1:1 Well this is obfuscatory. Who is this lady? I'm sure that most will take it as a metaphor for the church as a whole, but a reading that assumes an individual audience might be revelatory.
1:3 More anti-trinitarian theology from John.
1:4 This leads one away from a metaphorical interpretation of the "lady". If she is the church as a whole, then surely it would be less than an overjoy that only some of her children were walking in the truth.
1:5-6 This is beginning to read almost like an Abelard and Heloise situation.
1:12 And there is no way that John was going to meet the entire congregation face to face. This simply must be an individual.
1:13 Especially considering that the church proper has no metaphorical sister . . . this verse especially makes me sympathetic to the reading that John was writing to Mary herself.
Sunday, March 01, 2015
Philip K. Dick: Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said
There's a reason why Philip K. Dick is in my trinity of science fiction, alongside Vonnegut and Asimov. While he can match the other two for creativity and vision, the latter are simply better writers--more consistent, more unified, and more erudite in every way. But unlike Vonnegut and Asimov, the power of Dick (phrasing!) is that somehow he reaches beyond the page and reads you back. Every time I read something by him, I find it reflected in my own life, and his books answer the questions that you didn't even think to speak aloud.
This book, like all of Dick's, is flawed. My reaction the first time I read it holds true six years later: that it could have done with a whole lot less explaining. But this second reading finds me in a less analytical mood. I forgive the author for caving to what were no doubt the demands of his publisher and tying things up at the end in a way that doesn't seem to match the rest of the book. I forgive him because the other 90% is a work of breathing, staring philosophy, and it would not surprise me at all if it grew a pair of legs and walked off my desk of its own accord.
This book, like all of Dick's, is flawed. My reaction the first time I read it holds true six years later: that it could have done with a whole lot less explaining. But this second reading finds me in a less analytical mood. I forgive the author for caving to what were no doubt the demands of his publisher and tying things up at the end in a way that doesn't seem to match the rest of the book. I forgive him because the other 90% is a work of breathing, staring philosophy, and it would not surprise me at all if it grew a pair of legs and walked off my desk of its own accord.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Richard Jackson Harris (ed): Cognitive Processing in Bilinguals
Generally there are three reasons to read a research anthology of this sort:
Nick Ellis of the University of North Wales seems to be an exception. In his article on Linguistic Relativity, a subject in which I have little innate interest, I found a quote from Joyce sticking out like a sore thumb. What was Ulysses doing in this starchy tome? Although the quote in question was simply about doing mental calculations, and was altogether unnecessary in this volume, it reminded me of my own take on that monstrous novel. To say that Ulysses is a stream of consciousness work is only partially correct. There are parts of it that treat the serial circuit of human thought, but it is equally devoted to the parallel process of human experience. Joyce gives us a typically obtuse way of thinking about this in section 3:
"Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably."
It is the interaction of the nacheinander and the nebeneinander that make up life. Those things we experience, perceive, and feel happen all at once, and those things we think and remember happen one after the other. Insofar as this holds for all human activity, it is no surprise that it applies equally to the field of language acquisition. Krashen's "monitor" and Chomsky's "language acquisition device" work together simultaneously, and this dichotomy is observable everywhere in the literature on the subject: the aforementioned implicit and explicit knowledge, learning and acquisition, form and meaning, all these are simply names for the two ways in which the mind works with language--and not incidentally, the left and the right hemispheres. If I can get my students to use both, and consciously so, I should probably write a paper on it. Perhaps Mr. Harris will be interested including it in his next anthology.
- Because there is a single article that is seminal in its field, and unavailable elsewhere. In this case, the article in question was Kroll and Shull: Lexical and Conceptual Memory in Fluent and Nonfluent Bilinguals. Although I spent a good portion of my thesis tearing it up, there is no doubt that this work on the so-called "translation asymmetry" is a crucial and influential piece of research.
- To get a nice set of references for your bibliography and give weight to what you want to say, since you are a lowly master's candidate and you are making some rather bold claims. Hypothetically, of course.
- To figure out what you want to read next. In this case, I was most taken by Brian MacWhinney's discussion of the Competition Model, and Jacqueline Thomas' treatment of explicit and implicit knowledge (via Bialystok). The bite-sized morsels offered here were enough to tempt me in those directions without having to slog through dreary textbooks on cerebral lateralization or phonological processing.
Nick Ellis of the University of North Wales seems to be an exception. In his article on Linguistic Relativity, a subject in which I have little innate interest, I found a quote from Joyce sticking out like a sore thumb. What was Ulysses doing in this starchy tome? Although the quote in question was simply about doing mental calculations, and was altogether unnecessary in this volume, it reminded me of my own take on that monstrous novel. To say that Ulysses is a stream of consciousness work is only partially correct. There are parts of it that treat the serial circuit of human thought, but it is equally devoted to the parallel process of human experience. Joyce gives us a typically obtuse way of thinking about this in section 3:
"Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably."
It is the interaction of the nacheinander and the nebeneinander that make up life. Those things we experience, perceive, and feel happen all at once, and those things we think and remember happen one after the other. Insofar as this holds for all human activity, it is no surprise that it applies equally to the field of language acquisition. Krashen's "monitor" and Chomsky's "language acquisition device" work together simultaneously, and this dichotomy is observable everywhere in the literature on the subject: the aforementioned implicit and explicit knowledge, learning and acquisition, form and meaning, all these are simply names for the two ways in which the mind works with language--and not incidentally, the left and the right hemispheres. If I can get my students to use both, and consciously so, I should probably write a paper on it. Perhaps Mr. Harris will be interested including it in his next anthology.
Emile Zola: Germinal
Up until the last chapter, I was prepared to write about how masterfully Zola ropes the readers in, enticing her or him with the prospect that things might just turn out--even though he clearly has no such intention. This was my take on L'assommoir, and combined with his thoroughly believable, though not necessarily relatable, characters I saw a pattern developing. Even the ostensible villains of the novel react in perfectly human ways to representatively human circumstances. The mine collapse in Part VI seemed the perfect resolution to this vector, and this gutsy and unexpected turn reminded me of The Mill on the Floss or Empire Falls. Had he stopped there, I would have put him right up there with Balzac, ahead of Flaubert and Stendahl, as the very best of French writers.
But he didn't stop. He went on for another hundred or so pages, and that last chapter undid everything. Whereas L'assommoir sacrificed nothing to Zola's social ideas, and in fact worked with them nicely, it would seem that he simply could not help himself in Germinal. What was an inspiring narrative that needed no help to make its point, turned into a manifesto. I don't like being told what to think; it insults my pride of readership and chafes against my rather typically American rebelliousness. It is for this reason that Germinal, though it could have been even better than L'assommoir, wound up being merely The Jungle.
But he didn't stop. He went on for another hundred or so pages, and that last chapter undid everything. Whereas L'assommoir sacrificed nothing to Zola's social ideas, and in fact worked with them nicely, it would seem that he simply could not help himself in Germinal. What was an inspiring narrative that needed no help to make its point, turned into a manifesto. I don't like being told what to think; it insults my pride of readership and chafes against my rather typically American rebelliousness. It is for this reason that Germinal, though it could have been even better than L'assommoir, wound up being merely The Jungle.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Honore de Balzac: La Comedie Humaine
Baaaaaaaaalzac! It's funny for so many reasons. One can hear Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn clucking it alongside Chaucher and Rabelais. And let's not forget its giggle-inducing homophone. It's a wonder, considering how long the name has been in my consciousness, that it has taken me so long to get around to reading this author. At last I have, though, and glad I am that I did. I found him to be not only an engaging and epigrammatic storyteller, but also a complete original, treating the subject of men and women in a way that I don't recall experiencing before. An enjoyable mix of Hemingway's brutal honesty and George Eliot's vibrant philosophy. One can see, of course, why Mrs. Shinn would have objected to the content--had she ever read it.
In The Human Comedy, Balzac does not shy away from the darkest sides of human love and sexuality; rather, he embraces them. Even the most brutal aspects, however, are never treated brutally. The themes are straight out of (or rather into, considering timing) Bret Easton Ellis: revenge, rape, jealousy, lust, sadism, and even bestiality. But the style and treatment are more Tennyson: the heights and depths of human spirit that drives those themes. Even arguably the most substream of the stories, the (metaphorically?) bestial "A Passion in the Desert", ends with the stunning explanation for the allure of one's wild nature: "It is God without men."
This tension between the human and the divine only partly sets up Balzac's cosmology, however. In "The Duchesse de Langeais", Balzac thoughtfully and systematically lays out the real structure of his universe: "What man, in any rank of life, has not felt in his soul an indefinable pleasure in a woman he has chosen, even dreamed of as his own, who embodies the triple moral, physical, and social perfections that allow him to see in her the satisfation of all his wishes?"(327). Society, this third element of Balzac's trinity, has just as clear a voice in his stories as the other two. It is only in "Langeais", though, that he fully unfolds his meaning. Peppered throughout are subtle references through imagery--the triple sconces of the Duchess' cloister, the three masked figures of her vision--and explicit reference to the three divinities, though always wearing different masks. In fact, the patten is so consistent that one could make a chart were one inclined to that sort of thing . . .
p. 291 p. 303 p.327 p.366
love men social horse
music principles moral bull
religion things physical lion
Perhaps the most stimulating part of this cosmology is its ability to be simultaneously clear and vague. There is no doubt that Balzac's intention is to set up a trinity; great writers never do this sort of thing on accident. But there is considerable doubt as to the precise nature of the three elements. Although the above chart draws a perfectly acceptable corollary between the various mentions of these elements, it is by no means the only possible one. Do things belong to the physical world? Or the social one? What about men? At times they operate according to their animal passions, at others according to their social constructs. One would assume that religion is a moral force, but in Balzac (in "A Passion in the Desert", for example) God is nature, and therefore well within the physical realm. It is tempting, in fact, to construct a narrative wherein Montriveau of "Langeais" and the general of "Desert" are in fact the same person, the latter taking place during the former's trek across the desert (322-323). One is further tempted to this reading by Balzac's constant acsription of animal qualities to the two lovers in "Langeais". Montriveau even goes so far as to say to the Duchesse, "perhaps you are like the tigers in the desert, who lick the wounds they have first inflicted" (373). Rather an irresistible reference to the general and his panther.
At any rate, the line between the members of Balzac's triumvirate is far too blurry to allow any parallel with the Catholic trinity. It rather feels more like a threefold version of yin and yang, one constantly running into and becoming the other. For him, the world is not run by a constant tension between light and dark; it is far from so binary. It is, rather, the constant and blurry interplay between love, lust, and romance that drives all humans to behave in the way they do.
In The Human Comedy, Balzac does not shy away from the darkest sides of human love and sexuality; rather, he embraces them. Even the most brutal aspects, however, are never treated brutally. The themes are straight out of (or rather into, considering timing) Bret Easton Ellis: revenge, rape, jealousy, lust, sadism, and even bestiality. But the style and treatment are more Tennyson: the heights and depths of human spirit that drives those themes. Even arguably the most substream of the stories, the (metaphorically?) bestial "A Passion in the Desert", ends with the stunning explanation for the allure of one's wild nature: "It is God without men."
This tension between the human and the divine only partly sets up Balzac's cosmology, however. In "The Duchesse de Langeais", Balzac thoughtfully and systematically lays out the real structure of his universe: "What man, in any rank of life, has not felt in his soul an indefinable pleasure in a woman he has chosen, even dreamed of as his own, who embodies the triple moral, physical, and social perfections that allow him to see in her the satisfation of all his wishes?"(327). Society, this third element of Balzac's trinity, has just as clear a voice in his stories as the other two. It is only in "Langeais", though, that he fully unfolds his meaning. Peppered throughout are subtle references through imagery--the triple sconces of the Duchess' cloister, the three masked figures of her vision--and explicit reference to the three divinities, though always wearing different masks. In fact, the patten is so consistent that one could make a chart were one inclined to that sort of thing . . .
p. 291 p. 303 p.327 p.366
love men social horse
music principles moral bull
religion things physical lion
Perhaps the most stimulating part of this cosmology is its ability to be simultaneously clear and vague. There is no doubt that Balzac's intention is to set up a trinity; great writers never do this sort of thing on accident. But there is considerable doubt as to the precise nature of the three elements. Although the above chart draws a perfectly acceptable corollary between the various mentions of these elements, it is by no means the only possible one. Do things belong to the physical world? Or the social one? What about men? At times they operate according to their animal passions, at others according to their social constructs. One would assume that religion is a moral force, but in Balzac (in "A Passion in the Desert", for example) God is nature, and therefore well within the physical realm. It is tempting, in fact, to construct a narrative wherein Montriveau of "Langeais" and the general of "Desert" are in fact the same person, the latter taking place during the former's trek across the desert (322-323). One is further tempted to this reading by Balzac's constant acsription of animal qualities to the two lovers in "Langeais". Montriveau even goes so far as to say to the Duchesse, "perhaps you are like the tigers in the desert, who lick the wounds they have first inflicted" (373). Rather an irresistible reference to the general and his panther.
At any rate, the line between the members of Balzac's triumvirate is far too blurry to allow any parallel with the Catholic trinity. It rather feels more like a threefold version of yin and yang, one constantly running into and becoming the other. For him, the world is not run by a constant tension between light and dark; it is far from so binary. It is, rather, the constant and blurry interplay between love, lust, and romance that drives all humans to behave in the way they do.
Friday, January 30, 2015
First John
Well, here goes. I'm definitely near the end of this little project, and have been putting it off, as I tend to do with all things resembling completion. The rest of this Bible belongs to John, a figure who could be described as either fascinating or enigmatic. In some ways he feels to me like the narrator of the Hebrew scriptures. A fellow whose voice is felt on every page, but who we never really get to know directly. Kinda the Nick Carraway of the Bible. Peter and Paul both come through loud and clear in their books, but John seemed to take great care to remove himself, even referring to himself in the third person, and never by name in his gospel account. I look forward to seeing what pokes through in these last four books, or whether he maintains that mysterious objectivity.
1:1 The unnamed plural here is an interesting choice. Different from Peter, James or Paul. If any of them had written it, no doubt this would have begun with their names. John already seems set to let this letter stand on its own merit.
1:3 Really, this trinity thing is out of hand. I've discussed John's treatment extensively in my discussion of his gospel account, and here is further indication that he had no concept of Jesus and God as being the same person.
1:4 I really like this approach. This is how prayer should work. Not asking for anything, just saying it because to not say it is to be incomplete.
1:5 Again, exactly like a prayer--my version at least, which is heavily influenced by Ernest Holmes.
1:8-10 A concise and accessible treatment of a weighty theological topic.
2:1 Now this is interesting. A sudden shift to the first person singular. Fitting, in that his topic now seems to be taking a turn away from the rhetoric of theology and toward the personal appeal.
2:2 And back to "we" here, but now it feels less like the royal we, and more like the addressee-inclusive we. I wonder if Greek makes that distinction like Mandarin and Hawaiian, or leaves it unmarked like English. Update: unmarked.
2:4 The second use of this expression already. It is as if for John "the truth is not in you" is the ultimate proscription. I will be on the lookout for future treatment of "truth", but it feels important to him in a way that it did not to Paul et al.
2:9-11 And the same can be said for "light". In fact, truth and light already seem to be synonymous for John.
2:12-14 A beautiful little stanza, with a good measure of poetic quality. I am intrigued especially by "him who is from the beginning" in 14. As he is addressing the "fathers' in the congregation, no doubt he means those who saw Christ with their own eyes. This dovetails nicely with the theology in his gospel account.
2:15-17 Verses that still ring in my head from the memorization of my youth. Interestingly, little deviated from the New World Translation that I remember.
2:18 and here is a nice pin in the balloon of those amateur theologians who predict/await/identify the antichrist. There was never such a figure in the Bible. It's an adjective, not a title.
2:21 More emphasis on truth, and in a way that is indistinguishable from the treatment of light. A nice set of dichotomies he is setting up here: truth and lies, light and darkness, the world and the will of God.
2:24 Using syntax to make his reference clear here. John loves this word "abide". Wonder if the same Greek word is being translated each time here. Update: indeed it is. Menein in 2:6, menetw and meinh in 2:24. This is a great little point. In 6, the reader abides in God. In 24, truth abides in the reader, even as the reader abides in the son and the father. A potentially revealing nesting doll arrangement.
2:27 And the same verb here, time used for anointing. That indirectly conflates "truth" with spirit, which makes sense given his next words. If we are to extend John's pattern here, that would mean spirit has to have an equivalent darkness. Let us see if there is mention of such a contrast.
2:29 Now this is a potentially incendiary verse. John has put the cart in its rightful pre-equine position here. It is not that those who have been born of God must do right. It is that those who do right are by definition born of God. Those who do not do right are simply not of God, and are liars if they say otherwise, as in 1:8 and 2:4. The most telling point, however, is that it is the doing of right that is the deciding factor. Although such distinctions would have been meaningless in John's context, one can extrapolate that creed, faction, and silly recited declaration of belief are irrelevant.
3:2-3 I'm going out on a limb here. Brace yourself. Taken in a certain way, this is a rather revealing metaphysical statement. Those who are properly constituted have the ability to see based on their similarity to that seen. This could be taken sociologically, to mean that we only understand what we are conditioned to experience; or literally, to mean that one must be . . . vibrating? at the right frequency? Ok, I'm gonna stop now. That sounds too woogity woogity to be supportable.
3:4-10 Waaaaaaaitaminnit, here's where it gets a bit fuzzy. This seems to directly contradict what is goin on back in 1:8-10.
3:14 And here's the other half of the dichotomy that we were looking for in 2:27. The opposite of light is darkness, and the other side of spirit is death. Same verb and everything.
3:15 Oh, but now he's set up another one. Gotta backtrack on that last statement.
3:23 This is the only thing that saves the earlier contradiction. John's definition of sin in 1:8-10 and his definition here do not seem to be the same thing. It's entirely possible that he was speaking Mosaically earlier. Linguistic clues from the Greek: sin in Greek is not a separate concept like it is in English. It just means to miss something, although even this translation is fuzzy because of the multiple meanings of "miss" in English. In any case, John is probably just using it as a general lexical item, not a concrete theological construct, which makes some contradiction more understandable.
4:1 Okay, hold on. I have to take issue with this translation decision to capitalize Spirit in 3:24 and not here. This is a clear editorializing that is in no way indicated in the Greek. It's the same word.
4:2-3 Now we are pretty clearly speaking of actual spirit beings here, not some metaphorical spirit of brotherhood or Saint Louis. This always intrigues me when the Bible hits these areas, because it seems like there's something almost scientific about it. Like the discovery of a new species. What are the characteristics of these creatures? They can clearly communicate. There's even a taxonomy given here. This remains a huge blind spot in my own personal experience though. I always look at this sort of thing with a pretty heavy dose of side-eye, as though Teresa of Avila were in front of me spouting her silliness.
4:10-12 You can almost feel John's passion here, like the rising cadence of a really good sermon. I could wish that he gave us a little more to go on here, but it's compelling nonetheless.
4:14-15 Sadly, these verses that are so central to modern Evangelicalism also hold some pretty strong rationale for not believing in a trinity. It's a shame what is picked and chosen.
4:16 Here's the best part of the whole abiding thing: it's reflexive. The reader abides in God, and vice versa. One is simultaneously the vessel and the contents.
4:17 We get a whiff here of John's earlier visions. He has likely already written the Revelation by the time this epistle is composed, and his warning to be ready bears a very specific urgency. Those things that he saw cannot be unseen.
5:3 Indeed. They're contained in one verse.
5:5 John has taken a turn away from "truth" to the less attractive "belief" here.
5:6 And we're back. Phew.
5:11 I'm quite interested in knowing exactly what John's concept of eternal life was. Is he intimating something he observed as one of the few who actually might have seen into the beyond and lived to write about it? Sadly, he does not elaborate here.
5:16-17 Wow, these verses are pretty fresh to me. Lots of interesting implications here:
5:19 And here's another tantalizing bit of metaphysics. For lack of any other candidate, I'm going to go ahead and say that this evil one is the corollary to spirit in John's lengthy dialectic.
5:20 The perfect ending,
5:21 but this is just weird.
1:1 The unnamed plural here is an interesting choice. Different from Peter, James or Paul. If any of them had written it, no doubt this would have begun with their names. John already seems set to let this letter stand on its own merit.
1:3 Really, this trinity thing is out of hand. I've discussed John's treatment extensively in my discussion of his gospel account, and here is further indication that he had no concept of Jesus and God as being the same person.
1:4 I really like this approach. This is how prayer should work. Not asking for anything, just saying it because to not say it is to be incomplete.
1:5 Again, exactly like a prayer--my version at least, which is heavily influenced by Ernest Holmes.
1:8-10 A concise and accessible treatment of a weighty theological topic.
2:1 Now this is interesting. A sudden shift to the first person singular. Fitting, in that his topic now seems to be taking a turn away from the rhetoric of theology and toward the personal appeal.
2:2 And back to "we" here, but now it feels less like the royal we, and more like the addressee-inclusive we. I wonder if Greek makes that distinction like Mandarin and Hawaiian, or leaves it unmarked like English. Update: unmarked.
2:4 The second use of this expression already. It is as if for John "the truth is not in you" is the ultimate proscription. I will be on the lookout for future treatment of "truth", but it feels important to him in a way that it did not to Paul et al.
2:9-11 And the same can be said for "light". In fact, truth and light already seem to be synonymous for John.
2:12-14 A beautiful little stanza, with a good measure of poetic quality. I am intrigued especially by "him who is from the beginning" in 14. As he is addressing the "fathers' in the congregation, no doubt he means those who saw Christ with their own eyes. This dovetails nicely with the theology in his gospel account.
2:15-17 Verses that still ring in my head from the memorization of my youth. Interestingly, little deviated from the New World Translation that I remember.
2:18 and here is a nice pin in the balloon of those amateur theologians who predict/await/identify the antichrist. There was never such a figure in the Bible. It's an adjective, not a title.
2:21 More emphasis on truth, and in a way that is indistinguishable from the treatment of light. A nice set of dichotomies he is setting up here: truth and lies, light and darkness, the world and the will of God.
2:24 Using syntax to make his reference clear here. John loves this word "abide". Wonder if the same Greek word is being translated each time here. Update: indeed it is. Menein in 2:6, menetw and meinh in 2:24. This is a great little point. In 6, the reader abides in God. In 24, truth abides in the reader, even as the reader abides in the son and the father. A potentially revealing nesting doll arrangement.
2:27 And the same verb here, time used for anointing. That indirectly conflates "truth" with spirit, which makes sense given his next words. If we are to extend John's pattern here, that would mean spirit has to have an equivalent darkness. Let us see if there is mention of such a contrast.
2:29 Now this is a potentially incendiary verse. John has put the cart in its rightful pre-equine position here. It is not that those who have been born of God must do right. It is that those who do right are by definition born of God. Those who do not do right are simply not of God, and are liars if they say otherwise, as in 1:8 and 2:4. The most telling point, however, is that it is the doing of right that is the deciding factor. Although such distinctions would have been meaningless in John's context, one can extrapolate that creed, faction, and silly recited declaration of belief are irrelevant.
3:2-3 I'm going out on a limb here. Brace yourself. Taken in a certain way, this is a rather revealing metaphysical statement. Those who are properly constituted have the ability to see based on their similarity to that seen. This could be taken sociologically, to mean that we only understand what we are conditioned to experience; or literally, to mean that one must be . . . vibrating? at the right frequency? Ok, I'm gonna stop now. That sounds too woogity woogity to be supportable.
3:4-10 Waaaaaaaitaminnit, here's where it gets a bit fuzzy. This seems to directly contradict what is goin on back in 1:8-10.
3:14 And here's the other half of the dichotomy that we were looking for in 2:27. The opposite of light is darkness, and the other side of spirit is death. Same verb and everything.
3:15 Oh, but now he's set up another one. Gotta backtrack on that last statement.
3:23 This is the only thing that saves the earlier contradiction. John's definition of sin in 1:8-10 and his definition here do not seem to be the same thing. It's entirely possible that he was speaking Mosaically earlier. Linguistic clues from the Greek: sin in Greek is not a separate concept like it is in English. It just means to miss something, although even this translation is fuzzy because of the multiple meanings of "miss" in English. In any case, John is probably just using it as a general lexical item, not a concrete theological construct, which makes some contradiction more understandable.
4:1 Okay, hold on. I have to take issue with this translation decision to capitalize Spirit in 3:24 and not here. This is a clear editorializing that is in no way indicated in the Greek. It's the same word.
4:2-3 Now we are pretty clearly speaking of actual spirit beings here, not some metaphorical spirit of brotherhood or Saint Louis. This always intrigues me when the Bible hits these areas, because it seems like there's something almost scientific about it. Like the discovery of a new species. What are the characteristics of these creatures? They can clearly communicate. There's even a taxonomy given here. This remains a huge blind spot in my own personal experience though. I always look at this sort of thing with a pretty heavy dose of side-eye, as though Teresa of Avila were in front of me spouting her silliness.
4:10-12 You can almost feel John's passion here, like the rising cadence of a really good sermon. I could wish that he gave us a little more to go on here, but it's compelling nonetheless.
4:14-15 Sadly, these verses that are so central to modern Evangelicalism also hold some pretty strong rationale for not believing in a trinity. It's a shame what is picked and chosen.
4:16 Here's the best part of the whole abiding thing: it's reflexive. The reader abides in God, and vice versa. One is simultaneously the vessel and the contents.
4:17 We get a whiff here of John's earlier visions. He has likely already written the Revelation by the time this epistle is composed, and his warning to be ready bears a very specific urgency. Those things that he saw cannot be unseen.
5:3 Indeed. They're contained in one verse.
5:5 John has taken a turn away from "truth" to the less attractive "belief" here.
5:6 And we're back. Phew.
5:11 I'm quite interested in knowing exactly what John's concept of eternal life was. Is he intimating something he observed as one of the few who actually might have seen into the beyond and lived to write about it? Sadly, he does not elaborate here.
5:16-17 Wow, these verses are pretty fresh to me. Lots of interesting implications here:
- the reader has the power to forgive sin
- but only of a certain type, for there are evidently magnitudes
- mortal sin is super super bad, and it exists, and John is not going to tell us what it is
5:19 And here's another tantalizing bit of metaphysics. For lack of any other candidate, I'm going to go ahead and say that this evil one is the corollary to spirit in John's lengthy dialectic.
5:20 The perfect ending,
5:21 but this is just weird.
Tuesday, August 05, 2014
Marcus Tullius Cicero: Selected Works
Although I didn't find this selection of works particularly pithy or epigrammatic, I nonetheless came away from it considerably moved. It's easy to see from the structure of his works why Cicero is considered one of the fathers of modern rhetoric. The structures and devices he uses feel perfectly modern, and would not be out of place on the floor of Parliament or a Presidential debate. And like most of that sort of thing, it is the effect of what is said, rather than any particular point, which lingers in the memory. Cicero himself seems to acknowledge that he is offering no new thought, but merely putting existing ideas into a nice package.
In spite of all that, I put the book down with the feeling of being personally admonished by a great man.
What good have I really accomplished in life? My father recently told me that, out of his children, I was the one whom he felt had done the most real good in the world. I was surprised at this, not because my brother and sister are great philanthropists, but because I don't think of myself as having contributed in any meaningful way to the rest of society. There are no doubt some few students whom I, In my years as a public school teacher, was able to help. I count this as nibbling at the edges of good, and not any great credit to me. I do what I can, and I am admittedly invested in the welfare of those around me, but I don't feel like any marginal difference I might have made even tips the scale against some of my rather foolish and harmful decisions.
And even if life were not measured in a grand ledger of good accomplished versus harm done, how would I fare when measured against Cicero's standard of virtue: wisdom, fortitude, justice and temperance? It would be disingenuous of me to deny that I have accrued some wisdom over my lifetime--a combination of copious reading and the ability to piece things together in a logical way. I don't think I can allow myself to say that the remaining three virtues have found a home in me. I have behaved unjustly--not often, but seriously. My fortitude is marginal, and my temperance nonexistent. What in me is there worth admiring? My father seems to think there is something worthy in me, but surely his judgement is less than objective. I could wish that he were more like Cicero, in fact: to be able to see my worst qualities, and give me sound advice on their remedy.
As it is, I will have to make use of the burst of motivation I received from Cicero, thousands of years after his death, to make some small adjustment in my habits before it wears out. Or at least, as the determination he has given me fades, to revisit his writings and be stimulated once again by this great rhetorician.
In spite of all that, I put the book down with the feeling of being personally admonished by a great man.
What good have I really accomplished in life? My father recently told me that, out of his children, I was the one whom he felt had done the most real good in the world. I was surprised at this, not because my brother and sister are great philanthropists, but because I don't think of myself as having contributed in any meaningful way to the rest of society. There are no doubt some few students whom I, In my years as a public school teacher, was able to help. I count this as nibbling at the edges of good, and not any great credit to me. I do what I can, and I am admittedly invested in the welfare of those around me, but I don't feel like any marginal difference I might have made even tips the scale against some of my rather foolish and harmful decisions.
And even if life were not measured in a grand ledger of good accomplished versus harm done, how would I fare when measured against Cicero's standard of virtue: wisdom, fortitude, justice and temperance? It would be disingenuous of me to deny that I have accrued some wisdom over my lifetime--a combination of copious reading and the ability to piece things together in a logical way. I don't think I can allow myself to say that the remaining three virtues have found a home in me. I have behaved unjustly--not often, but seriously. My fortitude is marginal, and my temperance nonexistent. What in me is there worth admiring? My father seems to think there is something worthy in me, but surely his judgement is less than objective. I could wish that he were more like Cicero, in fact: to be able to see my worst qualities, and give me sound advice on their remedy.
As it is, I will have to make use of the burst of motivation I received from Cicero, thousands of years after his death, to make some small adjustment in my habits before it wears out. Or at least, as the determination he has given me fades, to revisit his writings and be stimulated once again by this great rhetorician.
Birth of a Nation
It's easy to see why this film was included on AFI's list of 100 influential films. The staggering ambition of the project is evident from the very first captions, and its contribution to cinematographic technique is non to be underestimated.
Nonetheless, one can't help but feel that it was included for other reasons altogether. Griffith's subject is understandably abhorrent to modern eyes, but it was not without controversy in its own time as well. The eponymous nation, after all, is not the newly united America after the civil war, but the abhorrent Ku Klux Klan. And it is not only the decision to lionize that organization that puts the film squarely in the indefensible column. Every characterization, from the lascivious mulatto carpetbagger to the conniving mulatto housekeeper is so nauseatingly racist as to make it very nearly unwatchable, and this is aggravated by the fawning treatment of the heroic Klansman protagonist.
All of which need scarcely be said again by me, as thoroughly as it has been treated both by the viewing public at the time of its release and film historians since then. I will add, however, that the chief thing that bothered me about the film was not any of the aforementioned racism, but rather the aggrandized tone that Griffith himself takes in the filming. Although the film was on the surface about the post-war South, I can't help but feel that the whole thing was really about Griffith's own ego. Perhaps he thought at the time that such an illustrious name as his would give gravitas to what even contemporary viewers recognized as horseshit. It did not, and it does not, and I wonder if his subsequent film "Intolerance" will reek in the same way.
Nonetheless, one can't help but feel that it was included for other reasons altogether. Griffith's subject is understandably abhorrent to modern eyes, but it was not without controversy in its own time as well. The eponymous nation, after all, is not the newly united America after the civil war, but the abhorrent Ku Klux Klan. And it is not only the decision to lionize that organization that puts the film squarely in the indefensible column. Every characterization, from the lascivious mulatto carpetbagger to the conniving mulatto housekeeper is so nauseatingly racist as to make it very nearly unwatchable, and this is aggravated by the fawning treatment of the heroic Klansman protagonist.
All of which need scarcely be said again by me, as thoroughly as it has been treated both by the viewing public at the time of its release and film historians since then. I will add, however, that the chief thing that bothered me about the film was not any of the aforementioned racism, but rather the aggrandized tone that Griffith himself takes in the filming. Although the film was on the surface about the post-war South, I can't help but feel that the whole thing was really about Griffith's own ego. Perhaps he thought at the time that such an illustrious name as his would give gravitas to what even contemporary viewers recognized as horseshit. It did not, and it does not, and I wonder if his subsequent film "Intolerance" will reek in the same way.
Thursday, June 05, 2014
The Song of Roland
It's not a reproach to say that I found the content to greatly outshine the form here. W.S. Merwin has taken the only rational approach in translating the Middle French verse into prose. My own views on translation into verse are well documented, namely that it is more often than not heresy. I could have wished that the editor/translator gave the reader a little more insight into the beauty of the original, explicating some of the more notable passages, drawing attention to certain linguistic features, or even applying some line breaks. Admittedly, however, such would have been a pale reflection, and I do not fault him for instead focusing entirely on what is, after all, the real star of the test: the narrative.
Having years ago read and been moved by Bulfinch's parallel account, I found this a welcome elaboration on one of the most neglected stories in Western Literature. I had forgotten how compelling the characters were, and how riveting the tale. How is it possible that we have not a single modern adaptation of the tales of Charlemagne? It has all the ingredients of a runaway hit: love, blood, betrayal, revenge, valor, honor, the only thing missing is a wisecracking sidekick or monkey in a dress, either of which would be easy enough to add. Can't you picture the scene of Roland and Oliver's epic duel, during which they are revealed to each other? "I yield me." sayeth the one. "I am defeated" echoeth his companion. And if the show be aired on Showtime, they proceed to make sweet, gay love right on the battlefield. Not a dry eye in the house, I assure you.
Having years ago read and been moved by Bulfinch's parallel account, I found this a welcome elaboration on one of the most neglected stories in Western Literature. I had forgotten how compelling the characters were, and how riveting the tale. How is it possible that we have not a single modern adaptation of the tales of Charlemagne? It has all the ingredients of a runaway hit: love, blood, betrayal, revenge, valor, honor, the only thing missing is a wisecracking sidekick or monkey in a dress, either of which would be easy enough to add. Can't you picture the scene of Roland and Oliver's epic duel, during which they are revealed to each other? "I yield me." sayeth the one. "I am defeated" echoeth his companion. And if the show be aired on Showtime, they proceed to make sweet, gay love right on the battlefield. Not a dry eye in the house, I assure you.
Monday, June 02, 2014
2 Peter
1:1 already we find a divergence from the first book claiming to be written by Peter, namely his self-appellation.
1:4 Although the subject of the exhortation is similar to that in 1 Peter, I find the tone markedly different. Less oratical.
1:7 What is meant by "godliness" here. I'd be interested to know the original Greek. One normally would say it refers to goodness, self-control, etc., but as it is here distinguished from those other characteristics, it must be referring to some other, more specific attribute.
1:!4 If this letter was indeed written after Peter's death (as most scholars believe, based on its seeming reference to later letters of Paul), then this verse is not a gentle fiction, but a rather shameless falsehood.
1:20 I find this argument hard to support. If no prophecy is subject to interpretation, then why are some of them so darned opaque?
2:4 The Greek here is Tartaros, not Hades, and the translation as "hell" seems rather misleading.
2:6 Here is a hint about what "Peter" exactly means by godliness. He doesn't say what it is, but that it is whatever Sodom and Gomorrah were not: hospitable, chaste, mild.
2:10 aaaaaaand there it is. Depraved lust and contempt for authority, these were the ungodly acts of Sodom and Gomorrah. Although I for one and hard pressed to think of a way that submissiveness is in any way displayed by the divine figure.
2:12 Whoa whoa whoa, the implication here is that not only will the ungodly be destroyed, but also the irrational animals. That's the first I've heard of such a thing.
2:17 what exactly is a "waterless spring"? A hole?
2:18 And here's the bombast that I remember from 1 Peter. Markedly different from the letters attributed to Paul, and thoroughly demagogic.
3:8 a rather convenient algebra. By this reasoning, people can always be saying that the end is coming "any day now," and still be correct whilst saying nothing of value.
In general, while I find even Paul's most inflammatory doctrines to be based on logic and reason, in both of the books attributed to Peter I find the aroma of a modern day televangelist, one who relies on oratorical tricks to reach his audience.
1:4 Although the subject of the exhortation is similar to that in 1 Peter, I find the tone markedly different. Less oratical.
1:7 What is meant by "godliness" here. I'd be interested to know the original Greek. One normally would say it refers to goodness, self-control, etc., but as it is here distinguished from those other characteristics, it must be referring to some other, more specific attribute.
1:!4 If this letter was indeed written after Peter's death (as most scholars believe, based on its seeming reference to later letters of Paul), then this verse is not a gentle fiction, but a rather shameless falsehood.
1:20 I find this argument hard to support. If no prophecy is subject to interpretation, then why are some of them so darned opaque?
2:4 The Greek here is Tartaros, not Hades, and the translation as "hell" seems rather misleading.
2:6 Here is a hint about what "Peter" exactly means by godliness. He doesn't say what it is, but that it is whatever Sodom and Gomorrah were not: hospitable, chaste, mild.
2:10 aaaaaaand there it is. Depraved lust and contempt for authority, these were the ungodly acts of Sodom and Gomorrah. Although I for one and hard pressed to think of a way that submissiveness is in any way displayed by the divine figure.
2:12 Whoa whoa whoa, the implication here is that not only will the ungodly be destroyed, but also the irrational animals. That's the first I've heard of such a thing.
2:17 what exactly is a "waterless spring"? A hole?
2:18 And here's the bombast that I remember from 1 Peter. Markedly different from the letters attributed to Paul, and thoroughly demagogic.
3:8 a rather convenient algebra. By this reasoning, people can always be saying that the end is coming "any day now," and still be correct whilst saying nothing of value.
In general, while I find even Paul's most inflammatory doctrines to be based on logic and reason, in both of the books attributed to Peter I find the aroma of a modern day televangelist, one who relies on oratorical tricks to reach his audience.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
서정오: 호랑이 뱃속 구경
한국 민족성은 뭐냐면 답이 두 게 가능하다. 내가 자주 하는 답은 "정"이란다. 인정도 많고 열정도 많고 도정된 것도 많고 (고정의 정 달라도). 그러나 "정"이란 것에 포함 되지 않은 한국의 다른 민족성이 있다: 자연에 대한 사랑. 여러나라 그렇다고 생각 할 수 있지만 한국 마음이 더 밀접하게 자연과 관련이 있어 보인다.
이 민족성이 전통 이야기에 볼 수 있다. 지금 고려하는 이야기 엮음에 내가 벌써 알았던 이야기 있으며 금시초문도 있다. 공통점 뭐냐면 자연이다. 확실히 말하면 모두 다 이간과 짐승이 어떤 관게 있는 지에 대한 이애기다.
그 관계는 다른 나라에 있는 이야기와 달리 친구나 적이란 관계 아니라 이간과 짐승은 친족 관계가 있다. "아기 보는 호랑이", "호랑이 형님"이란 이야기의 재목에 볼 수 있으므로 즘승은 인간을 친족으로 여기며 그 반대도 마찬가지다. 또 짐승을 살려주면 은혜를 운혜로 갚지마는 사람을 살려주면 은혜를 원수로 갚는다더니 짐승이 이간보다 이도적이라고 생각 할 수 있다. 그래서 한국 사란들이자연을 소중하게 여기는 게 놀라운 일이 아니다.
이 민족성이 전통 이야기에 볼 수 있다. 지금 고려하는 이야기 엮음에 내가 벌써 알았던 이야기 있으며 금시초문도 있다. 공통점 뭐냐면 자연이다. 확실히 말하면 모두 다 이간과 짐승이 어떤 관게 있는 지에 대한 이애기다.
그 관계는 다른 나라에 있는 이야기와 달리 친구나 적이란 관계 아니라 이간과 짐승은 친족 관계가 있다. "아기 보는 호랑이", "호랑이 형님"이란 이야기의 재목에 볼 수 있으므로 즘승은 인간을 친족으로 여기며 그 반대도 마찬가지다. 또 짐승을 살려주면 은혜를 운혜로 갚지마는 사람을 살려주면 은혜를 원수로 갚는다더니 짐승이 이간보다 이도적이라고 생각 할 수 있다. 그래서 한국 사란들이자연을 소중하게 여기는 게 놀라운 일이 아니다.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Emile Zola: L'assommoir (The Drinking Den)
It's been a while since I've been so thoroughly affected by a book. Somehow Zola managed to capture me in Gervaise's world so thoroughly that, although It's summer, and I just ate, I finished this book feeling cold and hungry, and wondered as I looked in the mirror whether someone would give me a few francs for my hair so I could buy a crust of bread.
I can't help but compare this a little to Stendahl's failure in The Red and the Black. I didn't understand a single thing those characters did , and approved of none of their choices. As comparatively unsympathetic as Gervaise was in L'Assommoir, I not only understood every thought she had, and every debasement to which she was brought, but found myself agreeing with her more often than not.
The neatest trick, however, was that even as it was clear where the story was going, and that it would end in nothing but despair, Zola held out jussssssst enough hope that I thought maybe she could pull out of it, that maybe she would turn it around in the last chapter. It's not such a great trick to paint a picture of human misery. Midnight Cowboy comes to mind as a good example. What makes this book stand out--aside from its charming dialogue, artistic language, and intricate characters--is that it made me fight for Gervaise all the way to the last page, instead of surrendering to the muck halfway through. If one were to set this to music, it would combine all the best elements of Carmen, Traviata and Street Scene, and become an operatic masterwork.
I can't help but compare this a little to Stendahl's failure in The Red and the Black. I didn't understand a single thing those characters did , and approved of none of their choices. As comparatively unsympathetic as Gervaise was in L'Assommoir, I not only understood every thought she had, and every debasement to which she was brought, but found myself agreeing with her more often than not.
The neatest trick, however, was that even as it was clear where the story was going, and that it would end in nothing but despair, Zola held out jussssssst enough hope that I thought maybe she could pull out of it, that maybe she would turn it around in the last chapter. It's not such a great trick to paint a picture of human misery. Midnight Cowboy comes to mind as a good example. What makes this book stand out--aside from its charming dialogue, artistic language, and intricate characters--is that it made me fight for Gervaise all the way to the last page, instead of surrendering to the muck halfway through. If one were to set this to music, it would combine all the best elements of Carmen, Traviata and Street Scene, and become an operatic masterwork.
Thursday, May 08, 2014
North by Northwest
I don't get it. As soon as this film picked up speed, I thought to myself, "Oh, it's one of these," by which I meant a thriller along the lines of The Net or The Game where the protagonist spends the entire film trying to convince everyone that she or he is not crazy. Insofar as this film predates all those others, I suppose I should give it some credit, but I just couldn't. I kept hoping for something inventive to happen, for for Hitchcock to toy with the audience a little more, or for things to progress in anything other than the most predictable of ways. In the end it was a beautifully shot, but empty thriller.
Objectively, I can't justify this opinion. I can't expect the first film of its type to subvert expectations, insofar as those expectations are the result of years of conditioning for which the film bears no blame. No doubt to contemporary audiences North by Northwest was thrilling, innovative and original. But film, like all literature, belongs to the audience--the viewer in this case. I found nothing significant in the performances, direction, or writing. The budget alone was responsible for anything notable in this film, and I end up lumping it in with Mission Impossible and other harmless summer fare.
Objectively, I can't justify this opinion. I can't expect the first film of its type to subvert expectations, insofar as those expectations are the result of years of conditioning for which the film bears no blame. No doubt to contemporary audiences North by Northwest was thrilling, innovative and original. But film, like all literature, belongs to the audience--the viewer in this case. I found nothing significant in the performances, direction, or writing. The budget alone was responsible for anything notable in this film, and I end up lumping it in with Mission Impossible and other harmless summer fare.
Monday, May 05, 2014
오발탄 (aimless bullet)
It was originally my intention to view this film, number 2 on The Korean Film Archive's recently published list of 100 Korean Films, alongside an item from the American Film Institute's list from the same time period (North by Northwest). Released one year apart, I assumed that the two would give conrasting takes on the world of the late 1950s in a way that might shed open an interesting conversation about Korea-American relations. Of course the two were in marked contrast in just about every way, and I'm sure I could stich together some nice comparisons and package them up in little bites that would make everybody happy.
But comparing the two would really be like comparing Jaws to Cabaret. Sure, the two were filmed at around the same time, but are so divergent as to make any comparisons seem a bit pointless. North by Northwest was a beautifully filmed, but ultimately harmless romantic thriller. 오발탄 was not only shot with seemingly the lowest of budgets and the most ramshackle of equipment (the actors were not even paid), but was so inflammatory that the fascist government of Korea forbade its screening. It was only seen at all due to the intervention of an American who managed to see a screener and bring it to San Francisco for entry in the 1963 International Film Festival. The hastily painted (and error ridden) subtitles were still visible on the copy I found. To this day it has still not been restored and is out of print. If ever a film were begging for the attentions of the Criterion Collection, this is it.
Rather than North by Northwest, 오발탄 is reminiscent of an earlier American film--to the extent that I refuse to believe Director 유현목 didn't draw inspiration from it: The Best Years of our Lives. Both movies tell the same story, with almost the same cast of characters, and it is by viewing these two films side by side that the real contrast between the two worlds comes into focus:
Character: wounded soldier returning from the war to try and find his place in a changed world.
The Best Years of Our Lives variant: real life amputee Harold Russell won an Academy Award for his portrayal of Homer Parrish, a man who lost both his arms in the war. Homer returns home to find his girlfriend waiting for him, but he can't allow himself to be loved. Ultimately he realizes that she loves him just as much without his arms, and they are married in a climactic and touching final scene.
오발탄 variant: The main character's army buddy is injured, and forced to walk with crutches. He can't bring himself to accept the love of the woman to whom he was betrothed, preferring to remember the dream they once had of a happy life together. Unable to bear it, he finally throws himself in front of a train.
Character: his beloved
TBYOOL variant: plucky and independent Wilma sticks by her man, and convinces him of her love after lovingly helping him remove his prostheses.
오발탄 variant: 명숙, unable to deal with her injured lover's rejection, becomes a prostitute for the American G.I.s .
Character: Hard working finance executive who is lucky enough to have a job upon the war's end.
TBYOOL: Fredric March's Al returns to find his wife waiting for him, and eveything changed in his absence. His children seem to have grown up wthout him, and he doesn't know where he belongs in this world any more. Over the course of the movie, he gets to know his family again, as if for the first time, and is promoted to a cushy position at his bank.
오발탄: 영호 (the eponymous bullet) works his fingers to the bone as a clerk, and brings his meager paycheck home to his family, declining even to have a painful tooth removed. But the check is not nearly enough to support his two kids, pregnant wife, brother, sister, and delusional mother, all living in the same hovel.
Character: his wife
TBYOOL: Myrna Loy's Milly has been doing just fine in her husband's absence, and helps her well-meaning husband to adjust to his new reality.
오발탄: 영호's wife, who does not even seem to be named, is malnoursished and accordingly dies during childbirth.
Character: decorated war veteran, whose skills don't seem to have a place in a post-war reality
TBYOOL: As Fred, Dana Andrews goes from war hero to soda jerk, and even gets fired from that insulting job after defending a fellow veteran from an abusive customer. His wife, expecting a little more glamorous life, files for divorce and runs off with a dandy. All's well that ends well, though, as this frees him up to marry the woman he really loves, and accept a simple but honest position at a scrap yard.
오발탄: 철호, a well respected Captain during the war, is unable to find any work whatsoever as a civilian. Desperate, he turns to crime and robs a bank at gunpoint. He is caught and arrested, presumably to be hanged.
Character: his love interest
TBYOOL: Smart, kind Peggy (Teresa Wright) falls for a married man, but heartbreaking though it is, she does the right thing and lets him go. Only later, after his divorce, do they meet again (at the happy wedding of the first couple) and set about a simple, but honest life together.
오발탄: 철호 sees a glimmer of light when he is reunited with a nurse that tended to him during the war. They declare their love for each other, but the next morning he returns to find that her neighbor threw her to her death in a fit of jealousy.
These are only the most striking parallels that can be found in the comparison. Even without the benefit of a foil, however, 오발탄 is a masterpiece of cinema. Visually stirring, symbolically poignant, well-acted, and haunting (the insane mother's "가자!" is still ringing in my ears), and all this on a budget of around $8,000 (compared to $2.1 million for The Best Years). As good as the latter movie is, it wanes in comparison to this Korean masterpiece.
But comparing the two would really be like comparing Jaws to Cabaret. Sure, the two were filmed at around the same time, but are so divergent as to make any comparisons seem a bit pointless. North by Northwest was a beautifully filmed, but ultimately harmless romantic thriller. 오발탄 was not only shot with seemingly the lowest of budgets and the most ramshackle of equipment (the actors were not even paid), but was so inflammatory that the fascist government of Korea forbade its screening. It was only seen at all due to the intervention of an American who managed to see a screener and bring it to San Francisco for entry in the 1963 International Film Festival. The hastily painted (and error ridden) subtitles were still visible on the copy I found. To this day it has still not been restored and is out of print. If ever a film were begging for the attentions of the Criterion Collection, this is it.
Rather than North by Northwest, 오발탄 is reminiscent of an earlier American film--to the extent that I refuse to believe Director 유현목 didn't draw inspiration from it: The Best Years of our Lives. Both movies tell the same story, with almost the same cast of characters, and it is by viewing these two films side by side that the real contrast between the two worlds comes into focus:
Character: wounded soldier returning from the war to try and find his place in a changed world.
The Best Years of Our Lives variant: real life amputee Harold Russell won an Academy Award for his portrayal of Homer Parrish, a man who lost both his arms in the war. Homer returns home to find his girlfriend waiting for him, but he can't allow himself to be loved. Ultimately he realizes that she loves him just as much without his arms, and they are married in a climactic and touching final scene.
오발탄 variant: The main character's army buddy is injured, and forced to walk with crutches. He can't bring himself to accept the love of the woman to whom he was betrothed, preferring to remember the dream they once had of a happy life together. Unable to bear it, he finally throws himself in front of a train.
Character: his beloved
TBYOOL variant: plucky and independent Wilma sticks by her man, and convinces him of her love after lovingly helping him remove his prostheses.
오발탄 variant: 명숙, unable to deal with her injured lover's rejection, becomes a prostitute for the American G.I.s .
Character: Hard working finance executive who is lucky enough to have a job upon the war's end.
TBYOOL: Fredric March's Al returns to find his wife waiting for him, and eveything changed in his absence. His children seem to have grown up wthout him, and he doesn't know where he belongs in this world any more. Over the course of the movie, he gets to know his family again, as if for the first time, and is promoted to a cushy position at his bank.
오발탄: 영호 (the eponymous bullet) works his fingers to the bone as a clerk, and brings his meager paycheck home to his family, declining even to have a painful tooth removed. But the check is not nearly enough to support his two kids, pregnant wife, brother, sister, and delusional mother, all living in the same hovel.
Character: his wife
TBYOOL: Myrna Loy's Milly has been doing just fine in her husband's absence, and helps her well-meaning husband to adjust to his new reality.
오발탄: 영호's wife, who does not even seem to be named, is malnoursished and accordingly dies during childbirth.
Character: decorated war veteran, whose skills don't seem to have a place in a post-war reality
TBYOOL: As Fred, Dana Andrews goes from war hero to soda jerk, and even gets fired from that insulting job after defending a fellow veteran from an abusive customer. His wife, expecting a little more glamorous life, files for divorce and runs off with a dandy. All's well that ends well, though, as this frees him up to marry the woman he really loves, and accept a simple but honest position at a scrap yard.
오발탄: 철호, a well respected Captain during the war, is unable to find any work whatsoever as a civilian. Desperate, he turns to crime and robs a bank at gunpoint. He is caught and arrested, presumably to be hanged.
Character: his love interest
TBYOOL: Smart, kind Peggy (Teresa Wright) falls for a married man, but heartbreaking though it is, she does the right thing and lets him go. Only later, after his divorce, do they meet again (at the happy wedding of the first couple) and set about a simple, but honest life together.
오발탄: 철호 sees a glimmer of light when he is reunited with a nurse that tended to him during the war. They declare their love for each other, but the next morning he returns to find that her neighbor threw her to her death in a fit of jealousy.
These are only the most striking parallels that can be found in the comparison. Even without the benefit of a foil, however, 오발탄 is a masterpiece of cinema. Visually stirring, symbolically poignant, well-acted, and haunting (the insane mother's "가자!" is still ringing in my ears), and all this on a budget of around $8,000 (compared to $2.1 million for The Best Years). As good as the latter movie is, it wanes in comparison to this Korean masterpiece.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Stanley Burnshaw (ed.): The Poem Itself
I have so many wonderful things to say about this book. Not only did it introduce me to a whole bevy of authors, but it did so in their original language. Translation in general is suspect, and translation into verse is as near to heresy as exists in my book. How is one to ever appreciate the poetry of other languages without devoting a lifetime to the languages themselves?
Burnshaw et al execute this balancing act in exactly the right way, offering the original text, a literal translation, and a detailed analysis of the prosodies that contribute to the texture of the finished work. Previously I only had a vague notion that I didn't like French poetry. After reading this volume, in which one finds such revered luminaries as Mallarme, Baudelaire and Rimbaud, I can state confidently that I indeed do not. It all seems to be trying too hard, either to be beautiful, or to be meaningful, and never both. I suppose I should offer the caveat that of all the languages included in this volume, I am the weakest at French, but the English translations should have levelled that out a little.
Previously, I simply had a vague notion that Spanish poetry was the best in the world. After reading the treatment here of Machado, Guillen, and Salinas, I find that I was right. Noticeably absent is that greatest of poets, Octavio Paz, who was possibly still too modern at the time of publication. I would love to see him given the same treatment, but seeing as it would likely fall to me, I suppose it will remain a vague desire.
The real surprise was how lovely I found German poetry. I became fully absorbed, not only in the work of Stefan George, Hugo Von Hofmannsthal, and of course Rilke, but also in the fascinating lives that colored their work. It is to this area that I most want to devote future attention.
And there were some Italian guys too. Not bad.
Burnshaw et al execute this balancing act in exactly the right way, offering the original text, a literal translation, and a detailed analysis of the prosodies that contribute to the texture of the finished work. Previously I only had a vague notion that I didn't like French poetry. After reading this volume, in which one finds such revered luminaries as Mallarme, Baudelaire and Rimbaud, I can state confidently that I indeed do not. It all seems to be trying too hard, either to be beautiful, or to be meaningful, and never both. I suppose I should offer the caveat that of all the languages included in this volume, I am the weakest at French, but the English translations should have levelled that out a little.
Previously, I simply had a vague notion that Spanish poetry was the best in the world. After reading the treatment here of Machado, Guillen, and Salinas, I find that I was right. Noticeably absent is that greatest of poets, Octavio Paz, who was possibly still too modern at the time of publication. I would love to see him given the same treatment, but seeing as it would likely fall to me, I suppose it will remain a vague desire.
The real surprise was how lovely I found German poetry. I became fully absorbed, not only in the work of Stefan George, Hugo Von Hofmannsthal, and of course Rilke, but also in the fascinating lives that colored their work. It is to this area that I most want to devote future attention.
And there were some Italian guys too. Not bad.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
1 Peter
1:1 already a solemn, ominous note that I don't find in Paul's writings--even when he was writing about his own iminent death.
1:2 By now a familiar greeting. Was Paul copying Peter when he adopted this greeting, or was it just colloquial?
1:5-6 We can look back on this argument and judge it to be specious, I suppose. The last time is near! This suffering is temporary! For how long have religious orators been offering some version of those lines? Theologically speaking, of course, both statements can be seen as true, but it seems a little disingenuous.
1:8 This book is clearly meant for a later audience than previous books, addressed as it is to a second generation of believers, who have only second hand knowledge of Christ. This persents some chronological and/or authorial difficulties however. Isn't Peter supposed to have died before Paul?
1:10-12 "Peter" is laying it on pretty thickly here, I must say. Surely it's an overstatement to say that the first century audience is the fulfillment of all sort of divine plans, and that the angels themselves are jealous of their knowledge.
1:18 Peter's rather dismissive references to Jewish tradition also argue in favor of a second generation audience, as contrasted with the reverent tone earlier authors took.
1:20 By no measire can the first century be labelled "the end of the ages" in retrospect.
1:24 Ok, I'm really intrigued by this. Of course this is not the first time that the version I'm reading (NRSV) sets a section of in stanzas, but it's not clear exactly what this signifies. It's either indicitave of the quotative or the poetic properties of the original text. If this is a quote, from where? If this is poetic in a way that can be perceived through the veil of ancient Greek, could it really be the voice of a fisherman?
21-3 The three statements here are each interesting in their own right, but do not quite seem to relate to each other. For one thing, why is "Peter" putting such stron emphasis on things that should be self evident? Malice is a pretty strong word. Are the the Christians of Asia Minor really in need of a reminder not to be malicious? Are they really so juvenile? I especially like that he includes an admonition not to be insincere. I'm not sure I have seen a similiar directive elsewhere in the Bible. Now that I look at it more closely, it does tie in rather nicely to the next verse after all. After reminding them of what should be bare minimums, he them tells to to long for spiritual milk like newborns. It's as if he's saying, "Quit acting like such infants. If you are going to be infants, at least drink your milk."
2:6 Here it's clearer exactly why the verse is set poetically: it's a quotation from Isaiah. Why was 1:24 set in the same way then?
2:10 and here a more telling quote from Paul, which makes the dating/timing of this book even more suspect in my mind.
2:16 In what sense does he urge them to live as a free people? As one free from the Mosaic Law? From obligation to secular law? And in what sense it that meant to contrast with the fact that they are servants of God?
2:18 oooohhhhh he's talking in part to slaves, who are in spirit free, but in law not so much.
2:23 I found this reasoning a bit suspect at first reading. Is he really suggesting that the unjust beating slaves endure are analogous to the beating Christ underwent? But yeah, I guess he is. And I guess it holds up logically, but it still rubs me strangely for some reason.
3:1 By the same logic: if a man beats his wife, she should just put up with it. Wow has this verse ever been taken out of its rhetorical context . . .
3:16 This is the second mention of reverence, a trait that I never had much use for. It's a running theme of this section, and although I can see the connection to a Christlike mind (as in 3:8), I question whether it's not being overgeneralized here. What "Peter" is suggesting is not reverence for God, or Christ, or even each other. But reverence to everyone who might pass on the street. Surely there is some language barrier that is obscuring the original meaning of what is here translated "reverence".
4:1 "Peter" tries to give Paul a rune for his rhetorical money here, emplying a rather bald appeal to his audeince's ego, but unlike Paul's similar rhetorical turns, this has no logical underpinning. The argument that suffering is the absolution of sin is really unsuuportable, logically or theologically.
4:7 It is impossible to count how often this tactic has been employed by unscrupulous preachers throughout history. "The end is near" persists as a theological fraud because of its undeniable effectiveness.
5:13 Now this is an interesting turn. Babylon? This statement of "Peter" has been the subject of much discussion among schoalrs, whether it is code for Rome (which seems a bit unnecessary) or Babylon in Egypt (possible) or even, I suppose, actual Babylon (unlikely). At any rate, the entire book smells of demagoguery, of the flavor that I hesistate to ascribe to the Biblical figure of Simon Peter, whom I perefer to think of as a man whose chief virute was his simplicity, not his ability to work up a crowd.
1:2 By now a familiar greeting. Was Paul copying Peter when he adopted this greeting, or was it just colloquial?
1:5-6 We can look back on this argument and judge it to be specious, I suppose. The last time is near! This suffering is temporary! For how long have religious orators been offering some version of those lines? Theologically speaking, of course, both statements can be seen as true, but it seems a little disingenuous.
1:8 This book is clearly meant for a later audience than previous books, addressed as it is to a second generation of believers, who have only second hand knowledge of Christ. This persents some chronological and/or authorial difficulties however. Isn't Peter supposed to have died before Paul?
1:10-12 "Peter" is laying it on pretty thickly here, I must say. Surely it's an overstatement to say that the first century audience is the fulfillment of all sort of divine plans, and that the angels themselves are jealous of their knowledge.
1:18 Peter's rather dismissive references to Jewish tradition also argue in favor of a second generation audience, as contrasted with the reverent tone earlier authors took.
1:20 By no measire can the first century be labelled "the end of the ages" in retrospect.
1:24 Ok, I'm really intrigued by this. Of course this is not the first time that the version I'm reading (NRSV) sets a section of in stanzas, but it's not clear exactly what this signifies. It's either indicitave of the quotative or the poetic properties of the original text. If this is a quote, from where? If this is poetic in a way that can be perceived through the veil of ancient Greek, could it really be the voice of a fisherman?
21-3 The three statements here are each interesting in their own right, but do not quite seem to relate to each other. For one thing, why is "Peter" putting such stron emphasis on things that should be self evident? Malice is a pretty strong word. Are the the Christians of Asia Minor really in need of a reminder not to be malicious? Are they really so juvenile? I especially like that he includes an admonition not to be insincere. I'm not sure I have seen a similiar directive elsewhere in the Bible. Now that I look at it more closely, it does tie in rather nicely to the next verse after all. After reminding them of what should be bare minimums, he them tells to to long for spiritual milk like newborns. It's as if he's saying, "Quit acting like such infants. If you are going to be infants, at least drink your milk."
2:6 Here it's clearer exactly why the verse is set poetically: it's a quotation from Isaiah. Why was 1:24 set in the same way then?
2:10 and here a more telling quote from Paul, which makes the dating/timing of this book even more suspect in my mind.
2:16 In what sense does he urge them to live as a free people? As one free from the Mosaic Law? From obligation to secular law? And in what sense it that meant to contrast with the fact that they are servants of God?
2:18 oooohhhhh he's talking in part to slaves, who are in spirit free, but in law not so much.
2:23 I found this reasoning a bit suspect at first reading. Is he really suggesting that the unjust beating slaves endure are analogous to the beating Christ underwent? But yeah, I guess he is. And I guess it holds up logically, but it still rubs me strangely for some reason.
3:1 By the same logic: if a man beats his wife, she should just put up with it. Wow has this verse ever been taken out of its rhetorical context . . .
3:16 This is the second mention of reverence, a trait that I never had much use for. It's a running theme of this section, and although I can see the connection to a Christlike mind (as in 3:8), I question whether it's not being overgeneralized here. What "Peter" is suggesting is not reverence for God, or Christ, or even each other. But reverence to everyone who might pass on the street. Surely there is some language barrier that is obscuring the original meaning of what is here translated "reverence".
4:1 "Peter" tries to give Paul a rune for his rhetorical money here, emplying a rather bald appeal to his audeince's ego, but unlike Paul's similar rhetorical turns, this has no logical underpinning. The argument that suffering is the absolution of sin is really unsuuportable, logically or theologically.
4:7 It is impossible to count how often this tactic has been employed by unscrupulous preachers throughout history. "The end is near" persists as a theological fraud because of its undeniable effectiveness.
5:13 Now this is an interesting turn. Babylon? This statement of "Peter" has been the subject of much discussion among schoalrs, whether it is code for Rome (which seems a bit unnecessary) or Babylon in Egypt (possible) or even, I suppose, actual Babylon (unlikely). At any rate, the entire book smells of demagoguery, of the flavor that I hesistate to ascribe to the Biblical figure of Simon Peter, whom I perefer to think of as a man whose chief virute was his simplicity, not his ability to work up a crowd.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Hall, Smith and Wicaksono: Mapping Applied Linguistics
Normally I don't write about my textbooks here, for the very simple reason that I usually don't read them very thoroughly. This volume, for example, was assigned to one of my grad level classes last semester. I gave it a cursory flip-through, heaved a shoulder in a gesture of unimpressiveness, and proceeded to give two very successful presentations on it.
Then came time for my comprehensive exam, a monolithic beast taking five hours and covering everything from syntax and phonology to translation and language policy planning. To my weary disgust, this book was on the reading list. Now I had to pull it off the shelf and actually read it, for who knew what obscure point would be referenced by our seemingly sadistic professors?
And in the course of reading it, I developed an opinion that was somewhat more specific than a shrug of disregard. To wit: this was not a textbook--let one appropriate for graduate level work. It was a discussion guide, such as might be found in the back of a coffee club book. It offered no information, merely a wearisome list of things to think about, hedge statements, "possible answers", and "some thoughts on" various topics about which one would hope to be getting rather more detail.
In short, I suppose I could picture using this as the textbook for an undergraduate introduction to linguistics, but that it was not only a textbook for my graduate level seminar, but also on the reading list for my senior comprehensive exam is insulting, and should give you some idea of the laziness of my advising professor.
Then came time for my comprehensive exam, a monolithic beast taking five hours and covering everything from syntax and phonology to translation and language policy planning. To my weary disgust, this book was on the reading list. Now I had to pull it off the shelf and actually read it, for who knew what obscure point would be referenced by our seemingly sadistic professors?
And in the course of reading it, I developed an opinion that was somewhat more specific than a shrug of disregard. To wit: this was not a textbook--let one appropriate for graduate level work. It was a discussion guide, such as might be found in the back of a coffee club book. It offered no information, merely a wearisome list of things to think about, hedge statements, "possible answers", and "some thoughts on" various topics about which one would hope to be getting rather more detail.
In short, I suppose I could picture using this as the textbook for an undergraduate introduction to linguistics, but that it was not only a textbook for my graduate level seminar, but also on the reading list for my senior comprehensive exam is insulting, and should give you some idea of the laziness of my advising professor.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
전성현: 읺어버린 일기장
한국어 유창을 위해서 다시 쉬운 아동 책을 읽기로 했는데 몇권의 뒷커버를 읽었다가 ㅈㅐ미있는 내용을 찾았다. 커버에서 "일기자에 몰래 찾아든 다섯 아이의 비밀스런 고백과 소통"이라는 말에 Bronx Masquerade이란 미국 책이 떠올랐다. 사실 전술한 책과 비슷한 점이 많았지만 놀라운 점 하나 있었다. 그는 꽤 야한 내용이 있는 점이다. 정말 아동 책인가 하는 생각이 들 정도 말이다. 초경, 몽종 등을 언급하는 미국 아동 책을 본 적이 없는데 한국에 이러한 주제를 솔직히 다루는 책이 있는 사실 다행이다. 또 다른 한국의 쟁점을 독단적이지 않게 다룬다: 이혼, 가난, 사생, 다 아동들이 이해할 수 있는 식으로 대해서 한국 아들이 읽을 보람이 있다.
Sunday, March 09, 2014
Stendahl: The Red and the Black
Not only does this book come highly recommended by Ward's Lifetime of Reading (a schedule that, with this book, takes me into its 8th year), but it also was consistently urged on me by my literature professor turned friend C.K. Pellow. If I had approached this book with no more expectation than I had brought to Flaubert, I might have been pleasantly surprised. Weighed down, though, as I was with such a buildup, I found myself more than a little dissapointed.
Stendahl's language is marvelous, and there are enough epigrammatic little moments to thoroughly justify the reading, my favorite of which is:
"Mind-made love is of course subtler than true love, but its moments of enthusiasm are limited: it understands itself too well; it is always evaluating, passing judgement" (341).
Perhaps it is for this reason that I found the book beneath my expectations. Amour de tete, as Stendahl puts it, is all I've ever experienced in my life. Perhaps the love story held in these pages is beyond my understanding, and people really do behave in these utterly unfathomable ways. Perhaps Stendahl has painted a masterfully honest picture of something that I cannot grasp. Whatever the cause, however, I found the characters to be inconsistent, the plot unneccesarily delicate, and the book in general to be thematically unexceptional. It is not a complement when I say that I think it would make a fine movie.
Stendahl's language is marvelous, and there are enough epigrammatic little moments to thoroughly justify the reading, my favorite of which is:
"Mind-made love is of course subtler than true love, but its moments of enthusiasm are limited: it understands itself too well; it is always evaluating, passing judgement" (341).
Perhaps it is for this reason that I found the book beneath my expectations. Amour de tete, as Stendahl puts it, is all I've ever experienced in my life. Perhaps the love story held in these pages is beyond my understanding, and people really do behave in these utterly unfathomable ways. Perhaps Stendahl has painted a masterfully honest picture of something that I cannot grasp. Whatever the cause, however, I found the characters to be inconsistent, the plot unneccesarily delicate, and the book in general to be thematically unexceptional. It is not a complement when I say that I think it would make a fine movie.
Tuesday, March 04, 2014
The Best Years of our Lives and 하녀 (The Housemaid)
As I work my way down the list of the AFI's list of American films, it comes to my notice that the Korean Film Institute has developed a similar list. Might it prove amusing to view items from the two lists side by side? Having done so purely by accident this first time, I find an interesting contrast, one that might bear comparison.
The American film in question is that rarest of creatures, an entirely original work that has not been duplicated, and has no predecessor. In very nearly every way--tone, technique, execution--it resembles other films from its period. But the role that it was created to fill is quite singular, one that has since been filled largely by documentary films, not scripted ones. At the end of the great war, America experienced something that was not entirely alien, the return of large numbers of men who found themselves and their country other than as they remembered. Each of the three men whose return and readjustment director William Wyler chronicles need to remember what it is to love, and each does so in his own way. For Fredric March, this means loving a wife (stunningly portrayed by Myrna Loy) who is not exactly the woman he left behind, and children who are children no longer. The ostensible protagonist of the film, Dana Andrews, must find love in the more Hollywood sense, and his story taken individually is basically indistinguishable from a generic romance. The most difficult love, that of oneself, must be found by Harold Russell. It is this role that takes the movie to another level, filled necessarily and without flourish by real life amputee Harold Russell. Taken individually, each story would serve for a pretty decent movie. Seen simultaneously, they transform the movie from one America wanted, to one it needed.
As destabilizing as WWII was for America, the Korean War was unfathomably more so for Korea. Imagine that the Civil War had not only been lost, but that the North and South remained in that conflict for over 50 years. As South Korea moved through--not to say recovered from--this period, Director Kim Kiyoung (notably born in the North) took a wildly different approach to filmmaking than Wyler had. There is no talk of love. No talk of recovery. No mention even of the war, which might make the parallel rather forced in some eyes. But the very fact that these themes, so craved in America at the time of her recovery, are not even considered in this film, which tops all lists of the best Korean films ever made, makes the contrast that much more remarkable. What Korea needed after the armistice was not healing. Such a thing was impossible. The country would never recover, and to even dream of it would be to surrender to despair. What it needed was to muddle through somehow with the horrors that were now reality. And that is the idea of the film. Man is not noble and redemmable, as in The Best Years. He is a savage, of whom the best we can hope is that he be controlled. As is observed in a jarringly didactic final scene,
--그게 남자의 약점이야. 높은 산을 보면 올라가고 싶구, 깊은 물을 보면 돌을 던지고 싶구, 여자를 보면 원시로 돌아가고 싶어
The American film in question is that rarest of creatures, an entirely original work that has not been duplicated, and has no predecessor. In very nearly every way--tone, technique, execution--it resembles other films from its period. But the role that it was created to fill is quite singular, one that has since been filled largely by documentary films, not scripted ones. At the end of the great war, America experienced something that was not entirely alien, the return of large numbers of men who found themselves and their country other than as they remembered. Each of the three men whose return and readjustment director William Wyler chronicles need to remember what it is to love, and each does so in his own way. For Fredric March, this means loving a wife (stunningly portrayed by Myrna Loy) who is not exactly the woman he left behind, and children who are children no longer. The ostensible protagonist of the film, Dana Andrews, must find love in the more Hollywood sense, and his story taken individually is basically indistinguishable from a generic romance. The most difficult love, that of oneself, must be found by Harold Russell. It is this role that takes the movie to another level, filled necessarily and without flourish by real life amputee Harold Russell. Taken individually, each story would serve for a pretty decent movie. Seen simultaneously, they transform the movie from one America wanted, to one it needed.
As destabilizing as WWII was for America, the Korean War was unfathomably more so for Korea. Imagine that the Civil War had not only been lost, but that the North and South remained in that conflict for over 50 years. As South Korea moved through--not to say recovered from--this period, Director Kim Kiyoung (notably born in the North) took a wildly different approach to filmmaking than Wyler had. There is no talk of love. No talk of recovery. No mention even of the war, which might make the parallel rather forced in some eyes. But the very fact that these themes, so craved in America at the time of her recovery, are not even considered in this film, which tops all lists of the best Korean films ever made, makes the contrast that much more remarkable. What Korea needed after the armistice was not healing. Such a thing was impossible. The country would never recover, and to even dream of it would be to surrender to despair. What it needed was to muddle through somehow with the horrors that were now reality. And that is the idea of the film. Man is not noble and redemmable, as in The Best Years. He is a savage, of whom the best we can hope is that he be controlled. As is observed in a jarringly didactic final scene,
--그게 남자의 약점이야. 높은 산을 보면 올라가고 싶구, 깊은 물을 보면 돌을 던지고 싶구, 여자를 보면 원시로 돌아가고 싶어
--원시가 뭐예요, 솔직히 남자란 야비한 동물이라고 하세요. 이 집에 젊은 하녀를 둔것이 아마, 범의 입에 날고긴가부다.
For Kim, in a way that Wyler could not have conceived, man cannot see a mountain without climbing it, a lake without throwing a stone into it, or a woman without wanting to have his way with her. And women fare little better in the film. The title character is, of course, a beast of pure desire, but the seemingly innocent wife is just as lustful--for wealth and status. It is this lesson that Kim wished to impart to the post war audiences of Korea, interestingly with no admonition to overcome it. Simply a darkly frank admission that it was inescapable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)