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Sunday, August 16th, 2009
My resolution not to look for an (ill-defined) "normal novel-reading experience" in Inherent Vice is bearing fruit I think, at least in the sense that I'm enjoying the book a lot more. This reading is feeling sort of like walking through a large art gallery looking at a master's paintings -- short flashes of brilliance ranging from less than a page to a few pages -- and not dwelling too much on the meaning of each painting or on the linking narrative arc, just getting a sense of the exhibition's atmosphere. It is fun and liberating to approach the reading without telling myself that I have to "appreciate" it -- it's allowing me to get a lot of pleasure out of some of the jokes and phrasings and constructions of scene. I am not following the story-line very closely however. I'm a little surprised by this because of all the build-up this novel received as (approximately) Pynchon-lite, a quick summer beach read; I think in fact, it requires a lot of focus.
 Hm -- something sounds wrong about this argument -- I am saying I'm enjoying the book more by reading it in a less focussed way, and then that it requires a lot of focus. I think what I mean to say is, to get the full force of this book is going to require a more focussed second read, after I familiarize myself with the atmosphere of the book.
posted morning of August 16th, 2009: Respond
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Wednesday, August 12th, 2009
Fun to see it confirmed that Mr. Pynchon is the voice-over narrator of this trailer video. Groovy, maybe you'll just want to read the book... ($27.95? That used to be like, 3 weeks of groceries! What year is this again?...)
posted evening of August 12th, 2009: Respond
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Robyn Hitchcock on "Words and Music from Studio A"! Some unreleased tracks, some interesting conversation. All solo and acoustic.
(Of "I'm Falling" he says slightly foreboding about 20 min. in, "This is where Brian meets a nice boy in a New York nightclub...")
posted evening of August 12th, 2009: Respond
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...I think he's not, really, though some of his books have affected me profoundly. A "great writer," certainly. Thinking about my experience reading Gravity's Rainbow I don't say as much "What a beautiful book that is!" as "There's a whole lot to think about there if you can get your head around it..." -- it is more like reading philosophy than like reading a novel, though obviously it's not a whole lot like reading philosophy either. I'm prompted to consider this by reading Inherent Vice -- it's a lot of fun, and more novel-like, probably, than either Gravity's Rainbow or Against the Day. But it's not seeming like a "great novel"; more like a fun book that is hampered by trying too hard to be a novel. So far I've read the first several chapters three times; each time I like the ideas and the bits of profound prose better, and each time I am more annoyed by the plot points that don't work and in particular by the ridiculous scene between Doc Sportello and Hope Harlingen. Time to move on I think and read the rest of the book... It's funny, I'm recommending this to people! It is a lot of fun! But also pretty flawed. Also I think it may be time soon to go back and reread Mason & Dixon, I think realizing I don't need to read it "as a novel" might be key to enjoying it.
posted evening of August 12th, 2009: Respond
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Wednesday, August 5th, 2009
On Monday, Saramago posted a charming piece about the neighborhood where he grew up:
I believe it was twelve years, the time I spent in the Penha de França, first in the Rua Padre Sena Freitas, then in the Rua Carlos Ribeiro. For a much longer time, until my mother died, the neighborhood was for me a persistent extension of all the other places through which I passed. I have memories of it which remain vibrant today. Back then the Vale Escuro lived up to its name, it was a place of adventure and discovery for kids, a remnant of nature which the first construction projects were already beginning to threaten, but where it was possible to savour the sour taste of of the cedars and the sweet tuberous roots of a plant whose name I never learned. And there was also the battlefield, the site of Homeric struggles... And there was the Pátio do Padeiro (which was not in Penha de França, but in Alto de Saõ Joaõ...), where "ordinary" people did not dare to enter and where, it was said, even the police made themselves scarce, turning a blind eye to the supposed or actual illicit behaviours of those who lived there. What's certain is, great distrust and fear were caused by the closeness of that small world which lived segregated from the rest of the neighborhood and whose words, gestures and postures clashed with the tranquil routine of the timorous people who passed outside. One day, from the nighttime to the morning, the Pátio do Padeiro disappeared, perhaps laid waste by the municipal hammer, or more likely by the construction companies'excavations, and in its place arose buildings without imagination, each one a copy of the others, which grew old within a few years' time. The Pátio do Padeiro, at least, had its originality, its own physiognomy, even if it was nasty and malevolent. If I could do it, if I were able to share the life of these people to find out, I would like to reconstruct the life of the Pátio do Padeiro. Alas they are lost. The people who lived there are dispersed, their descendants have improved their lives, have forgotten or do not wish to recall the hard existence of those who lived before them. In the memory of the Penha de França (or of the Alto de S. Joaõ) there is not any space left for the Pátio do Padeiro. There were people who were born and lived without luck. Of them there remains not even the stone of their door-jamb. They have died and passed away.
I don't find anything about this bit of Lisbon's history online -- the name means "The bakery's courtyard," perhaps there was a baking industry near there and the people who lived there were the labor force? If you follow my link above you can see a map of the neighborhood.
posted evening of August 5th, 2009: Respond
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Sunday, August second, 2009
Saramago posts today about reading García Márquez:
Writers can be divided (assuming that they will accept being divided...) into two groups: the smaller group, of those who can open new paths into literature, and the more numerous, those who go after and who use these paths for their own journey. It's been this way since the birth of our planet and the (legitimate?) vanity of authors will do nothing against the clarity of the evidence. Gabriel García Márquez used his ingenuity to open and to pave the way that would come to be called "magical realism," down which multitudes of followers would later proceed and, as always happens, detractors in their turn. The first book of his which came into my hands was Cien años de soledad, and the shock which it caused me was enough to make me stop reading at the end of fifty pages. I needed to put some order in my mind, some discipline in my heart, and above all, learn to get my bearings and orient myself on the paths of the new world which presented itself before my eyes. In my life as a reader there have been very few occasions that have produced an experience like this. If the word "trauma" could take a positive meaning, I would willingly use it in this case. But, it has been written, leave it there. I hope it will be understood.
posted evening of August second, 2009: Respond
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Michael Pollan's article in this week's Times Magazine, "Out of the Kitchen, onto the Couch" is well worth reading. He spins the current popularity of cooking shows on TV in some interesting directions, and makes me want to watch Julie & Julia.
posted evening of August second, 2009: Respond
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Saturday, August first, 2009
Having a lazy morning and I thought I would pick up and look at A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.... This is a book which I read and loved when I was 14 years old, but which has over the years resisted efforts at rereading. I picked up a copy at a garage sale recently and was enchanted again by the opening paragraphs. Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo... His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face. He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt. This morning's discovery is, this is a great, great read-aloud book. I haven't enjoyed reading anything aloud so much since The Hobbit. Try reading this aloud, in an even, relaxed tone: They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them. He felt his whole body hot and confused in a moment. What was the right answer to the question? He had given two and still Wells laughed. But Wells must know the right answer for he was in third of grammar. He tried to think of Wells's mother but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wells's face. (And in addition to thinking this sounds great, I am identifying with it -- I can feel myself getting hot and confused as I try and figure out how to make the boys stop laughing at me...)You know what book this is reminding me of in its opening pages, is Boy by Roald Dahl.
posted morning of August first, 2009: 1 response
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Well this is a weird coincidence, or something... The same day I think about, and link to, Patrick Farley's Apocamon, Mr. Farley posts a notice to his LiveJournal -- he is rebooting Electric Sheep Comix! Nothing on the site yet; but this is great news. Thanks to Randolph for calling it to my attention. Randolph also linked to Farley's guest strip at DiceBox, Don't Look Back. What an excellent thing it is; you ought to go read it. And it looks like I have days of fun ahead of me getting acquainted with DiceBox...
 And aargh, speaking of weird coincidences, as I'm writing this post about Farley's reboot, I see my own host has gone down for reboot. I'll post this when it comes back...
posted morning of August first, 2009: Respond
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Friday, July 31st, 2009
I do not follow Fred Clarke's Left Behind analyses religiously; but when I do read one, I am never disappointed. In today's post, he looks at the unusual meaning of "literal" when that term is used by a fundamentalist Christian explicator of the Bible. We've already seen how, for Bruce as for Tim LaHaye, this word "literally" is not meant literally. For them it means something more like "my way." It's opposite would be "mere symbolism," which means for them, roughly, "any meaning other than the meaning imposed on a passage by reading it my way." Clarke reads LaHaye's explanation of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and my mind is  drawn irresistably to Patrick Farley's Apocamon -- I can see the First through Fourth Living Creatures calling out, "Come and See!" and once again I feel sad. So sad, because Apocamon is no longer available ever since a spammer stole Farley's Electric Sheep domain name... Well, one thing led to another, and I looked at Google, and Apocamon is back on the web. Not only that, but Farley has written two new episodes of it since the last time I saw it! Go and See! It is seriously one of the finest comics I've ever read. I wonder if the rest of the Electric Sheep strips are online again -- they don't seem to be at Serializer but some searching is in order.
posted evening of July 31st, 2009: 5 responses
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