftseeing?
10:20 This seems to be in direct contradiction of the practice of snake handling. Jesus says not to rejoice in the ability to handle snakes and such.
10:21-24 The fact that several of the quotations in Luke are non sequitirs or even appear not to make any sense actually lends the book an air of credibility. It's as if Luke thought, "Well, I'm not sure why he said this, but I had better include it."
10:25 How does Luke know that he was testing? It sounds like a perfectly honest question to me.
10:27 But there is no mention of eternal life in the law, nor scarcely any mention of a reward at all.
10:36 This corollary doesn't quite follow. The man asks who a man's neighbor is. Jesus answers that the Samaritan was the mans neighbor. Are our neighbors those who treat us wellthen? this is nitpicky, I know. It's still a good parable.
10:42 I like this part. There truly is only need of one thing.
11:3-8 I had not put these two thoughts together in my mind heretofore. It actually gives some cachet to the practice of rote prayer, though. The Witnesses had always said that Jesus was just giving an example, not a specific prayer, and that prayers should be composed from the heart instead of repeated. Jesus clearly says otherwise here, and he says it in connection with a specific prayer, sooooo . . . why not that one?
11:9 Totally in line with Ernest Holmes' concept of affirmative prayer. Yes, you don't get a scorpion when asking for an egg, but you may well get a scorpion when asking for a scorpion.
11:16 as though he hadn't just taken someone off of mute . . .
11:17 I really should be counting these occurrences.
11:23 At first I wondered why he would even bother to answer such charges, but he turns it right around in this verse rather beautifully.
11:24 And then turns it into a teaching moment without missing a beat.
11:31 The Witnesses always considered this a prophecy, but it sure feels more like a metaphor here.
11:29 Just when I was about to wonder why he's revealing these things--after concealilng them for so long--he answers. Jesus is reading my mind too!
11:45 Wow, that's one awkward dinner party.
11:53 I suppose I would be too after that.
12:7 In context, this parable has a fairly ominous tone.
12:8 and this definitely confirms a change in tone. He feels almost vengeful here.
12:12 There are a few times in my life where my words have been given to me spontaneously. I don't know where they came from, but they changed my life each time. I'm sure that's what is meant here.
12:13 Ooh, this would piss me off if I were Jesus. Here I am trying to impart the secrets of the universe, and some brat yelss, "Daaaaad, he's touching meeeeee!"
12:14-15 But he does two great pedagogical things instead: he refuses to get sucked in, and he turns it into a teachable moment.
12:18 hehe. I used to think he pulled down his barns so he could use the wood from the barns to make bigger ones. But then how did he make bigger ones? this perplexed me as a youth.
12:24 Why repeat this parable? Is it of special significance? It is certainly of great elegance and brevity.
12:25 Possibly the most epigrammatic verse in the whole book so far.
12:31 Ah, but you have never been quite clear what you mean by "the kingdom".
12:39-40 But don't stress or anything . . . the balance that needs to be struck between being present and surrendering is one that escapes most.
12:42 This is pretty Socratic of him.
12:49 Again with this side! Not attractive.
12:50 Well, that does make it understandable. Even humanizing . . .
12:56 I feel like he's about to cry. Wow, The Buddha never had mood swings.
12:57 whoawhoawhoa. What just happened here? This has no perceptible relation to the preceding narrative.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Untitular
Ayn Rand: Anthem
I read this book in high school, but remembered nothing but the last line. The vivid memory of that line fit so poorly with my beliefs at the time that I developed a distaste for Rand, although I never read any of her longer works. Some of my students have picked it up, to my delight, as their choice for independent reading, so I decided to revisit it with a view to saying something intelligent about it. That something intelligent is to the effect that it is far better crafted than I could give it credit for when I read it 15 years ago. It's succinct, sound, fluid, transparent and engaging, all of the things a high school student appreciates in a novel. While I still don't even understand objectivism, let alone subscribe to it, I plan on recommending this to several other students, and even teaching it at some point.
Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais: The Barber of Seville
This brief number offered little surprise, so familiar am I with the opera--which was, interestingly, written in Beaumarchais' own lifetime. What was shocking to me was the terrible quality of the edition I read. I found two typos just in the introduction, and they were peppered just as liberally throughout the play. How disappointing. As much as I love the Modern Library editions of classics, with their smooth, coppery bindings, the selection leaves something to be desired. I had high hopes for the Oxford Press editions as a replacement, but this one was so terrible I have such hopes no longer. Oh yeah: it was a good play.
Henry James: The Turn of the Screw
My book club has become so saturated with English majors that I didn't really expect to be the only one with a novel (teehee) approach to this book. In fact, I was rather more surprised that anybody took it at face value, which a few did. On the surface, The Turn of the Screw is a fairly mediocre ghost story exhibiting a certain panache at creating suspense. Most of my book club compatriots and I, however, chose to see it as more of a psychological study. It is not too much of a stretch to say that James is, in his own way, doing the same thing for which his brother William is famous: analyzing the psychological roots of supernatural experience.
This is not the first thing one notices about the book, however. James has a way with sentence structure that is at best confusing, and at worst criminal. His relationship with the dash and the semicolon is not unlike Ike's relationship with Tina: abusive and opportunistic. It is not explicitly for The Turn of the Screw that he adopts this style either, as a quick look at The Lesson of the Master will reveal. Some of these sentences have to be read thrice or more to yield their significance, and even then there remains some doubt, some ambiguity. Although likely not done purposefully for the story, that ambiguity allows--even encourages--the reader to leaf through the sentences for hidden meanings.
Once so encouraged, the reader is blessed with a clue as to James' possible intent. The first hint that he is trying to do more than set the reader on edge is the constant conflation of the young governess with the phantasms she claims to see. The first time he really tips his hand at this is when the governess--the book club decided to name her Mary--see Peter Quint at the window. She rushes out to where she had seen him, and "applied my face to the pane and looked, as he had looked, into the room" (31). Not a startling structure, but signifcant to the extent that James continues doing it. Every time Mary sees a "horror", as she calls them, at some point she is found in the horror's same place and with its same perspective. She looks down on young Miles from the window, as she saw Quint look down her at first. She sees Miss Jessel across the lake, and later finds herself standing in the same spot the horror had occupied. As she sits on the stair, she starts "with a revulsion, recalling that it was exactly where more than a month before . . . I had seen the spectre of the most horrible of women" (89). The reader is thus alerted to the possibility that the connection between the ghosts and the narrator may be more than thematic, that she may in fact be imagining them.
Of course, the idea that the horrors are in the governess' head presents certain problems, most of which are resolvable. What about the other characters, for instance? Mrs. Grose is just as troubled by the spirits as Mary. But does she ever see them? She does not. At one point, Mary is driven into something resembling a hysteria by the spirit, but Grose protests, "Where on earth do you see anything?" (109). In fact, it could not be said for sure whether any other character ever sees the spirits. At the end of the narrative, Miles seems to see the image of Quint in the window, but James oblique sentence structure makes it arguable which lines are spoken by whom. The only line attributable with absolute certainty to Miles in that final scene is "Is she here?" (133). Everything else is not specifically attributed. And no matter who speaks the lines there, the spectre of Quint disappears as Miles turns toward the window, and reappears when Mary presses his face to her breast.
Although certain other of the difficulties with this reading are rather difficult to explain--Mary's description of Quint, for instance--all can be dismissed as the mistakes of an unreliable narrator, which Mary undoubtedly is. What could have driven her to such mental extremes? What little we know about her certainly lends itself to a Freudian diagnosis. We know basically two things about her: that she was "the youngest of several daughters of a poor country parson" who was of an "eccentric nature", and that she and Douglas, the metanarrator of the story, had a fondness for each other (6,77). As the story progresses, we learn a little about her character, if not her history: namely that she has a certain almost excessive fondness for Miles that mirrors, if not presages, hers for Douglas. The sentiment seems to be mutual, as seen from Miles labeling her his "dear", a rather questionable title for a governess. It is not uncommon for an Electra complex, such as it would be easy for the youngest of many daughters to develop, to evolve into something of a Jocasta complex. Seen in this light, her ascription of a terrible haunting to Miles can be seen as a metaphysical Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome, by which she needs Miles to need her so much that she invents for him a reason. James' title thereby takes on a new meaning, for the "Screw" could well be Mary herself. This gives her line "It was a tighter place yet that I was turned round in" a delightful new twist (120). The usage of "screw" to refer to a crazy person is traceable as far back as 1887, so it is not a stretch to imagine that James chose his words to that effect.
What is to be thought of the ending, then? Does it represent some mental break? Does Miles actually die, or does the ambiguity allow for another conclusion to be drawn? Perhaps even that Miles lived, and had some other name? Douglas, perhaps? Such questions are enticing, but mostly unsupportable. What is clear is that James was doing more than just trying to scare his reader. His heroine, whether due to supernatural visitation or something more internal, was an unbalanced woman, and his believably inventive portrayal of her inner workings well deserves its place in the Western Canon.
BTD: 17ish
I read this book in high school, but remembered nothing but the last line. The vivid memory of that line fit so poorly with my beliefs at the time that I developed a distaste for Rand, although I never read any of her longer works. Some of my students have picked it up, to my delight, as their choice for independent reading, so I decided to revisit it with a view to saying something intelligent about it. That something intelligent is to the effect that it is far better crafted than I could give it credit for when I read it 15 years ago. It's succinct, sound, fluid, transparent and engaging, all of the things a high school student appreciates in a novel. While I still don't even understand objectivism, let alone subscribe to it, I plan on recommending this to several other students, and even teaching it at some point.
Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais: The Barber of Seville
This brief number offered little surprise, so familiar am I with the opera--which was, interestingly, written in Beaumarchais' own lifetime. What was shocking to me was the terrible quality of the edition I read. I found two typos just in the introduction, and they were peppered just as liberally throughout the play. How disappointing. As much as I love the Modern Library editions of classics, with their smooth, coppery bindings, the selection leaves something to be desired. I had high hopes for the Oxford Press editions as a replacement, but this one was so terrible I have such hopes no longer. Oh yeah: it was a good play.
Henry James: The Turn of the Screw
My book club has become so saturated with English majors that I didn't really expect to be the only one with a novel (teehee) approach to this book. In fact, I was rather more surprised that anybody took it at face value, which a few did. On the surface, The Turn of the Screw is a fairly mediocre ghost story exhibiting a certain panache at creating suspense. Most of my book club compatriots and I, however, chose to see it as more of a psychological study. It is not too much of a stretch to say that James is, in his own way, doing the same thing for which his brother William is famous: analyzing the psychological roots of supernatural experience.
This is not the first thing one notices about the book, however. James has a way with sentence structure that is at best confusing, and at worst criminal. His relationship with the dash and the semicolon is not unlike Ike's relationship with Tina: abusive and opportunistic. It is not explicitly for The Turn of the Screw that he adopts this style either, as a quick look at The Lesson of the Master will reveal. Some of these sentences have to be read thrice or more to yield their significance, and even then there remains some doubt, some ambiguity. Although likely not done purposefully for the story, that ambiguity allows--even encourages--the reader to leaf through the sentences for hidden meanings.
Once so encouraged, the reader is blessed with a clue as to James' possible intent. The first hint that he is trying to do more than set the reader on edge is the constant conflation of the young governess with the phantasms she claims to see. The first time he really tips his hand at this is when the governess--the book club decided to name her Mary--see Peter Quint at the window. She rushes out to where she had seen him, and "applied my face to the pane and looked, as he had looked, into the room" (31). Not a startling structure, but signifcant to the extent that James continues doing it. Every time Mary sees a "horror", as she calls them, at some point she is found in the horror's same place and with its same perspective. She looks down on young Miles from the window, as she saw Quint look down her at first. She sees Miss Jessel across the lake, and later finds herself standing in the same spot the horror had occupied. As she sits on the stair, she starts "with a revulsion, recalling that it was exactly where more than a month before . . . I had seen the spectre of the most horrible of women" (89). The reader is thus alerted to the possibility that the connection between the ghosts and the narrator may be more than thematic, that she may in fact be imagining them.
Of course, the idea that the horrors are in the governess' head presents certain problems, most of which are resolvable. What about the other characters, for instance? Mrs. Grose is just as troubled by the spirits as Mary. But does she ever see them? She does not. At one point, Mary is driven into something resembling a hysteria by the spirit, but Grose protests, "Where on earth do you see anything?" (109). In fact, it could not be said for sure whether any other character ever sees the spirits. At the end of the narrative, Miles seems to see the image of Quint in the window, but James oblique sentence structure makes it arguable which lines are spoken by whom. The only line attributable with absolute certainty to Miles in that final scene is "Is she here?" (133). Everything else is not specifically attributed. And no matter who speaks the lines there, the spectre of Quint disappears as Miles turns toward the window, and reappears when Mary presses his face to her breast.
Although certain other of the difficulties with this reading are rather difficult to explain--Mary's description of Quint, for instance--all can be dismissed as the mistakes of an unreliable narrator, which Mary undoubtedly is. What could have driven her to such mental extremes? What little we know about her certainly lends itself to a Freudian diagnosis. We know basically two things about her: that she was "the youngest of several daughters of a poor country parson" who was of an "eccentric nature", and that she and Douglas, the metanarrator of the story, had a fondness for each other (6,77). As the story progresses, we learn a little about her character, if not her history: namely that she has a certain almost excessive fondness for Miles that mirrors, if not presages, hers for Douglas. The sentiment seems to be mutual, as seen from Miles labeling her his "dear", a rather questionable title for a governess. It is not uncommon for an Electra complex, such as it would be easy for the youngest of many daughters to develop, to evolve into something of a Jocasta complex. Seen in this light, her ascription of a terrible haunting to Miles can be seen as a metaphysical Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome, by which she needs Miles to need her so much that she invents for him a reason. James' title thereby takes on a new meaning, for the "Screw" could well be Mary herself. This gives her line "It was a tighter place yet that I was turned round in" a delightful new twist (120). The usage of "screw" to refer to a crazy person is traceable as far back as 1887, so it is not a stretch to imagine that James chose his words to that effect.
What is to be thought of the ending, then? Does it represent some mental break? Does Miles actually die, or does the ambiguity allow for another conclusion to be drawn? Perhaps even that Miles lived, and had some other name? Douglas, perhaps? Such questions are enticing, but mostly unsupportable. What is clear is that James was doing more than just trying to scare his reader. His heroine, whether due to supernatural visitation or something more internal, was an unbalanced woman, and his believably inventive portrayal of her inner workings well deserves its place in the Western Canon.
BTD: 17ish
Friday, April 10, 2009
It never reads; it pores.
Hunter S. Thompson: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
What a great book. While not ambitious, it set out with a clear purpose--to reproduce as entertainingly and accurately as possible the experience of a drug-induced bender--and accomplished it with brevity and indelibility. I immediately netflixed the movie, for I cannot remember reading a book that is suited so perfectly to a film adaptation, while remaining successful as a book.
David Rice: Crazy Loco
My students are creating reading journals, and this is one that several have had positive reactions to, so I decided to take a look for pedagogical purposes. I was a bit disappointed at the relative shallowness, and irritated at the editor's borderline insulting choice to gloss every other word. The final story in the book redeemed it to a large extent, however. "Last Mass" was the longest story in the book, and it was clear that the relative lack of skill in the previous stories was a function of the constraints of length rather than of the author's amateurity. In fact, I found it quite touching and, though I don't plan on teaching the whole collection, may well find an opportunity to teach just this one story.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Sign of Four
I found this significantly easier to read than its predecessor, A Study in Scarlet, but I'm not precisely sure why. It is possible that there are subtle touches Doyle had incorporated as a more experienced author which, though barely noticeable individually, gave the story some refinement that was lacking in Scarlet. At any rate, the structure of the story was essentially the same, and neither Doyle's nor Holmes' skills shone particularly brightly. Nonetheless, a worthy read--once.
Athene Raefiel: Getting to the Heart
Easily the worst written book of the four in this post, and at the same time the only one likely to make a lasting impression on my life. I feel like giving Athene a gift of my editing skills next time she plans to publish something; not only is the book peppered with misspellings and grammatical sins, but it lacks structure and fluency.
Yet I have revisited it at least three times since finishing it. Lately I have returned mentally to certain seemingly insignificant events in my life, and found myself stuck there. Although I would not have thought either had a psychological impact at the time, returning to them has had the effect of making me feel like a frightened little boy all over again: peculiar and unprecedented, in my life at least.
I was reminded, while troubled by these memories, of this book. "One can," she writes, "explore their [sic] own past lives and childhood . . . You can heal and readily change many of the feeling patterns stuck in your emotional and mental bodies" (20,21). So I went for it. I used some of the visualizations in the book to--I almost feel silly saying it--shift the energy around these memories and heal the patterns. For patterns they were; both events that were troubling me had to do with exactly the same behavior on my part and the shame and regret surrounding it. All I can say is that the exercises in the book worked. Those memories were coming up at this time for a reason, and I had some minor healing to do connected with them. Perhaps grammar is not that important after all.
What a great book. While not ambitious, it set out with a clear purpose--to reproduce as entertainingly and accurately as possible the experience of a drug-induced bender--and accomplished it with brevity and indelibility. I immediately netflixed the movie, for I cannot remember reading a book that is suited so perfectly to a film adaptation, while remaining successful as a book.
David Rice: Crazy Loco
My students are creating reading journals, and this is one that several have had positive reactions to, so I decided to take a look for pedagogical purposes. I was a bit disappointed at the relative shallowness, and irritated at the editor's borderline insulting choice to gloss every other word. The final story in the book redeemed it to a large extent, however. "Last Mass" was the longest story in the book, and it was clear that the relative lack of skill in the previous stories was a function of the constraints of length rather than of the author's amateurity. In fact, I found it quite touching and, though I don't plan on teaching the whole collection, may well find an opportunity to teach just this one story.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Sign of Four
I found this significantly easier to read than its predecessor, A Study in Scarlet, but I'm not precisely sure why. It is possible that there are subtle touches Doyle had incorporated as a more experienced author which, though barely noticeable individually, gave the story some refinement that was lacking in Scarlet. At any rate, the structure of the story was essentially the same, and neither Doyle's nor Holmes' skills shone particularly brightly. Nonetheless, a worthy read--once.
Athene Raefiel: Getting to the Heart
Easily the worst written book of the four in this post, and at the same time the only one likely to make a lasting impression on my life. I feel like giving Athene a gift of my editing skills next time she plans to publish something; not only is the book peppered with misspellings and grammatical sins, but it lacks structure and fluency.
Yet I have revisited it at least three times since finishing it. Lately I have returned mentally to certain seemingly insignificant events in my life, and found myself stuck there. Although I would not have thought either had a psychological impact at the time, returning to them has had the effect of making me feel like a frightened little boy all over again: peculiar and unprecedented, in my life at least.
I was reminded, while troubled by these memories, of this book. "One can," she writes, "explore their [sic] own past lives and childhood . . . You can heal and readily change many of the feeling patterns stuck in your emotional and mental bodies" (20,21). So I went for it. I used some of the visualizations in the book to--I almost feel silly saying it--shift the energy around these memories and heal the patterns. For patterns they were; both events that were troubling me had to do with exactly the same behavior on my part and the shame and regret surrounding it. All I can say is that the exercises in the book worked. Those memories were coming up at this time for a reason, and I had some minor healing to do connected with them. Perhaps grammar is not that important after all.
Liveblogging The Bible: Luke
1:1 The implication is clearly that there are more than just three other gospels, which would hardly qualify as "many".
1:3,4 and possibly that Luke is dissatisfied with these other accounts, considering his own more "truth"ful.
1:5 Whereas Matthew jumps right into Jesus' life, and Mark starts with a glance at John, Luke takes a step even further back to John's parents. He begins to show a regard for thoroughness at the expense of brevity.
1:23 I have always smirked at the Witnesses' avoidance of the obvious act of faith on Zechariah's part: sleeping with his old wife.
1:29 but seemingly not perplexed at the appearance of an angel in the first place. Perhaps Mary was favored with visits before this, a la Teresa of Avila.
1:35 I'm going to hell for even thinking this, but bukkake.
1:46 Luke has a bit more regard for Mary than the other two: he reveals her wisdom and creativity.
What are the chances of Luke finding out exactly what Mary said? Only she and Elizabeth were present; he--or a proxy--would have to have interviewed one or the other, each surely old by the time of this writing.
1:68 The same is surely true of this poem-song. Is this to be taken as a word for word quotation? Unlikely.
2:1,2 Luke's attention to detail in this verse is of the type that definitely lends authority to the narrative. Specific names and dates always help eliminate the flavor of myth.
2:4 with the attention he gives to detail, though, it is interesting that he does not give Jesus' exact lineage the way his fellows do.
2:5-7 The phrasing here has the feel of something added after the fact; it doesn't fit with 1:27 phrased this way. On second thought, it feels more like the previous chapter is out of place.
2:19 this is not the first time Mary is portrayed in the gospels as a contemplative person.
2:25 Luke again is giving a far more comprehensive account. Neither Matthew nor Mark seems to have this much interest in Jesus' birth and childhood.
2:26 And Luke does not seem to have Mark's compunctions about identifying Jesus as the Messiah right away.
2:29 yet for all Luke's attention to detail, he also has an eye for poetry. This gospel is both journalistically and artistically sound.
2:32 A mention of Gentiles? Matthew and Mark would never do that.
2:51 We hear so little about Mary, every bit of characterization is to be cherished.
3:1 More names and dates.
3:7 Wow. I don't remember John being so full of brimstone. I thought these expressions were Jesus' alone. This certainly paints him in a different light, but one befitting his apparel.
3:10-14 A contrast with Jesus' methods. Jesus would never just give them the answer like this. John doesn't seem to have a knack for parable, although he is moderately handy with a metaphor.
3:21 this makes it sound like there were others to witness the descent of the holy spirit.
3:23 I knew the genealogy had to be here somewhere. Interesting that Luke prefaces it with "as was thought", indicating some uncertainty about the exact lineage. Also, Luke does not take this opportunity to mention Mary, as Matthew does. Instead, he traces it all the way back through Adam, whereas Matthew stops at Abraham.
4:2 devil not capitalized in this translation (NRSV)
4:10 The devil turns Jesus' own trick on him: "It is written . . ."
4:12 An interesting change from"It is written" to "It is said".
4:21 Again, Luke's Jesus has no qualms about claiming his identity right away. It is the very first step on his quest.
4:23 I hadn't noticed before that Jesus was the one to raise this objection, not the Nazarenes.
4:30 A ninja!
4:38 Luke introduces the character of Peter rather offhandedly. It seems like Theophilus may already have known Peter, or at least of him.
4:41 Here we see that Mark's fixation was not without basis.
5:8 What could Peter have possibly done such that this was his first reaction to seeing a miracle? Many people would have this thought eventually, but he seems to have had it instinctively. Also: I wonder if there is any significance to Luke's appellation of him as Simon.
5:14 Even if Luke has no compunctions about Jesus' identity, Jesus himself clearly did.
5:20 although it does not seem to have been his faith at work, at least not entirely. Those are some swell friends.
5:39 This is an interesting addendum that I had not caught before. It seems to sap his point a little: for the old wine is clearly the Jewish system of things.
6:8 If I ever return to the other gospels, I shall have to make a point of ermembering whether they make a point of Jesus' seeming prescience, as Luke does, here for the third time.
6:13 The word disciple means one who follows. Apostle means one who is sent--a nice contrast.
6:14 This explains why Luke calls Peter Simon: he is trying to be as precise as possible, and he was not given the other name yet. Let's see if he henceforth calls him Peter.
6:17 if it was a level place, how was he seen?
6:22 Why is only the first part of the beatitudes in verse?
6:29 not the way I am used to seeing this translated. "takes away your coat" is an interesting alternative to "asks for your coat", and one that certainly gives it a different flavor.
6:35 "for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked" poops in the face of many a religous doctrine.
6:37 again an unfamiliar translation, but one that I really like: "do not judge, and you will not be judged" is more reassuring and definite somehow than "judge not, lest you be judged".
6:43 Not entirely true, of course. Tomatoes do not come from a friendly plant, nor do pineapples, but he would never have seen one of those.
1:3,4 and possibly that Luke is dissatisfied with these other accounts, considering his own more "truth"ful.
1:5 Whereas Matthew jumps right into Jesus' life, and Mark starts with a glance at John, Luke takes a step even further back to John's parents. He begins to show a regard for thoroughness at the expense of brevity.
1:23 I have always smirked at the Witnesses' avoidance of the obvious act of faith on Zechariah's part: sleeping with his old wife.
1:29 but seemingly not perplexed at the appearance of an angel in the first place. Perhaps Mary was favored with visits before this, a la Teresa of Avila.
1:35 I'm going to hell for even thinking this, but bukkake.
1:46 Luke has a bit more regard for Mary than the other two: he reveals her wisdom and creativity.
What are the chances of Luke finding out exactly what Mary said? Only she and Elizabeth were present; he--or a proxy--would have to have interviewed one or the other, each surely old by the time of this writing.
1:68 The same is surely true of this poem-song. Is this to be taken as a word for word quotation? Unlikely.
2:1,2 Luke's attention to detail in this verse is of the type that definitely lends authority to the narrative. Specific names and dates always help eliminate the flavor of myth.
2:4 with the attention he gives to detail, though, it is interesting that he does not give Jesus' exact lineage the way his fellows do.
2:5-7 The phrasing here has the feel of something added after the fact; it doesn't fit with 1:27 phrased this way. On second thought, it feels more like the previous chapter is out of place.
2:19 this is not the first time Mary is portrayed in the gospels as a contemplative person.
2:25 Luke again is giving a far more comprehensive account. Neither Matthew nor Mark seems to have this much interest in Jesus' birth and childhood.
2:26 And Luke does not seem to have Mark's compunctions about identifying Jesus as the Messiah right away.
2:29 yet for all Luke's attention to detail, he also has an eye for poetry. This gospel is both journalistically and artistically sound.
2:32 A mention of Gentiles? Matthew and Mark would never do that.
2:51 We hear so little about Mary, every bit of characterization is to be cherished.
3:1 More names and dates.
3:7 Wow. I don't remember John being so full of brimstone. I thought these expressions were Jesus' alone. This certainly paints him in a different light, but one befitting his apparel.
3:10-14 A contrast with Jesus' methods. Jesus would never just give them the answer like this. John doesn't seem to have a knack for parable, although he is moderately handy with a metaphor.
3:21 this makes it sound like there were others to witness the descent of the holy spirit.
3:23 I knew the genealogy had to be here somewhere. Interesting that Luke prefaces it with "as was thought", indicating some uncertainty about the exact lineage. Also, Luke does not take this opportunity to mention Mary, as Matthew does. Instead, he traces it all the way back through Adam, whereas Matthew stops at Abraham.
4:2 devil not capitalized in this translation (NRSV)
4:10 The devil turns Jesus' own trick on him: "It is written . . ."
4:12 An interesting change from"It is written" to "It is said".
4:21 Again, Luke's Jesus has no qualms about claiming his identity right away. It is the very first step on his quest.
4:23 I hadn't noticed before that Jesus was the one to raise this objection, not the Nazarenes.
4:30 A ninja!
4:38 Luke introduces the character of Peter rather offhandedly. It seems like Theophilus may already have known Peter, or at least of him.
4:41 Here we see that Mark's fixation was not without basis.
5:8 What could Peter have possibly done such that this was his first reaction to seeing a miracle? Many people would have this thought eventually, but he seems to have had it instinctively. Also: I wonder if there is any significance to Luke's appellation of him as Simon.
5:14 Even if Luke has no compunctions about Jesus' identity, Jesus himself clearly did.
5:20 although it does not seem to have been his faith at work, at least not entirely. Those are some swell friends.
5:39 This is an interesting addendum that I had not caught before. It seems to sap his point a little: for the old wine is clearly the Jewish system of things.
6:8 If I ever return to the other gospels, I shall have to make a point of ermembering whether they make a point of Jesus' seeming prescience, as Luke does, here for the third time.
6:13 The word disciple means one who follows. Apostle means one who is sent--a nice contrast.
6:14 This explains why Luke calls Peter Simon: he is trying to be as precise as possible, and he was not given the other name yet. Let's see if he henceforth calls him Peter.
6:17 if it was a level place, how was he seen?
6:22 Why is only the first part of the beatitudes in verse?
6:29 not the way I am used to seeing this translated. "takes away your coat" is an interesting alternative to "asks for your coat", and one that certainly gives it a different flavor.
6:35 "for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked" poops in the face of many a religous doctrine.
6:37 again an unfamiliar translation, but one that I really like: "do not judge, and you will not be judged" is more reassuring and definite somehow than "judge not, lest you be judged".
6:43 Not entirely true, of course. Tomatoes do not come from a friendly plant, nor do pineapples, but he would never have seen one of those.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Troilus and Cressida: Act V
V.1.37 When Shakespeare says purse, he always means something else . . .
V.i.74 I really liked this soliloquy, and wish it had taken place earlier. It gives the reader a place to file everybody.
V.i.94 Ulysses just keeps getting better as a character. Here he not only shows discernment, but virtue as well.
V.i.98 Thersites occupies an interesting place here as proxy for the audience. He executes our own voyeuristic desires.
V.ii.19 And here we are peeping at a peeper peeping at two peepers.
V.ii.109 If it is really Diomedes' appearance that has swayed Cressida, then the description of her as half of a pair of spectacles in Act IV becomes significant. Could she really be so shallow? If so, she is unique among Shakespeare's smarter heroines . . .
V.ii.133 and Thersites' meaning seems to be "Can he fool himself out of what he has seen?" Agaiin tying up the idea of mirrors and spectacles. I think I've found the idea that unlocks this play.
V.iii.1 And here's a nice complement to it: in the last scene, an opposition was set up between eyes and ears. Just as there Troilus and Cressida both in their ways wanted to stop their eyes, here Hector is on the other side of the equation.
V.iii.16 The gods are not deafer than Hector, though.
V.iii.38 Is Hector, then, the backward facing lion of act IV?
V.iii.87 Now that I have uncovered it, it is everywhere: ears can be stopped, but eyes cannot. HEctor will not hear his sister, nor his wife, but they cannot help but see the most terrible of visions.
V.iv again is Thersites our proxy
V.v.1-4exeunt pursued by a bear, so to speak. Does the action really take place offstage, between scenes? blech.
V.v.39 Or is Diomedes up to some sort of trick? Troilus does not seem "chastised" in these lines . . .
V.viii.1-4 what a lovely moment. How different Hector is from his foil!
And what a weird ending. I thought Troilus was supposed to drown at the end or something like that. Yeesh.
V.i.74 I really liked this soliloquy, and wish it had taken place earlier. It gives the reader a place to file everybody.
V.i.94 Ulysses just keeps getting better as a character. Here he not only shows discernment, but virtue as well.
V.i.98 Thersites occupies an interesting place here as proxy for the audience. He executes our own voyeuristic desires.
V.ii.19 And here we are peeping at a peeper peeping at two peepers.
V.ii.109 If it is really Diomedes' appearance that has swayed Cressida, then the description of her as half of a pair of spectacles in Act IV becomes significant. Could she really be so shallow? If so, she is unique among Shakespeare's smarter heroines . . .
V.ii.133 and Thersites' meaning seems to be "Can he fool himself out of what he has seen?" Agaiin tying up the idea of mirrors and spectacles. I think I've found the idea that unlocks this play.
V.iii.1 And here's a nice complement to it: in the last scene, an opposition was set up between eyes and ears. Just as there Troilus and Cressida both in their ways wanted to stop their eyes, here Hector is on the other side of the equation.
V.iii.16 The gods are not deafer than Hector, though.
V.iii.38 Is Hector, then, the backward facing lion of act IV?
V.iii.87 Now that I have uncovered it, it is everywhere: ears can be stopped, but eyes cannot. HEctor will not hear his sister, nor his wife, but they cannot help but see the most terrible of visions.
V.iv again is Thersites our proxy
V.v.1-4exeunt pursued by a bear, so to speak. Does the action really take place offstage, between scenes? blech.
V.v.39 Or is Diomedes up to some sort of trick? Troilus does not seem "chastised" in these lines . . .
V.viii.1-4 what a lovely moment. How different Hector is from his foil!
And what a weird ending. I thought Troilus was supposed to drown at the end or something like that. Yeesh.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Troilus and Cressida Act IV
IV.i.20 An interesting image, and possibly of thematic significance. A Lion with a backward facing glare is either a complement or a foil to the mirrors discussed so much in the last act.
IV.ii 1-18 It is impossible to note the parallels between this section and Romeo and Juliet.
IV.ii.104 I'm not sure I'm buying this overdramatic side of Cressida. She has presented herself as more rational up to this point. In fact, the connection between the two eponymous lovers feels flat and far less interesting than the other dramas going on around them.
IV.iv.8-10 Her protestations ring a little hollow again here. How is it that Shakespeare has managed to make every individual character razor-clear, but the relationship itself is awkward and flat?
IV.iv.14 A pair of spectacles? In what way? Interesting.
IV.iv.59 Indeed. Does she recognize the folly of trying to be true, or feel that he has insulted by even asking that she should be otherwise?
IV.iv.104 A nice couplet, and one that gives his character a bit more depth. It even lends a little depth to this interchange.
IV.iv.126 Again with the worry that he will somehow lose Cressida's favour. What does Troilus see that we do not?
IV.v.38 This is the Cressida I like: witty and a match for any dirty old man.
IV.v.115 Stolen from Julius Caesar
IV.v.134 I just realized why this feels unfaithful to The Iliad: it's not as if Shakespeare has taken any significant liberties, but there is one significant element that he has omitted: the Olympian Gods. This moment, wherein Hector calls a truce with Ajax in light of their common blood, was originally an intervention by Zeus. How did such a significant alteration escape me until the fourth act? More importantly, how does the change affect the themes of the story?
IV.v.238 Quite so, for while all that Achilles has to offer is visible to the eye, Hector has demonstrated both courtliness and wit.
IV.v by brain must be rusty. There are still parts of this scene that feel untouched by me.
IV.iv.8-10 Her protestations ring a little hollow again here. How is it that Shakespeare has managed to make every individual character razor-clear, but the relationship itself is awkward and flat?
IV.iv.14 A pair of spectacles? In what way? Interesting.
IV.iv.59 Indeed. Does she recognize the folly of trying to be true, or feel that he has insulted by even asking that she should be otherwise?
IV.iv.104 A nice couplet, and one that gives his character a bit more depth. It even lends a little depth to this interchange.
IV.iv.126 Again with the worry that he will somehow lose Cressida's favour. What does Troilus see that we do not?
IV.v.38 This is the Cressida I like: witty and a match for any dirty old man.
IV.v.115 Stolen from Julius Caesar
IV.v.134 I just realized why this feels unfaithful to The Iliad: it's not as if Shakespeare has taken any significant liberties, but there is one significant element that he has omitted: the Olympian Gods. This moment, wherein Hector calls a truce with Ajax in light of their common blood, was originally an intervention by Zeus. How did such a significant alteration escape me until the fourth act? More importantly, how does the change affect the themes of the story?
IV.v.238 Quite so, for while all that Achilles has to offer is visible to the eye, Hector has demonstrated both courtliness and wit.
IV.v by brain must be rusty. There are still parts of this scene that feel untouched by me.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
St. Teresa de Avila: Autobiography
The questions is: what did she see? Was she hallucinating, or having what William James would call a genuine religious experience? Never mind that the book was painful to get through. As she explains, "I had not read it through yet after I had written it", let alone given it any kind of edit. "Some things in it may not be very clearly explained, and there may be some repetitions" (350). An understatement, to be sure.
But what did she see? One possibility is that she saw the literal truth: that demons really were waiting around every corner, that there was a special place in hell reserved for her if she didn't repent--although what her sins are is never clear--and that Mary, Joseph et al take a special interest in certain humans and not others, appearing to them in their glory and fixing everything right up. I don't really care whether this is true or not, because I would refuse to believe it even if it were. That is not how the universe works, it isn't it isn't.
Another possibility is that she was actually bonkers, schizophrenic of a very textbook variety. Possible, very very possible. The visions, the unseen presences, the voices, and the seizures all are easily shrugged off by medical explanations. But this is not how the universe works either, or so I am coming to believe. Hear me out:
Picture a one-dimensional creature. No, pick a two-dimensional one; it's easier. A creature that lies perfectly flat, and lives, say on the surface of a body of water. What do you look like to that creature as you dive into the water? You would be two-dimensional to it. You would look like a rapidly expanding and contracting, two-dimensional shape. In fact, you would be a two-dimensional shape to it, but you would look like a one dimensional shape, a rapidly expanding and contracting line.
Now put yourself in the position of that creature. You are a three-dimensional creature, and even though you think that everything around you is three-dimensional, you see it in two dimensions because you can only ever see one side of it at a time. People may say that you see in three dimensions, but you do not. Look how easily you are fooled by a 3D movie or a realistic painting.
If a 4D something or other fell into your pool, what would it look like? For purpose of simplicity, lets say that it was a perfectly regular (in geometric terms) 4D shape: the 4D equivalent of a sphere. It would no doubt look like a a rapidly expanding and contracting sphere appearing in the middle of nowhere and then disappearing altogether. Following this? Probably not, but that's why I write this crazy shit down here instead of sharing it over cocktails.
How would you react to that? Even if it were a perfectly regular object, even if some 4D guys happened to toss their basketball through the plane (or 3D equivalent) where you reside? You would probably ignore it, but suppose that you didn't. If you were somehow able to acknowledge it, your brain would have to engage that marvelous human capacity for making shit up. And would you make up that a 4D object had passed through your experience? Probably not, and especially not if you lived in the 16th century. You would draw from what you know, and what Teresa knew was angels and devils. In short, she saw what she was capable of understanding. If you or I were to see something of the same source, we would see what we are capable of understanding.
Which is all well and good, but in reality nothing is entirely two-dimensional. The idea of you passing through the plane occupied by a two-dimensional creature is purely hypothetical. Everything you or I know has three dimensions, even the thinnest sheet of paper. If we see something that looks two-dimensional, it is only because we can only see one side of it at a time. How likely is it that our three-dimensional model is any less theoretical?
If every plane is just a mathematical construct intersected by a variety of three dimensional objects, everything, everything in that plane is just an aspect of some three-dimensional object, an expression of that object into two-dimensional space. If a fourth dimension exists, then it follows by the same logic that every thing in a given three-dimensional space is likewise an expression of a four-dimensional object. This includes you and me. We seem to exist purely in three-dimensions, but we are in truth expressions of something four-dimensional. We are appendages of something greater.
To make matters more confusing--if less complicated--most if not all of those who have what are called religious experiences tell of their perception that we are all not only part of something greater, but that we are all expressions of the same greater something. We are the fingers and toes of God
Which is all well and good, but in reality nothing is entirely two-dimensional. The idea of you passing through the plane occupied by a two-dimensional creature is purely hypothetical. Everything you or I know has three dimensions, even the thinnest sheet of paper. If we see something that looks two-dimensional, it is only because we can only see one side of it at a time. How likely is it that our three-dimensional model is any less theoretical?
If every plane is just a mathematical construct intersected by a variety of three dimensional objects, everything, everything in that plane is just an aspect of some three-dimensional object, an expression of that object into two-dimensional space. If a fourth dimension exists, then it follows by the same logic that every thing in a given three-dimensional space is likewise an expression of a four-dimensional object. This includes you and me. We seem to exist purely in three-dimensions, but we are in truth expressions of something four-dimensional. We are appendages of something greater.
To make matters more confusing--if less complicated--most if not all of those who have what are called religious experiences tell of their perception that we are all not only part of something greater, but that we are all expressions of the same greater something. We are the fingers and toes of God
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. Is there something bigger than I am that I can somehow tap into or experience? How do I see the things that Teresa saw? Is it only for a few, or can anybody train their senses--or rather, untrain them--to see the full scope? Stay tuned: my next big project is The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes. I expect some revelations . . .
Friday, March 20, 2009
Three Little Maids
Baha'u'llah: The Hidden Words
For about a month at the beginning of this year, I attended a Baha'i church on Sundays. Despite my resistance to their proselytization, they managed to succeed in getting me to read this short volume. For the most part I found it slightly better than innocuous, and enjoyed some of the passages that flipped certain traditional metaphors on their heads: "Thou [the reader] art my stronghold . . . my love is in thee" and "Thou art my lamp and my light is in thee" are reflective of the view that we do not live in God's house; we are his house, and he lives in us (10,11). The book was not entirely free from religious taint, however. Sadly, the view that God is the savior of the reader and that the reader must abase him or herself, begging for succor contaminates what is otherwise a fairly pleasant book.
E.M. Forster: A Room With a View
I enjoyed my first meeting of a book club to which my sister invited me this month. For one thing, the books are chosen not only for their literary merit but also for the significant merit of being short. Knowing that I was going to be meeting with a group of English majors and teachers, I couldn't help but write a paper in my head as I read. The title is "Looking Over", and here is the gist.
I often judge the merit of writers on the care with which they choose their titles. Great Expectations and Vanity Fair are examples of titles that unlock the meaning of a book before the first page is even turned. Forster similarly conveys his meaning with the title of this novel, indicating preemptively that the central idea is one of enclosure, and a way out of it.
The book is filled with images of boundaries, and not surprisingly curtains and windows are chief among them. As early as the fourth page of chapter one, Miss Honeychurch "Hastened after her cousin, who had already disappeared through the curtains--curtains which smote one in the face and seemed heavy with more than cloth" (7). Forster conveys his meaning perfectly: there are more than simple physical boundaries between the young lovers of the story. An idea that recurs in the service of this theme is that of looking across something--George across the table, then across the spot where a man is murdered and finally, most significantly, "not across anything" (39). It is at this moment that the invisible boundary between George and Lucy first is breached, and something as simple as the tossing of some tourist cards into to river becomes an epiphany.
The other characters in the book reveal something about themselves through their treatment of boundaries as well. The fact that "The drawing room curtains at Windy Corner had been pulled to meet, for the carpet was new and deserved protection from the August sun" shows Mrs. Honeychurch's view of the issue, and does much to explain why she frowns upon Lucy's marriage at the end. Cecil's explanation to Lucy "that you feel more at home with me in a room" reveals something about each of them, for Lucy rightly feels that Cecil "is the sort that no one can know intimately" (99, 161). No wonder, then, that she can only be with him when the world, of which the young Mr. Emerson is a significant part, is closed out
When Lucy finally finds her metaphorical "room with a view" in George, and as they look together out of the literal open window in the final chapter, it is clear that the boundaries keeping Lucy boxed in before were not merely social ones, just as the boundaries that Mr. Emerson was without were not. It is clear by the end that Lucy had managed to escape not only from the walls that society puts around us, but from the walls that we put around ourselves, those that keep our true spirit in the dark, those that can only be aired out by such windows as music, nature and, yes, love.
I shall add, although it would not go into any paper that I felt compelled to write, that the descriptions of Florence took be back there mentally to a trip that I took with my family--especially the church of Santa Croce, and that my father is a nice doppleganger to Mr. Emerson. His tendency to transgress social boundaries was delightfully coined "social rape" by my brother, who is occasionally not a dullard.
W.S. Gilbert: Princess Ida
I was compelled to read this as preparation for performing in it this coming Summer. Of course, Gilbert is not always the deepest of literary figures, but the more I read it, the more I appreciate that his interpretation of Tennyson's "The Princess" gels nicely with my own. See earlier in this blog the idea of sets of three that I think unlocks the latter. Gilbert's lyrics are subtly peppered with reinforcements of that theme, and I grin knowingly to myself often when I recall that I am the only one in the cast who has probably read the original.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Troilus and Cressida Act III
III.i Another one? This particular play seems to have a superfluity of comic relief/fool characters.
III.i.57 Nell? Really?
III.i.113 Beauty be damned. Helen is the wit that launched a thousand ships!
III.ii.14 I can just picture Pandarus rolling his eyes here.
III.ii.18-19 the "imaginary relish" seems to be exactly Troilus' speciality.
III.ii.39 Fitting that Troilus sees Cressida as something not to be looked at directly, or too clearly.
III.ii.72-77 Eyes become a theme here, appertaining to the above note.
III.ii.190 Yes, prophet he was, but not here: in III.ii.20
III.iii.1-16 God, what a windbag!
III.iii.20 and anal retentive about his pentameter too.
III.iii.47-8 "Pride hath no other glass to show itself but pride"--It's a measure of Shakespeare's epigrammatic mastery that it takes something this awesome for me to even bother quoting it. If I noted every memorable line, I would not be a man, but amanuensis . . .
III.iii.77 exactly as Ulysses said.
III.iii.99 One mention of reflections in a scene is an epigram. Two is a coincidence. three makes a theme.
III.iii This scene felt a little wordy, and I'm not certain that I got everything out of it that was there . . .
III.i.57 Nell? Really?
III.i.113 Beauty be damned. Helen is the wit that launched a thousand ships!
III.ii.14 I can just picture Pandarus rolling his eyes here.
III.ii.18-19 the "imaginary relish" seems to be exactly Troilus' speciality.
III.ii.39 Fitting that Troilus sees Cressida as something not to be looked at directly, or too clearly.
III.ii.72-77 Eyes become a theme here, appertaining to the above note.
III.ii.190 Yes, prophet he was, but not here: in III.ii.20
III.iii.1-16 God, what a windbag!
III.iii.20 and anal retentive about his pentameter too.
III.iii.47-8 "Pride hath no other glass to show itself but pride"--It's a measure of Shakespeare's epigrammatic mastery that it takes something this awesome for me to even bother quoting it. If I noted every memorable line, I would not be a man, but amanuensis . . .
III.iii.77 exactly as Ulysses said.
III.iii.99 One mention of reflections in a scene is an epigram. Two is a coincidence. three makes a theme.
III.iii This scene felt a little wordy, and I'm not certain that I got everything out of it that was there . . .
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Troilus and Cressida Act II
II.i The opening of this scene was a big WTF for me. The whole thing is 9 parts comic relief, 1 part plot and characterization.
II.i.96 kind words for a kindred spirit. If what we hear of Patroclus is true, he pulls from the same bag of tricks.
II.ii.8-25 This is the second time that Hector is the voice of reason, the second good idea he has presented.
II.ii56 "Tis mad idolatry to make the service greater than the god." I put this on my Facebook page under favorite quotes now. Please hold.
II.ii.84-89 So Troilus is not without reason after all.
II.ii I'm just noticing that Troilus ends his important speeches in couplets, as Hector does not. A nice bit of characterization through form, for Troilus is the romantic, to be sure.
II.ii.118 This is the third time that Troilus' piece of the pentameter is a continuation, an interruption of Hector's line. I love this about Shakespeare. Although it is surely not the most obvious skill of his, it is one of the most unique.
II.ii.142-145 Troilus' apple did not fall far from Priam's tree; the latter shows both the poetic traits of the former in these 4 mere lines.
II.ii It's fitting that Hector is the only one to listen to Casandra, for his warnings go just as unheeded.
II.iii.28 A great and enduring curse: "thyself upon thyself!"
II.iii.81 this is the second time Thersites has mentioned bleeding someone dry. In Galenic terms, this is a great treatment for choler, from which several of the men suffer.
II.iii.185 Achilles, for instance.
II.iii an act of import, perhaps, but not one of great imprint.
II.i.96 kind words for a kindred spirit. If what we hear of Patroclus is true, he pulls from the same bag of tricks.
II.ii.8-25 This is the second time that Hector is the voice of reason, the second good idea he has presented.
II.ii56 "Tis mad idolatry to make the service greater than the god." I put this on my Facebook page under favorite quotes now. Please hold.
II.ii.84-89 So Troilus is not without reason after all.
II.ii I'm just noticing that Troilus ends his important speeches in couplets, as Hector does not. A nice bit of characterization through form, for Troilus is the romantic, to be sure.
II.ii.118 This is the third time that Troilus' piece of the pentameter is a continuation, an interruption of Hector's line. I love this about Shakespeare. Although it is surely not the most obvious skill of his, it is one of the most unique.
II.ii.142-145 Troilus' apple did not fall far from Priam's tree; the latter shows both the poetic traits of the former in these 4 mere lines.
II.ii It's fitting that Hector is the only one to listen to Casandra, for his warnings go just as unheeded.
II.iii.28 A great and enduring curse: "thyself upon thyself!"
II.iii.81 this is the second time Thersites has mentioned bleeding someone dry. In Galenic terms, this is a great treatment for choler, from which several of the men suffer.
II.iii.185 Achilles, for instance.
II.iii an act of import, perhaps, but not one of great imprint.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Liveblogging Shakespeare: Troilus and Cressida
Dramatis Personae: I can't help but wonder if Shakespeare hasn't taken a liberty, setting the story in Hector and Paris' time. Researching . . . nope. Funny, it seems from Chaucer that it was set earlier. Researching . . .again, I am mistaken. Somehow this is comforting, for now I have a nice little context for the play.
Prologue: an interesting and appropriate choice to give the play a Greek chorus, ala Henry V.
P.10 Appropriate that this line about Paris, a pederast in some versions, ends in a female rhyme. this trick is common in pentametric verse, and Shakespeare does it elsewhere, notably in the notorious Sonnet 20. It is reasonable to assume that the trick is here purposeful, but the question arises in my mind, as it usually does when reading Shakespeare, "Do we give him to much credit?" Close reading of Shakespeare invariably reveals such tidbits, but on occassion they are so tenuous that one wonders if the reader/critic is not being a bit revisionist. Did Shakespeare really pay such attention to every syllable that we can attribute meaning to something this incidental? Does his intent even matter?
P.11 A perfect example. Does the truncation of this line, the tentativeness of it, have anything to do with the topic: Tenedos, or is it just the playwright's convenience? Does it matter?
P 15-19 If we attribute meaning to lines 10 and 11, we must not rest until these similarly irregular metrics are dissected. Yet, there is no apparent reason for it, other than that Shakespeare allowed himself some error.
P:22 A nice production option would be to steal Chaucer's conceit and have Troilus play the part of the prologue, seemingly narrating from heaven with a wise and understanding detachment.
P:29,30 a cute couplet. Stagecraft is war. Sometimes you are the victor and the play is a smash--you kill, in stage lingo. Sometimes not, and you die out there. Especially appropriate here, in light of T&C's status as one of Shakepeare's problem plays.
I.i.6-28 Already an example of Shakespeare's subtle and seemingly effortless characterization. Pandarus is characterized as earthy and practical, first by his concern with Troilus' armor, and later by his choice of metaphor. Not only that, the contrast between him and Troilus is established by the 6th line of the play; he speaks in prose, Troilus in verse.
I.i.33 Troilus is revealed to be other than a courtly lover here, for he is concerned with Cressidas orgasm.
I.i.42 a bit o foreshadowing here, in a pithy and aphoristic couplet.
I.i49 This early and off-handed mention of Cassandra feels like a master's smooth touch of exposition.
I.i.57-61 I just about threw up in my mouth here. Troilus is clearly being set up as a foolish and idealistic lover.
I.i.66 Shakespeare's experience as an actor is evident here. I can't imagine the actor's not taking a beat, so clear is the arc of the scene.
I.i.107 Is the "flood" in Shakepeare's version literal, as in most others, or figurastive. I only wonder because I know that Troilus does not drown in this version.
I.i.116-117 Again, the couplet holds a world of meaning. In some versions, Paris is Troilus mentor/lover. Troilus seeming contempt here, together with the line "gor'd with Menelaus horn" connotes, "Good. Let him get fucked for a change."
I.i.118 succesful characterization of Aeneas in one line. It could not be clearer that he is consumed with the game of war if Shakespeare had stretched this out for a page.
I can't believe that I spent that much time reading one scene. this is going to take forever, and cheap at that price.
I.ii.4 this line both sets up Hector as a foil to Troilus and touches on what may become a theme: patience. Every Shakespearean play has a word that unlocks its world, and this may be T&C's.
I.ii.7 While war is sport for Aeneas, it is "husbandry", marriage for Hector.
I.ii.17 I lost track for a moment and thought Cressida was playing the fool . . . she (as does Alexander) shifts to prose here.
I.ii.18 There is something in this characterization of Ajax; I can smell it.
I.ii the entire rest of the scene seems to be in prose. Does Cressida do so for her Uncle, who spoke thusly in the previous scene?
I.ii.244 The waiting for Troilus makes the audience (and Cressida) develop the same patience that he and Hector have want of.
I.ii.308 As if overpowering her Uncle's wit were not evidence enough of her canniness, here we have a couple more tokens. For one, she reverts back to verse for her monologue (Alexander never seems to have exited), and entirely of couplets at that, the first character in the play to do so. This shows not only her facility with language, but her clever tailoring of it to her audience. Of course, the content of her words is the real evidence of her mastery: it is she alone who has patience of all the characters revealed so far, and the wisdom to leverage it to maximum effect.
I.iii.1-8 I had to read this part four times. I wonder if Agamemnon's obscurity is part of his character.
I.iii.31-54 Nestor tries to match Agamemnon's tone, but his only trick seems to be substituting fancy words for simpler ones, especially nautical terms. On the surface, the speeches are analogous, but even his pentameter is inferior. He substitutes "Boreas" for "wind", "the strong-ribbed bark" for "boat", and "liquid mountains" for "waves", and that is the extent of his rhetoric. Not only is Agamemnon the source of the idea, but it is an idea, not a mere description. His smelted gold and winnowed chaff are poignant metaphors; Nestor just talks pretty.
I.iii.70-74 Again, Agamemnon is completely opaque.
I.iii.150-161 Patroclus' mockery may seem to have some truth in it. . .
I.iii.293-300 Again Nester parrots Agamemnon, but this time more touchingly. His affection for his late wife is apparent somehow, though not explicitly spoken.
I.iii.303 Ulysses, short of words, says it all. Somehow, Shakespeare makes it clear that this one word could mean but one thing: an idea.
I.iii.312 sure 'nuff.
I.iii.343 he hee. small pricks.
Prologue: an interesting and appropriate choice to give the play a Greek chorus, ala Henry V.
P.10 Appropriate that this line about Paris, a pederast in some versions, ends in a female rhyme. this trick is common in pentametric verse, and Shakespeare does it elsewhere, notably in the notorious Sonnet 20. It is reasonable to assume that the trick is here purposeful, but the question arises in my mind, as it usually does when reading Shakespeare, "Do we give him to much credit?" Close reading of Shakespeare invariably reveals such tidbits, but on occassion they are so tenuous that one wonders if the reader/critic is not being a bit revisionist. Did Shakespeare really pay such attention to every syllable that we can attribute meaning to something this incidental? Does his intent even matter?
P.11 A perfect example. Does the truncation of this line, the tentativeness of it, have anything to do with the topic: Tenedos, or is it just the playwright's convenience? Does it matter?
P 15-19 If we attribute meaning to lines 10 and 11, we must not rest until these similarly irregular metrics are dissected. Yet, there is no apparent reason for it, other than that Shakespeare allowed himself some error.
P:22 A nice production option would be to steal Chaucer's conceit and have Troilus play the part of the prologue, seemingly narrating from heaven with a wise and understanding detachment.
P:29,30 a cute couplet. Stagecraft is war. Sometimes you are the victor and the play is a smash--you kill, in stage lingo. Sometimes not, and you die out there. Especially appropriate here, in light of T&C's status as one of Shakepeare's problem plays.
I.i.6-28 Already an example of Shakespeare's subtle and seemingly effortless characterization. Pandarus is characterized as earthy and practical, first by his concern with Troilus' armor, and later by his choice of metaphor. Not only that, the contrast between him and Troilus is established by the 6th line of the play; he speaks in prose, Troilus in verse.
I.i.33 Troilus is revealed to be other than a courtly lover here, for he is concerned with Cressidas orgasm.
I.i.42 a bit o foreshadowing here, in a pithy and aphoristic couplet.
I.i49 This early and off-handed mention of Cassandra feels like a master's smooth touch of exposition.
I.i.57-61 I just about threw up in my mouth here. Troilus is clearly being set up as a foolish and idealistic lover.
I.i.66 Shakespeare's experience as an actor is evident here. I can't imagine the actor's not taking a beat, so clear is the arc of the scene.
I.i.107 Is the "flood" in Shakepeare's version literal, as in most others, or figurastive. I only wonder because I know that Troilus does not drown in this version.
I.i.116-117 Again, the couplet holds a world of meaning. In some versions, Paris is Troilus mentor/lover. Troilus seeming contempt here, together with the line "gor'd with Menelaus horn" connotes, "Good. Let him get fucked for a change."
I.i.118 succesful characterization of Aeneas in one line. It could not be clearer that he is consumed with the game of war if Shakespeare had stretched this out for a page.
I can't believe that I spent that much time reading one scene. this is going to take forever, and cheap at that price.
I.ii.4 this line both sets up Hector as a foil to Troilus and touches on what may become a theme: patience. Every Shakespearean play has a word that unlocks its world, and this may be T&C's.
I.ii.7 While war is sport for Aeneas, it is "husbandry", marriage for Hector.
I.ii.17 I lost track for a moment and thought Cressida was playing the fool . . . she (as does Alexander) shifts to prose here.
I.ii.18 There is something in this characterization of Ajax; I can smell it.
I.ii the entire rest of the scene seems to be in prose. Does Cressida do so for her Uncle, who spoke thusly in the previous scene?
I.ii.244 The waiting for Troilus makes the audience (and Cressida) develop the same patience that he and Hector have want of.
I.ii.308 As if overpowering her Uncle's wit were not evidence enough of her canniness, here we have a couple more tokens. For one, she reverts back to verse for her monologue (Alexander never seems to have exited), and entirely of couplets at that, the first character in the play to do so. This shows not only her facility with language, but her clever tailoring of it to her audience. Of course, the content of her words is the real evidence of her mastery: it is she alone who has patience of all the characters revealed so far, and the wisdom to leverage it to maximum effect.
I.iii.1-8 I had to read this part four times. I wonder if Agamemnon's obscurity is part of his character.
I.iii.31-54 Nestor tries to match Agamemnon's tone, but his only trick seems to be substituting fancy words for simpler ones, especially nautical terms. On the surface, the speeches are analogous, but even his pentameter is inferior. He substitutes "Boreas" for "wind", "the strong-ribbed bark" for "boat", and "liquid mountains" for "waves", and that is the extent of his rhetoric. Not only is Agamemnon the source of the idea, but it is an idea, not a mere description. His smelted gold and winnowed chaff are poignant metaphors; Nestor just talks pretty.
I.iii.70-74 Again, Agamemnon is completely opaque.
I.iii.150-161 Patroclus' mockery may seem to have some truth in it. . .
I.iii.293-300 Again Nester parrots Agamemnon, but this time more touchingly. His affection for his late wife is apparent somehow, though not explicitly spoken.
I.iii.303 Ulysses, short of words, says it all. Somehow, Shakespeare makes it clear that this one word could mean but one thing: an idea.
I.iii.312 sure 'nuff.
I.iii.343 he hee. small pricks.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Mark IV
13:1 This talk of stones reminds me of Peter
13:6 What are the "these things" that the disciples are expecting? Furthermore, why does Jesus act like the answer is to watch out for his return?
13:7-8 Is there any nonprophetic way to take this? At first, I thought he might be referring to his ascension, but it is clear that he means something a little further down the line. What is this presence? I don't see any way to take this that is less than millienalist.
13:9-20 The sad thing is that the Witnesses' explanation of these verse makes perfect sense.
13:23 "I have told you everything" is a pretty broad statement. everything about his messiahship?
13:24-27 This whole chapter is giving me a headache.
13:37 I guess the real question about all of this is has it been fulfilled, either at the occupation of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. or otherwise, or is it more of an apocalyptic, end-of-times sort of thing? In any case, this whole chapter feels completely out of place.
14:5 I still remember a particular insight I had on this verse back when I was a Witness. The 300 Denarii was almost a years wages, so I figure that it represents about 20,000 modern dollars. This means that, while extravagant, it was not beyond the realm of something we would give to somebody we loved if we could afford it. It is not unheard of for somebody to buy a car as a gift, for example. What made this act astonishing was that the gift was, not money, but nard. It is revealing that the nard was in a sealed alabaster jar, one that required it to be broken open, not unscrewed. Some research reveals that Nard was stored in this way because it was an investment. this meant that using the nard on Jesus' feet was the equivalent, not of giving somebody $20,000, but of mailing a stamp worth that much, thus negating its value. It is not needless to say that nobody understood what the hell I was talking about when I made this comment.
14:9 I can picture the writer of Mark being present at this event, and being inspired to write it down.
14:20 Did Judas get revealed to the other disciples in this version?
14:33 Did he separate these three for a reason? Last time, it was rather significant (the transfiguration), so they may well have been remembering that moment here.
14:36 Who's to say what he prayed? nobody was there.
14:37 Did he set them apart to receive special adjuration? Double chastisement?
14:62 Aha! So he does say it!
14:68 Some rock!
15:5 Given Jesus' gift for stumping the Pharisees previously, it almost feels like he was afraid of being too convincing and ruining the prophecy.
15:14 Who are these people? Surely not the same Jews who welcomed him into the city with palm frinds just days before . . .
15:21 Evidently the experience inspired Simon to become a follower. Why else would Mark bother to mention him in such detail?
15:25 I didn't remember the Bible being this specific about the timing.
15:40-41 Evidently the apostles were still being timid . . .
16:misc. I have little to say about this chapter, partly because I am growing weary, and partly because it feels so off-handed. I had never read the section some texts include after verse 14, though, and I find it very revealing. Is the term of Satan's rule really over at this point?
To sum up: The book of Mark feels a little disjointed and cursory, but there are genuinely touching moments, and I declare my liveblogging a success. BTD:4
13:6 What are the "these things" that the disciples are expecting? Furthermore, why does Jesus act like the answer is to watch out for his return?
13:7-8 Is there any nonprophetic way to take this? At first, I thought he might be referring to his ascension, but it is clear that he means something a little further down the line. What is this presence? I don't see any way to take this that is less than millienalist.
13:9-20 The sad thing is that the Witnesses' explanation of these verse makes perfect sense.
13:23 "I have told you everything" is a pretty broad statement. everything about his messiahship?
13:24-27 This whole chapter is giving me a headache.
13:37 I guess the real question about all of this is has it been fulfilled, either at the occupation of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. or otherwise, or is it more of an apocalyptic, end-of-times sort of thing? In any case, this whole chapter feels completely out of place.
14:5 I still remember a particular insight I had on this verse back when I was a Witness. The 300 Denarii was almost a years wages, so I figure that it represents about 20,000 modern dollars. This means that, while extravagant, it was not beyond the realm of something we would give to somebody we loved if we could afford it. It is not unheard of for somebody to buy a car as a gift, for example. What made this act astonishing was that the gift was, not money, but nard. It is revealing that the nard was in a sealed alabaster jar, one that required it to be broken open, not unscrewed. Some research reveals that Nard was stored in this way because it was an investment. this meant that using the nard on Jesus' feet was the equivalent, not of giving somebody $20,000, but of mailing a stamp worth that much, thus negating its value. It is not needless to say that nobody understood what the hell I was talking about when I made this comment.
14:9 I can picture the writer of Mark being present at this event, and being inspired to write it down.
14:20 Did Judas get revealed to the other disciples in this version?
14:33 Did he separate these three for a reason? Last time, it was rather significant (the transfiguration), so they may well have been remembering that moment here.
14:36 Who's to say what he prayed? nobody was there.
14:37 Did he set them apart to receive special adjuration? Double chastisement?
14:62 Aha! So he does say it!
14:68 Some rock!
15:5 Given Jesus' gift for stumping the Pharisees previously, it almost feels like he was afraid of being too convincing and ruining the prophecy.
15:14 Who are these people? Surely not the same Jews who welcomed him into the city with palm frinds just days before . . .
15:21 Evidently the experience inspired Simon to become a follower. Why else would Mark bother to mention him in such detail?
15:25 I didn't remember the Bible being this specific about the timing.
15:40-41 Evidently the apostles were still being timid . . .
16:misc. I have little to say about this chapter, partly because I am growing weary, and partly because it feels so off-handed. I had never read the section some texts include after verse 14, though, and I find it very revealing. Is the term of Satan's rule really over at this point?
To sum up: The book of Mark feels a little disjointed and cursory, but there are genuinely touching moments, and I declare my liveblogging a success. BTD:4
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Meanwhile,
I have been reading other things as well.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: A Study in Scarlet
As enjoyable as Sherlock Holmes' adventures are, I disagree with their place in the English literary canon. Take this, for example. There is nothing, to my eye, aside from the obvious skill in characterization, to set this apart from any other detective novel. Why are these considered anything other than well-written pablum?
Chris Hedges: I Don't Believe in Atheists
See, this is why I don't read much non-fiction. What is true for another current project, the Autobiography of Saint Teresa of Avila, is true for Hedges here: they have no sense of structure. Teresa had no access to an editor and a word processor, however, and her rambling is correspondingly excusable. Hedges has no such excuse. It's as if he felt irritated about something or, as in this case, someone, and just started talking about it. He makes a couple of good points, but he makes them repeatedly and in no particular order. As with so many before him, he doesn't even seem to see the virtue of a satisfying conclusion. this should be either chopped up and recooked, or boiled into a much thinner work.
Which is not to say that I disagree with him. Certain new (conservative) atheists are truly bags of bilious wind. But his raillery against them has the unpleasant flavor of a straw man argument, the very thing of which he is accusing them. In short, I'm sure it would be much more satisfying to have coffee with this man than to read a book written by him.
BTD: 3
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: A Study in Scarlet
As enjoyable as Sherlock Holmes' adventures are, I disagree with their place in the English literary canon. Take this, for example. There is nothing, to my eye, aside from the obvious skill in characterization, to set this apart from any other detective novel. Why are these considered anything other than well-written pablum?
Chris Hedges: I Don't Believe in Atheists
See, this is why I don't read much non-fiction. What is true for another current project, the Autobiography of Saint Teresa of Avila, is true for Hedges here: they have no sense of structure. Teresa had no access to an editor and a word processor, however, and her rambling is correspondingly excusable. Hedges has no such excuse. It's as if he felt irritated about something or, as in this case, someone, and just started talking about it. He makes a couple of good points, but he makes them repeatedly and in no particular order. As with so many before him, he doesn't even seem to see the virtue of a satisfying conclusion. this should be either chopped up and recooked, or boiled into a much thinner work.
Which is not to say that I disagree with him. Certain new (conservative) atheists are truly bags of bilious wind. But his raillery against them has the unpleasant flavor of a straw man argument, the very thing of which he is accusing them. In short, I'm sure it would be much more satisfying to have coffee with this man than to read a book written by him.
BTD: 3
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