|
|
Saturday, January 24th, 2009
Edmond Caldwell responds with some very thoughtful commentary to my post on Baroque fiction. I was happy, and a little surprised, to see that what I have in mind and am venturing to express as "Baroque" is broadly similar to what he was thinking about when he used the term last month.
The only place where I might depart from you've written is in the idea that this entails a canceling out individual "free-will" (if I'm even correct that that is what you're saying; forgive me if I've got it wrong), because I think that's still looking at the situation through the old humanist lens (in which it's an either/or question, one either has self-originating "free will" or one is subject to iron determinism, like a puppet). I think the baroque sentence is more dialectical than this; that human agency is deeply or even thoroughly conditioned means perhaps not that it doesn't exist but that it is more collective than we thought. This is a good point and makes me realize that I wasn't thinking clearly this morning when I tried writing about the fatalism in Of Love and Other Demons. Of course there is not a binary distinction between "human actors possessed of free will" on the one hand and "pre-programmed robots" on the other -- there is a pretty broad spectrum of how self-directed a character's actions can seem. (And of course I am getting uncomfortable talking on and on about characters with or without free choice, without acknowldeging that there is an author behind them making the decisions...) I really liked Mr. Caldwell's idea (if I'm understanding him right) that the individual characters in this type of novel can be seen as being subsumed in a kind of collective consciousness which is directing their actions.
posted evening of January 24th, 2009: 2 responses
➳ More posts about Of Love and Other Demons
|  |
|
 MacMurray is just the perfect actor for playing Walter Neff in Double Indemnity. His is the voice I've been hearing all this time whenever I read Chandler. This movie is such a gem! I'm really happy now because I've been operating for a while under the misconception that I had seen all the important movies of film noir -- but I had never even heard of this one, which seems to be an absolutely critical piece of the genre.  So presumably there's more stuff out there for me to discover. Nice!
Lots of other great things about this film. The interplay between the different actors absolutely sparkles. It took me a little while to get used to the dialogue, for it not to sound stilted, but once I could get past that it was a lot of fun to follow the twists and turns of what people are saying and what they mean.
posted evening of January 24th, 2009: 2 responses
➳ More posts about The Movies
|  |
|
Ok, this was pretty funny. Sylvia's slightly younger friend Jenny is staying over tonight; they are off in Sylvia's room getting ready for bed while Ellen and I sit in the next room over. Overheard:
Sylvia: You know how Obama's thing is "Yes we can"?
Jenny: Yeah...
Sylvia: Well, (singing) "Bob the Builder, can we fix it, Bob the Builder, yes we can!"
Jenny: (Gasp!) -- They're making fun of Obama!
I'm sure this joke has been made by a lot of people over the past year; it was hilarious to hear Sylvia and Jenny hitting on it for themselves. (And funny, of course, assuming I'm reading Jenny's reaction correctly, to think of the "Bob the Builder" theme song as being a take-off on the Obama campaign slogan.)
posted evening of January 24th, 2009: 2 responses
➳ More posts about Sylvia
|  |
|
I checked out Cien Años de Soledad from the library today -- not sure how far I'm going to be able to get with it, but I'm having fun with it. So far I have gotten to where I can read the first two paragraphs (about 5 pages) pretty fluently; I've been going back over them to try and work the vocabulary into my brain before I move on. I was made very happy by the sentence, "El mundo era tan reciente, que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para mencionarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo." -- "The world was so new, many things did not yet have a name, and in order to mention them, you had to point them out with your finger." I loved this sentence when I read the book in English but had forgotten it. I am curious about what exactly accent marks do in written Spanish. Are they optional? In these first 5 pages there are several instances of aun and aún, which seem to be the same word and pronounced the same way. Maybe there's a subtle distinction I'm not picking up on. And I seem to recall seeing solo both with and without an accent over the first "o".
 ...Well this page solves at least one piece of the puzzle; accent marks are not optional, and "sólo" means something different from "solo" ("only" vs. "alone") -- it doesn't mention "aun," but I'm assuming there is a subtle difference in meaning between the two spellings. That distinction looks pretty synthetic to me; forcing different spellings for what is essentially a single word, according to how it is used in a sentence. Seems like it must be a pretty common mistake to leave the accent off of "sòlo" or put one onto "solo". ...Okay: this page says, "The word aún means todavÃa or still, while aun means incluso or even." So, problem solved, I guess.
posted evening of January 24th, 2009: 10 responses
➳ More posts about Cien años de soledad
| |
|
 I've been using the adjective "sensual" to describe the style of writing in Of Love and Other Demons, and I find that I had earlier called a similar quality in Absalom, Absalom! "painterly." Hm: what if I called this quality "Baroque," would that work? I believe the term connotes a lot of what I am trying to communicate. Rich, lush, ornate detail; depiction of extravagant beauty. The shade of meaning I'm trying for is: gorgeous visual/sensory descriptions that point you* toward a feeling of fixed destiny, of an absence of free will. Is that too much work for such a little word to do? Feelin' like Humpty-Dumpty...
Note: I have recently seen the term "Baroque" used in a literary context, if memory serves by Chad Post,** to describe the long, syntactically ornate sentences used by e.g. Saramago or Castellanos Moya. This may be why I'm thinking of the term right now; it is not however the quality I'm seeking to describe. No reason the two qualities couldn't exist side-by-side in the same work; but they seem to me completely independent of one another. Another thought, maybe the term to use is "Baroque tragedy" -- Baroque to betoken the gorgeousness of the descriptions, tragedy for the fatalism. This might work. I see however that this term is already in use.
 * (Somehow: I'm still trying to figure out how this pointing works.) ** Nope: it was Edmond Caldwell. Curse you, memory!
posted morning of January 24th, 2009: 3 responses
➳ More posts about Gabriel García Márquez
| |
|
A warning at the top: this post is trying to tie together a couple of disparate strands of thought, and is going to read like a rough draft. I may rewrite it later. I am finding it hard to praise or condemn any of the characters in Of Love and Other Demons, though their actions and thoughts are certainly ones I can find worthy of praise or condemnation. What I mean to get at here: this novel is written from a fatalistic viewpoint. The characters are acting without free will, because they have to perform their parts. This sounds (when I read it) like a criticism of the novel -- like I am saying García Márquez cannot draw characters who I believe to be "fully human," since "fully human" includes "possessed of free will" -- characters who unchoosingly act out parts written for them, are puppets. That is not my intention however. The characters do read as fully human individuals, people I can sympathize with, can imagine myself as being. The Bishop's insistence that Sierva María is possessed -- based on acta written up by the Abbess which he knows to be worthless, and in the face of Father Cayetano Delaura's affirmation that she is sane -- is completely inexplicable to me except as malevolence; but instead of trying to explain it and calling it malevolent, I find that I'm accepting it as the way the world is in this book. I'm wondering how strongly tied in this is to the sensual quality of García Márquez' prose that I identified earlier. Another author whose writing I would characterize as sensual is William Faulkner, and I do remember a similar feeling of fatalism in reading his novels. I don't want to go too far with this though because it can make me feel like a poseur -- I'm not a critic, my understanding of literary style is guesswork cobbled together with stray bits of memory -- and I've gotten the sense that using Faulkner as a point of comparison is easy and meaningless without further explication.
posted morning of January 24th, 2009: Respond
➳ More posts about Readings
| |
|
 Thanks everyone for the kind wishes. The tests were not conclusive -- my peripheral vision is fine in both eyes, meaning there's no nerve damage, which is a relief. But the scan of my optic nerves didn't look quite right to the doctor, in ways which I have no way of quantifying. So: I'm to go back in July and take the tests again, and if the results are just the same as yesterday, then that means my eyes are ok; if there is a change, then I will need to start treatment. The usefulness of yesterday's tests was I guess to establish a baseline.
posted morning of January 24th, 2009: 3 responses
|  |
Friday, January 23rd, 2009
For the last several months I've been thinking I should really get to the optometrist and have my glasses prescription checked -- using larger fonts on the computer than I had been, just generally feeling like I'm squinting too much... Finally made it over there on Tuesday. (I have this weird aversion to medical care, not sure what's up with that -- I need to schedule a routine physical too, which I haven't done for a couple of years.) Well my eyes have indeed changed -- going back today to order my lenses and to take a glaucoma test, which the doctor thought was indicated. Gosh I hope I don't have the glaucomas! Looking forward to the new lenses though.
posted morning of January 23rd, 2009: 3 responses
|  |
Thursday, January 22nd, 2009
Just a note: It is annoying and frustrating to me, to realize what a charge I get out of passing cars on the freeway. Seems really juvenile and useless; but somehow every time I pass somebody I just have this nice feeling of having gotten one over...
posted morning of January 22nd, 2009: 4 responses
|  |
Wednesday, January 21st, 2009
Strangeness -- last night I dreamt I was smoking up with Chris and Gary Gordon (blast from the past! With his floppy mohawk and everything! The only connection I know of between these two is Louisiana) on the second floor of a duplex apartment, which I believe belonged to me. I looked out the window at the street and saw a police car behaving strangely, driving jerkily in reverse; and somehow without meaning to, made eye contact with the driver. Rats! I heard him stopping down the street, I heard the sound of stalking feet, thought I'd better go down and see if I can get rid of them -- I went down without telling Chris and Gary, opened the door to the knocking cops, and was sort of glad-handing them, good to see they're in the neighborhood keeping watch, everything's fine around here... They went back to the kitchen with me and suggested we ought to sit down and have a beer. I agreed hesitantly but there was no brew in the fridge; instead I pulled out a bottle of water and poured glasses for all, spilling a lot of water on the table as I did -- while I was sponging it up, Chris and Gary came downstairs curious (Gary had a box of freeze-dried soup called "South Georgia Lemon Stew" which he asked me to prepare for his dinner, he was hungry and thought that would remind him of his childhood in Georgia), and meanwhile a lot of other people started showing up with questions and expectations. ...The closing image of the dream is Eva arriving at the door, in a white stretch SUV. I thought at the time that she was driving it, but reconstructing the scene I find that she was sitting in the front passenger seat.
A second dream dealt somehow with Britain and the Falkland Islands, which had however been transplanted to continental Europe north of the Crimea -- this made very little sense to me and I kept pointing at a map with the appropriate regions shaded in and asking how come they would still be called islands when they were now inland. No memory of the context of this dream however.
posted morning of January 21st, 2009: Respond
➳ More posts about Dreams
| Previous posts
Archives  | |
|
Drop me a line! or, sign my Guestbook.
•
Check out Ellen's writing at Patch.com.
| |
My dad sends along a link to the 
Simplicity is overrated. Download the 