South of the Border, West of the Sun is a typical Murakami, ambiguous as to whether there's anything supernatural there. From what I can tell, there are three forces at play (each symbolised by a woman): 1. enduring nostalgia for a first love, 2. guilt, 3. mid-life mediochrity.
So after telling the story of his childhood dear (1), his high-school sweetheart (2) and the nothingness inbetween before his current predicament (married with 2 girls), Hajime is fascinated to hear about Izumi (2) and that she has changed. Inside Hajime is the insatiable feeling that something is missing, which leads him back to these past loves.
It's quick, it's not the best Murakami, but overall I think the sentiment is about right and I enjoyed it.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Mathematical Fallacies and Paradoxes
This is essentially a history of mathematics, told with an emphasis on paradoxes and disputes that have happened over time in the mathematical world. At some times things are simplified so as to be accessible to the non-mathematical orientated reader, however there is some description that gets pretty full on - so I wonder how successful this book was in that regard.
It turns out, in my opinion, that some paradoxes and fallacies are more fun than others. My favourite from this book probably being
which has it's counterpart in a man rings his wife and says she will receive an unexpected gift, a gold watch. She knows it will be unexpected, but now she expects a watch, so it can't be a watch... then it is.
these are more logical than mathematical - perhaps a more appropriate one is to define a number as "the lowest number that cannot be defined in less than 19 syllables", however this sentence (which can also define the number) has less than 19 syllables, so it can't be that number! awesome.
It turns out, in my opinion, that some paradoxes and fallacies are more fun than others. My favourite from this book probably being
A civil-defence exercise will be held this week. In order to make sure that the civil-defence units are properly prepared, no one will know in advance on what day this exercise will take place.
which has it's counterpart in a man rings his wife and says she will receive an unexpected gift, a gold watch. She knows it will be unexpected, but now she expects a watch, so it can't be a watch... then it is.
these are more logical than mathematical - perhaps a more appropriate one is to define a number as "the lowest number that cannot be defined in less than 19 syllables", however this sentence (which can also define the number) has less than 19 syllables, so it can't be that number! awesome.
DFW
I won't go into great detail here as I think I read brief interviews with hideous men, searching for the wrong thing. David Foster Wallace is widely hailed as a genius, or at least very intelligent, and he certainly comes across as such, however I wonder whether much of the time he is more focused on the perturbation of form as an end rather than a means to convey a message, feeling, emotion. I'm not saying that all stories should have a moral, but I like to be moved by a story, even if it is uncertainly or profoundly but in an uncertain direction.
I don't mind a story to leave you wondering whether the character should be sympathised with, but I'm not drawn into a story where a character is created, endowed with what purport to be the secret, unconscious or "real" ambitions of people. And then the question is, am I getting it wrong? If I am, is that my fault as a reader or DFW as an author?
Anyway, definitely worth reading, and I guess when a book makes me really think long and hard about what I think of it and why I think this way, it's proabably a good thing.
I don't mind a story to leave you wondering whether the character should be sympathised with, but I'm not drawn into a story where a character is created, endowed with what purport to be the secret, unconscious or "real" ambitions of people. And then the question is, am I getting it wrong? If I am, is that my fault as a reader or DFW as an author?
Anyway, definitely worth reading, and I guess when a book makes me really think long and hard about what I think of it and why I think this way, it's proabably a good thing.
Magneto, Prof X read The Once and Future King
Magneto sits in a plastic prison, reads The Once and Future King, is beaten and has mind-control fluid dripped into his neck... then later, Professor X is teaching T.H. White to a class of young mutants.
So, X-men 2 and the fact my brother read it is the reason why I eventually came around to reading TH White's The Once and Future King. It is written in a similar style to C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, which is mainly to say that children have a bit of the toff about them, "oh by drats, if he weren't so beastly!" There's also a fair lack of description in this type of writing - I guess to read more like folklore than anything else... this book assumes you know the general story of King Arthur already, and mainly works to add a few stories in, fill out a few details, and give colour to Lady Guenevere who is mainly portrayed as a pouty lump of contradictions (female). So, yes, it took me a long time to read (small words, long pages, sleep) and for the most part was annoying although a few bits are powerful and rewarding enough.
Another problem I have is that the definitive story of King Arthur, to me, is courtesy of a tape I had as a kid, which included many wonderful stories, including the lady in the lake (where is she TH?), the bit where he fights the giant, ends up being tricked into fighting and almost killing his friend, has his magic scabbard stolen and then is stabbed by Mildred, son of Morgan le Faye, then finally has to make a young man throw excalibur back to the lady in the lake (mind you, i don't think i heard much of lancelot at this time). But anyway, that story was ace.
I guess the emphasis of Once and Future King (and the reason it is being read in X-Men) is the realisation of Arthur that he has attempted to build a culture of Right over Might upon the foundations of Might is Right. This is the focus, at least of the first story, and of the last when Camelot's light is waning. The majority of the rest of the book focuses on the love affair between Lancelot and Guenevere - once again, it's reasonably unimpressive when so much attention is given to two people, both of whom come across as idiots. Maybe I just don't like dull people who attempt to overemphasize their discretions... Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, Les Mis (although this wasn't adultery, just two very boring people in love).
At any rate, it is read, which is good.
So, X-men 2 and the fact my brother read it is the reason why I eventually came around to reading TH White's The Once and Future King. It is written in a similar style to C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, which is mainly to say that children have a bit of the toff about them, "oh by drats, if he weren't so beastly!" There's also a fair lack of description in this type of writing - I guess to read more like folklore than anything else... this book assumes you know the general story of King Arthur already, and mainly works to add a few stories in, fill out a few details, and give colour to Lady Guenevere who is mainly portrayed as a pouty lump of contradictions (female). So, yes, it took me a long time to read (small words, long pages, sleep) and for the most part was annoying although a few bits are powerful and rewarding enough.
Another problem I have is that the definitive story of King Arthur, to me, is courtesy of a tape I had as a kid, which included many wonderful stories, including the lady in the lake (where is she TH?), the bit where he fights the giant, ends up being tricked into fighting and almost killing his friend, has his magic scabbard stolen and then is stabbed by Mildred, son of Morgan le Faye, then finally has to make a young man throw excalibur back to the lady in the lake (mind you, i don't think i heard much of lancelot at this time). But anyway, that story was ace.
I guess the emphasis of Once and Future King (and the reason it is being read in X-Men) is the realisation of Arthur that he has attempted to build a culture of Right over Might upon the foundations of Might is Right. This is the focus, at least of the first story, and of the last when Camelot's light is waning. The majority of the rest of the book focuses on the love affair between Lancelot and Guenevere - once again, it's reasonably unimpressive when so much attention is given to two people, both of whom come across as idiots. Maybe I just don't like dull people who attempt to overemphasize their discretions... Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, Les Mis (although this wasn't adultery, just two very boring people in love).
At any rate, it is read, which is good.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Simon James - Jim Fish
The following was written for (and rejected by) the Lifted Brow -- almost 10 years ago. I very much understand why it was rejected. But still why not. Some of the mathematical symbols won't work here so I replaced them with \latex :)
Jim Fish.
A bright yellow fabric caresses her skin. Hong Kong actress, Elanne Kwong is next to me and I’m drawn to the yellow, draped over her leg like silken sun cut from a kid’s painting. This image drifts, attaching itself to various fragments of memory and in each scene I can’t place her expression or reconcile what she says with the sound of her voice. All I notice is the contrast of yellow against olive-painted and awkwardly sculpted thighs. I try to keep that picture still, assuring myself that it’s why she’s beautiful –that I notice how beautiful she is in a unique way –but I can’t. With each new detail the rest must be re-evaluated and, in turn, each change (∆y) itselfmust be integrated (\sum \to \int where ∆y→∞) into the scene. I explain again that it wasn’t my fault when Arlie stopped breathing.
It starts with sitting on fresh pink linen in a dorm closed off by pale strawberry curtains. The light coming through is inoffensive, like the chatter outside that falls dead before I can make it out. Physical disturbances in the air, I say to myself. If Elanne Kwon were in the room, her leg tied in yellow ribbon, she might ask what I am mumbling. “Your ear!”I could say, “it helps translate waves into words, images or even textures that make up memory. You couldn’t just remember a series of vibrations.”
She is not impressed and she frowns. “Don’t pretend that you actually think this through logically. Like everyone else, you panic when you think about something that hurts you, whether or not it happened reasonably.” She would say something like that –something about my calmness seeming aggressive, something that makes it obvious that she does not understand. Or perhaps the tone’s not right. Maybe she’s calm, herself –concerned and solemn, “She’ll be awake soon. You can let her know that you’ll make things better soon.”
Afterwards, far less excited about my insights on memory and sound, I am lying next to Arlie at home. The lining of her liver is tender, and the acidity of her stomach unsettles her, but for the most part she is disorientated and fatigued. I want to hold her so close, allow our bodies to fool me into thinking that I can keep her safe, that I can shield her from enemy fire. But, instead I hesitate, apprehensive that she’ll be disgusted, bored, or that she’ll get sick from the motion. I’m afraid to fall asleep. I’m exhausted. I didn’t, but I should –at this point –gently relinquish the sheet and swivel my knees out of bed. Elanne Kwong with a yellow scarf wrapped around her hips sits in the dark on the landing outside the room and I stand in front of her. “I do panic,”I say. The darkness makes me wonder whether she hears. It occurs to me that I’ve told her this before –that I’ve been with her before any of this. Do I keep noticing the legs and the yellow because we’ve slept together?
It’s impossible to tell for sure.
One night, she sits beside me on my bed, holding a Chinese tea cup of yellow powder. Imagine using a yellow pencil to colour a many-rayed sun on a large vertical canvas. The layers of yellow slide like graphite, some remaining on the canvas, others (infinitesimally small) floating down and being caught in this cup. “Your mother’s outside,”she says looking at the yellow crystals –I wonder how such fine grains could still hold pigment. “She’ll have to find you.”
“It shouldn’t bother you so much if things are out of order,”she says and I recall the psychological adage that if you hear a conversation out of order, your logical mind reorders it before committing it to memory, like the ear unscrambling waves.
“I’m not stupid,”I say. “we impose linear orders on things so that we can deal with them, fill in the gaps and missing colours so that they can be processed without confusing us. Like partially ordered sets. It’s like this…
Let Abe a set of memories (concerning both events and thoughts) that are subsumed into your identity and let ρ be the relation “causes”, (i.e. a ρ b if a causes b). (A,ρ) is then a partially ordered set (poset[1]). Let k be your current state of mind : a ρ k \forall a \in A\{k}. If there exists (\exists) an e: e ρ a \forall a \in A\{e} →(A, ρ) is a lattice, and teleologically, e is the single most important influence on k. Presupposed here is, of course, the imposition of an order and the possibility of a homeomorphism such that ρ might be substituted with “is more influential than”. Furthermore, the likelihood of a unique k and/or unique e might be insignificant, except in the case of fish with |A| \approx 2.
“…I know that it’s pointless to look for order or initial causes. They’re just excuses and empty consolations.” I say.
Elanne Kwong listens to the story about my fish, my mind is swimming somewhat at this stage. “It’s okay,”she says. “I might have given you too much.”
Arlie and I had fish. Jim was my fish and he was kept company by a jumping fish. The jumping fish kept escaping from the small fish-bowl, and so sometimes we used a grey cooking-tray to stop her from jumping out and suffocating. She’d still jump of course, and we’d watch her mope close to the stones for a few days after hitting her head. Jim was pretty fascinated by her, and was close-by whenever she was fixing to jump, although he kept his distance when she sulked at the depths of the bowl.
One day, we saw Jim with her near the stones. When she returned to the surface a few days later, he hadn’t moved. He stayed there, pining after her until his stomach began to bloat and what at first appeared to be lazy finning lapsed into a drift, and then finally he was floating sideways at the surface. His little gills had not been used to the deep water like those of the jumping fish.
I don’t remember whether Jim died before Arlie stopped breathing in the car or not. I don’t really remember the sequence between the night I see Elanne Kwong with the yellow scarf after the hospital (it must have been a hospital, with white instead of strawberry sheets), and the car. I may have been upset some of the time but I was calm. I wanted her to calm down.
“The water would not have been so deep that your fish couldn’t swim there.” Elanne Kwong says, skeptically interrupting. “Maybe the jumping fish hit Jim on the way down,”she returns to the empty teacup. “After hitting its head…maybe it was his head and not his gills?”
I don’t remember how I react to that. In any case, there should be nothing I ought to feel guilty about. I’ve never told Elanne Kwong how beautiful Arlie was. I haven’t confessed that the same trepidation from being beside her would be repeated and stretched over the following months –wanting so much to comfort her, but too afraid to touch her. Beautiful and inconsolably sad. I’m sitting in the car seat with that succession of moments between us, like a pulse of light from a supernova. Rather than attempt to reconcile the disparate timeline evoking the collapse, I console myself that everything is as it should be (\sum ∆y→0 as y→∞).
I think Elanne Kwong, wearing a guava t-shirt, will open the car door soon. My mind drifts and I imagine seeing myself climb into the driver’s seat. What do I say? Tell myself that all powerless experiences should be replayed, their outcomes altered with the newly developed coping tools? Tell myself that everything he fears will happen, happens –it won’t matter so much? Tell him the sun’s light isn’t coherent, but if painted it can be filtered into a flat and bright yellow?
I get a small fright when an unfamiliar body resumes the driver’s seat. She looks at the sun, and its fingers. “I don’t want to forget,”I tell her. “I don’t want to rearrange and recolour the memories until they resemble something I’m okay with.” I want to say that I don’t want to be okay with it, but I might have said this already.
The girl looks away from the sun, her eyes toward me for the first time. “You’re worried that it’s a compromise between relinquishing and reconciling, that you can’t reconcile your Arlie before the hospital with the one after.”
“No,”I say, half to myself. “They’re the same. I know. People don’t act rationally.”
“But if you don’t believe it yourself, your efforts to see her as both widens the rent. Neither Arlie is real.”(a \in Ɽ → a+i,a-i \in Ɽ) Do you ever wonder which of Kafka’s girls he loves most?
Caressing this girl’s leg is a soft red fabric. The red seems ornamental, flowing down from her wrist to her hips and slightly touching her thighs. The thighs are beautiful, they would arouse me if I would let them. The red is a bit harsh; not so delicate like a daffodil yellow.
(a,b) \in ρ→(b,a) \in ρ \forall a,b \in A(a≠b) (anti-symmetric)
(a,b) \in ρ \cup (b,c) \in ρ→(a,c) \in ρ \forall a,b,c \in A(transitive)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Pushing a Boulder, scooping Sand, piling rocks into the river of Hades - all fun
The village in The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abe has at its mouth a number of holes, each containing a house. These houses represent the only defense for the village against the sand, which like a liquid will pour through the village unless it is shovelled out of these holes indefinitely - of course, it is an endless task.
It's an interesting take on the idea of finding duty in a sentence of endless servitude. Camus' Myth of Sysiphus is another example, however in the book it refers to the River of Hades. My suspicion is that this "river of Hades" is not derived from the Greek mythology, but rather is given as a crude translation from a Japanese myth - I've got no idea though. In the River of Hades example told throughout the book, shovelling the sand is like piling up rocks in the river of Hades, and there too they are never allowed to complete the task.
This story differs, however, especially if we think of the protagonist and how he deals with his sentence. After arriving in the town, he stays one night with "a woman" who seems a little vague about how he will leave the next day. I like imprisonment stories where the capture is never really acknowledged - however this type of dialogue between the two changes as the story develops. So as a starting point, we never really get the idea that the sentence is carried out with duty - those in the holes are condemned and essentially slaves to the village. It is not until many attempts to escape that the protagonist defers his plans indefinitely.
I couldn't help but think that given the situation and the woman's loneliness, it would have seemed natural just to accept the imprisonment from the beginning - since there is nothing to go home to, however this must be a peculiarity of my own ideas or the influence of Camus.
There are 3 sex-scenes in the book, all quite confronting and not so romantic - in fact, the way the woman in the dunes is treated is really quite appalling... despite her lay-down attitude, I think she still deserved better. Oh well.
It's an interesting take on the idea of finding duty in a sentence of endless servitude. Camus' Myth of Sysiphus is another example, however in the book it refers to the River of Hades. My suspicion is that this "river of Hades" is not derived from the Greek mythology, but rather is given as a crude translation from a Japanese myth - I've got no idea though. In the River of Hades example told throughout the book, shovelling the sand is like piling up rocks in the river of Hades, and there too they are never allowed to complete the task.
This story differs, however, especially if we think of the protagonist and how he deals with his sentence. After arriving in the town, he stays one night with "a woman" who seems a little vague about how he will leave the next day. I like imprisonment stories where the capture is never really acknowledged - however this type of dialogue between the two changes as the story develops. So as a starting point, we never really get the idea that the sentence is carried out with duty - those in the holes are condemned and essentially slaves to the village. It is not until many attempts to escape that the protagonist defers his plans indefinitely.
I couldn't help but think that given the situation and the woman's loneliness, it would have seemed natural just to accept the imprisonment from the beginning - since there is nothing to go home to, however this must be a peculiarity of my own ideas or the influence of Camus.
There are 3 sex-scenes in the book, all quite confronting and not so romantic - in fact, the way the woman in the dunes is treated is really quite appalling... despite her lay-down attitude, I think she still deserved better. Oh well.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Extension du domaine de la lutte... "whatever"
The English title of this short novel, "whatever" is somewhat unfortunate, since the phrase evokes the attitude of young teenagers rather than the struggle of modern man in confronting life's indifference whilst "in a depression". The french title translates literally to something like extending the domain of the struggle (not difficult to discern from the words) and this is something more like what is going on.
Set in and around Paris, Houellebecq draws a lot from Sartre and other writers in that tradition. As well as many passages in the book reminding me (sometimes bluntly) of Nausea, some reminded me of Unbearable Lightness of Being, Fight Club or American Psycho. These similarities are sometimes interesting, however since Houellebecq fails to depict a unique or new crisis in man, I found it hard to find any of the revelations (or lack there-of) important.
His protagonist is ironically funny, sometimes aggressive in his dislike of people (particularly attractive/sexual women), at others surprisingly empathetic. Many of the wry observations refer to his company, the main office and it's software development (the program is called Maple, which is a mathematics programming package in reality but I couldn't quite gather whether he was aware of this or not).
What perhaps distinguishes this story from others is that the lead character is given a diagnosis. He is told that he is "in a depression" and we see the beginnings of the altered interaction with his co-workers after this (he's only got one friend). The depression is expressed more specifically through the character's loneliness, his lack of a loving girlfriend (many mentions of his ex- of 2 years), and how these things are needed for fulfilment when God is taken out of the picture - so in this sense, it moves beyond the existentialist dilemma and toward the more-human need for interaction and love.
Set in and around Paris, Houellebecq draws a lot from Sartre and other writers in that tradition. As well as many passages in the book reminding me (sometimes bluntly) of Nausea, some reminded me of Unbearable Lightness of Being, Fight Club or American Psycho. These similarities are sometimes interesting, however since Houellebecq fails to depict a unique or new crisis in man, I found it hard to find any of the revelations (or lack there-of) important.
His protagonist is ironically funny, sometimes aggressive in his dislike of people (particularly attractive/sexual women), at others surprisingly empathetic. Many of the wry observations refer to his company, the main office and it's software development (the program is called Maple, which is a mathematics programming package in reality but I couldn't quite gather whether he was aware of this or not).
What perhaps distinguishes this story from others is that the lead character is given a diagnosis. He is told that he is "in a depression" and we see the beginnings of the altered interaction with his co-workers after this (he's only got one friend). The depression is expressed more specifically through the character's loneliness, his lack of a loving girlfriend (many mentions of his ex- of 2 years), and how these things are needed for fulfilment when God is taken out of the picture - so in this sense, it moves beyond the existentialist dilemma and toward the more-human need for interaction and love.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Freakonomics
I'm sure not too many would appreciate the pun that is "freakonomics" - it's about as bad as "blogerithm", none-the-less, this is a book of cute anecdotes, most of which involve stats.
Levitt's philosophy is simple: numbers cannot lie - which runs counter to the lying statistics revelations of 1954. In the spirit of this belief, Levitt's work has been rigorous and seemingly unbiased. In investigating correlations been abortion and crime-rate, I was convinced enough by the controlling variables that were investigated to believe, "yeah, crime-rate dropped in the 90s because aborted children in the 70s would be just reaching their prime criming age!".
I was also really impressed by his algorithm to detect cheating teachers (teachers who doctor some of their students' standardised tests so that they don't look like such bad teachers) and the following statistics used for support. What is interesting is, indeed, that statistics were able to form sole justification for the firing of teachers - against professings of innocence, and traditional innocent before guilty notions. Wow, I say.
There are other nice anecdotes retold in this book, one of which involves a man who brought down an entire chapter of the KKK just by revealing their secrets on a Superman radio programme.
I am always skeptical of this type of book, where the "wow" factor of mathematics and statistics is used to intrigue people, however I think the basis of Levitt's findings have been pretty solid, and he has intelligently answered questions that I'm sure would have been thrown in the too-hard-to-know-for-sure basket. This isn't just basic maths dressed up as magic - in fact, I'm pretty inspired to try and find a really interesting application for my own research. Nice one.
Levitt's philosophy is simple: numbers cannot lie - which runs counter to the lying statistics revelations of 1954. In the spirit of this belief, Levitt's work has been rigorous and seemingly unbiased. In investigating correlations been abortion and crime-rate, I was convinced enough by the controlling variables that were investigated to believe, "yeah, crime-rate dropped in the 90s because aborted children in the 70s would be just reaching their prime criming age!".
I was also really impressed by his algorithm to detect cheating teachers (teachers who doctor some of their students' standardised tests so that they don't look like such bad teachers) and the following statistics used for support. What is interesting is, indeed, that statistics were able to form sole justification for the firing of teachers - against professings of innocence, and traditional innocent before guilty notions. Wow, I say.
There are other nice anecdotes retold in this book, one of which involves a man who brought down an entire chapter of the KKK just by revealing their secrets on a Superman radio programme.
I am always skeptical of this type of book, where the "wow" factor of mathematics and statistics is used to intrigue people, however I think the basis of Levitt's findings have been pretty solid, and he has intelligently answered questions that I'm sure would have been thrown in the too-hard-to-know-for-sure basket. This isn't just basic maths dressed up as magic - in fact, I'm pretty inspired to try and find a really interesting application for my own research. Nice one.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Hitomi Hitomi Hitomi
I'm very excited (for some reason... not sure exactly what that reason is) to see Hitomi Kanehara at MWF this thursday. I guess the chance to see, in person, authors that I enjoy reading is quite rare - most of them having died some time ago, or residing inter-australianly. I'm sure this experience will rival the reply letter from Kurt Vonnegut.
Kanehara is published by Vintage, and as a result her books look somewhat similar to Murakami - which I'll admit is what intrigued me in the first place. I was in a large bookstore in Hong Kong with my Italian colleague, Luigi, and seeing Autofiction I began to read the first few pages. Knowing nothing about it, I could not tell whether I would like it or not, and I didn't buy it until some months after I came home.
I thought it was beautiful.
We follow Rin backward, from 23 to 15, hearing the story each time of a boy misunderstanding, and then mistreating her. Rin is vulnerable, hotheaded, but she also has a firm sense of when she has been betrayed, and what she deserves from love and life.
In some cases, the boys seem as if they weren't ready for Rin's assertiveness and demanding nature. One particular scene sees Rin realise that her boy has lied to her about where he is. He isn't cheating on her, but he wants time away from her and he's perhaps afraid of how she would react for his desire to go out without her. Kana's thoughts turn inward, focusing on her body, her cleavage, breasts, and how these can be used to protect the self and heart that has just been betrayed.
Rin is the sort of girl that can be dismissed as unstable, adulterous - even a psycho, but she's really just someone who has been continually hurt by those in which she had so much faith. She experiences tragedy after tragedy, because she is ready to love and trust people but they can only ever see her as a girlish face amongst a million others that is seen devoid of intention and agency.
Snakes and Earrings - is a little more straightforward, less psychological, and certainly more disturbing. The protagonist, again, is a girl left to rely on undesireable males to get along in the world. This is the debut novel that brought Hitomi Kanehara so much acclaim - it is written simply, but with deliberate tone that leaves the reader in the belly of tattoo and piercing culture, amongst the sadomasochists and punk contradictions. Again, protection is sought in this world, and it comes in the form of a full-back tattoo of a Kirin (which I now know is a mythical animal and not just a beer).
here is some footage of the movie - it is good that the movie was made in japanese with japanese actors, however there is the consequence that there is no version with english subtitles available:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BStREUuDbc
Kanehara is published by Vintage, and as a result her books look somewhat similar to Murakami - which I'll admit is what intrigued me in the first place. I was in a large bookstore in Hong Kong with my Italian colleague, Luigi, and seeing Autofiction I began to read the first few pages. Knowing nothing about it, I could not tell whether I would like it or not, and I didn't buy it until some months after I came home.
I thought it was beautiful.
We follow Rin backward, from 23 to 15, hearing the story each time of a boy misunderstanding, and then mistreating her. Rin is vulnerable, hotheaded, but she also has a firm sense of when she has been betrayed, and what she deserves from love and life.
In some cases, the boys seem as if they weren't ready for Rin's assertiveness and demanding nature. One particular scene sees Rin realise that her boy has lied to her about where he is. He isn't cheating on her, but he wants time away from her and he's perhaps afraid of how she would react for his desire to go out without her. Kana's thoughts turn inward, focusing on her body, her cleavage, breasts, and how these can be used to protect the self and heart that has just been betrayed.
Rin is the sort of girl that can be dismissed as unstable, adulterous - even a psycho, but she's really just someone who has been continually hurt by those in which she had so much faith. She experiences tragedy after tragedy, because she is ready to love and trust people but they can only ever see her as a girlish face amongst a million others that is seen devoid of intention and agency.
Snakes and Earrings - is a little more straightforward, less psychological, and certainly more disturbing. The protagonist, again, is a girl left to rely on undesireable males to get along in the world. This is the debut novel that brought Hitomi Kanehara so much acclaim - it is written simply, but with deliberate tone that leaves the reader in the belly of tattoo and piercing culture, amongst the sadomasochists and punk contradictions. Again, protection is sought in this world, and it comes in the form of a full-back tattoo of a Kirin (which I now know is a mythical animal and not just a beer).
here is some footage of the movie - it is good that the movie was made in japanese with japanese actors, however there is the consequence that there is no version with english subtitles available:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BStREUuDbc
Monday, August 17, 2009
VietNam Le
I'd heard bits and pieces about The Boat before I read it, none of them really giving much indication of what I would eventually read. I wonder what is said about this book at book-groups... I'm sure it's made its way onto the lists of book-groups as diverse as mine and my mother's.
One talking point has been Le's range of literary styles. At times it feels like you are reading a writing exercise rather than something the author has invested himself into - however when looking at this collection as a whole, there really are a few common themes and the author's world-view is gradually and coherently illuminated by each short story.
One theme in a few of the stories is trying to find an authentic approach to circumstances/history etc. In what seems to be a more autobiographical story, Nam debates about whether to use his Vietnamese heritage, the atrocities witnessed by his father, the difficulty for war-torn communities to adapt to peace, to help sell his writing. 'Meeting Elise' sees a father trying to reconcile with his estranged daughter, who was taken away from him because he cheated on his wife. He is depressed at the passing of his wife's replacement, and without dignity attempt to exploit his decaying health, his accumulated wealth, desperately trying to establish a claim to his daughter, which at some point he gave away. The theme is most openly explored in passages of 'Tehran Calling', when Sarah longs for a tragic past - something she feels could justify her existence and relieve her feelings of unfulfillment.
The range of countries explored in setting and heritage also shows that Nam Le focuses on the growing relationships that exist between people of the world, and how these affect our sense of identity. The differences in the world are accentuated when a woman, oppressed in Iran, could just as easily have left the country a decade earlier and settled somewhere else. How do we respond when we are confronted with one teenager who is attempting to retain his pride by fighting a drop-kick from school, and another teenager who is meeting his fate with his employer after failing to assassinate his best friend? What does it mean to hear in passing that a woman was beaten to death for no other reason than her being born in China, when afterward we hear of the desperation experienced by oppressed Vietnamese attempting to escape to Malaysia? Whether Nam Le is actually that good that he is able of capturing the plight of these characters, or just that good that he seems to capture the plight of these people, many of these stories left me quite overwhelmed and depressed.
In some stories he seemed to get vague toward the end, which Murakami does at times too - sometimes I think this tendency is nice and poetic and sometimes I think it is lazy and confusing! I will give Nam Le the benefit of the doubt here, since the collection certainly proves the worth of his writing. Any preconceptions I had could not have stopped me from realising this.
I wonder how he would approach a novel.
One talking point has been Le's range of literary styles. At times it feels like you are reading a writing exercise rather than something the author has invested himself into - however when looking at this collection as a whole, there really are a few common themes and the author's world-view is gradually and coherently illuminated by each short story.
One theme in a few of the stories is trying to find an authentic approach to circumstances/history etc. In what seems to be a more autobiographical story, Nam debates about whether to use his Vietnamese heritage, the atrocities witnessed by his father, the difficulty for war-torn communities to adapt to peace, to help sell his writing. 'Meeting Elise' sees a father trying to reconcile with his estranged daughter, who was taken away from him because he cheated on his wife. He is depressed at the passing of his wife's replacement, and without dignity attempt to exploit his decaying health, his accumulated wealth, desperately trying to establish a claim to his daughter, which at some point he gave away. The theme is most openly explored in passages of 'Tehran Calling', when Sarah longs for a tragic past - something she feels could justify her existence and relieve her feelings of unfulfillment.
The range of countries explored in setting and heritage also shows that Nam Le focuses on the growing relationships that exist between people of the world, and how these affect our sense of identity. The differences in the world are accentuated when a woman, oppressed in Iran, could just as easily have left the country a decade earlier and settled somewhere else. How do we respond when we are confronted with one teenager who is attempting to retain his pride by fighting a drop-kick from school, and another teenager who is meeting his fate with his employer after failing to assassinate his best friend? What does it mean to hear in passing that a woman was beaten to death for no other reason than her being born in China, when afterward we hear of the desperation experienced by oppressed Vietnamese attempting to escape to Malaysia? Whether Nam Le is actually that good that he is able of capturing the plight of these characters, or just that good that he seems to capture the plight of these people, many of these stories left me quite overwhelmed and depressed.
In some stories he seemed to get vague toward the end, which Murakami does at times too - sometimes I think this tendency is nice and poetic and sometimes I think it is lazy and confusing! I will give Nam Le the benefit of the doubt here, since the collection certainly proves the worth of his writing. Any preconceptions I had could not have stopped me from realising this.
I wonder how he would approach a novel.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
is The Virgin Suicides more about suicide or virginity?
As I have discussed, I found many parallels between The Virgin Suicides (movie) and Picnic at Hanging Rock. The blurb on the back of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides would lead one to believe that the once-off party held at the Lisbons' house is central to the story - which would have worked well with my preconceptions, however I don't think is the case. I could have linked nicely the excursion to hanging rock and the house party - both representative of a rare excursion for strictly kept girls where the problems of sexuality and men might reveal themselves. The Virgin Suicides, however seems to be about much more, at least at a semi-conscious level (who knows how many hidden meanings are in Picnic?)
From my understanding, the book has two potential foci. 1) The virgin suicides: why? what are the connexions between virginity and suicide? etc; and 2) The voyeuristic attention paid by the boys across the street; Or perhaps these themes can and are meant to be reconciled?
2) The boys (i'll use the term collectively even though there is a distinguishable narrator) collect items from the girls' lives, treasuring Lux's bra, a photo of her cervix, pictures of the virgin Mary that Cecilia clung to in a bloody bathtub, doctors' reports etc. The obsession seems somewhat unhealthy, almost paedafilic, since the story is told retrospectively and the girls cannot age - there also seems to be mention of the house beginning to smell like "trapped beaver"...? We could blame this on Eugenides's own thoughts being tendered, however it is more likely that the perturbation that comes through from the narrator is a result of the incomprehensibility and fascination with the event. Pressing further (it would probably be appropriate to use some kind of metaphor here about vagina's but I'm not sure I could pull it off), the disparity between how the boys see the girls and how the girls clearly see themselves could perhaps be key to the suicides themselves. This ties in nicely with Cecilia's statement after her first suicide attempt (wrists) "clearly doctor, you don't know what it's like to be a 13-year-old girl.
The girls, because there are five of them and because their parents are strict, are objectified and distorted by the typical suburban American community. Lux (labelled promiscuous... but I think this adjective is misleading) is sought after by Trip: he pines after her for almost a year until finally scoring with her on the football field, afterwhich (of course) he's a bit sick of her because she confides that she always ruins everything.
When focusing on the boys and their perceptions, memories, I felt constantly confronted and annoyed with their authenticity. This is somewhat acknowledged, when it is realised that the boys were too interested in deciphering and marvelling at the call for help to respond to it. Alas, this is not atypical of suicide in general.
1) Virginity is referred to in different ways throughout - The Virgin Suicides is an old rock song, but Cecilia also held a picture of the Virgin Mary (apparently it should have been Jesus - therefore she's a devil worshipper), and things like Virgin oil pop up now and again. It's difficult to know whether we should be looking at the suicides as representative of suicide in general, perhaps even a code for something else, or whether we should succumb to the reality of the book and be intrigued by the 5.
The book explores the theme of suicide quite well, capturing the alienation that follows a suicide attempt, the despair of loved ones dealing with suicide and indeed the varying reactions that people can have. When trying to accept the mass suicide, one has to expel the crazy theories of infexion and cults etc, and try to deal with what this type of mass suicide really means. However in some ways, the idea is quite convincing - a girl attempts suicide because (this is a massive simplification) she is frustrated in confronting the world as a teenage girl. The response to this is inadequate, with those close to her acting strangely, distancing themselves, so she finishes the job. The sisters, whilst trying to make sense of the terrible loss, are also gradually ostracised from society, until they can no longer reconcile themselves with a future. The depressive moods fester and then finally it is suggested - it's not uncommon for suicidal teens to seek affirmation for the act or to find people complacent with its planning.
The tragedy, is that little can be made of the girls. We are given barely a glimpse of their persona's, shrouded as they are by the distorted impressions of others. The misconceptions of the neighbours, the town and the country, seem only to support the worth of the girls' decisions. Why bother living in a world that seems so stupid and oblivious?
From my understanding, the book has two potential foci. 1) The virgin suicides: why? what are the connexions between virginity and suicide? etc; and 2) The voyeuristic attention paid by the boys across the street; Or perhaps these themes can and are meant to be reconciled?
2) The boys (i'll use the term collectively even though there is a distinguishable narrator) collect items from the girls' lives, treasuring Lux's bra, a photo of her cervix, pictures of the virgin Mary that Cecilia clung to in a bloody bathtub, doctors' reports etc. The obsession seems somewhat unhealthy, almost paedafilic, since the story is told retrospectively and the girls cannot age - there also seems to be mention of the house beginning to smell like "trapped beaver"...? We could blame this on Eugenides's own thoughts being tendered, however it is more likely that the perturbation that comes through from the narrator is a result of the incomprehensibility and fascination with the event. Pressing further (it would probably be appropriate to use some kind of metaphor here about vagina's but I'm not sure I could pull it off), the disparity between how the boys see the girls and how the girls clearly see themselves could perhaps be key to the suicides themselves. This ties in nicely with Cecilia's statement after her first suicide attempt (wrists) "clearly doctor, you don't know what it's like to be a 13-year-old girl.
The girls, because there are five of them and because their parents are strict, are objectified and distorted by the typical suburban American community. Lux (labelled promiscuous... but I think this adjective is misleading) is sought after by Trip: he pines after her for almost a year until finally scoring with her on the football field, afterwhich (of course) he's a bit sick of her because she confides that she always ruins everything.
When focusing on the boys and their perceptions, memories, I felt constantly confronted and annoyed with their authenticity. This is somewhat acknowledged, when it is realised that the boys were too interested in deciphering and marvelling at the call for help to respond to it. Alas, this is not atypical of suicide in general.
1) Virginity is referred to in different ways throughout - The Virgin Suicides is an old rock song, but Cecilia also held a picture of the Virgin Mary (apparently it should have been Jesus - therefore she's a devil worshipper), and things like Virgin oil pop up now and again. It's difficult to know whether we should be looking at the suicides as representative of suicide in general, perhaps even a code for something else, or whether we should succumb to the reality of the book and be intrigued by the 5.
The book explores the theme of suicide quite well, capturing the alienation that follows a suicide attempt, the despair of loved ones dealing with suicide and indeed the varying reactions that people can have. When trying to accept the mass suicide, one has to expel the crazy theories of infexion and cults etc, and try to deal with what this type of mass suicide really means. However in some ways, the idea is quite convincing - a girl attempts suicide because (this is a massive simplification) she is frustrated in confronting the world as a teenage girl. The response to this is inadequate, with those close to her acting strangely, distancing themselves, so she finishes the job. The sisters, whilst trying to make sense of the terrible loss, are also gradually ostracised from society, until they can no longer reconcile themselves with a future. The depressive moods fester and then finally it is suggested - it's not uncommon for suicidal teens to seek affirmation for the act or to find people complacent with its planning.
The tragedy, is that little can be made of the girls. We are given barely a glimpse of their persona's, shrouded as they are by the distorted impressions of others. The misconceptions of the neighbours, the town and the country, seem only to support the worth of the girls' decisions. Why bother living in a world that seems so stupid and oblivious?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
William Hazlitt Essays
On the Pleasure of Hating encompasses 6 essays, the last of which bears the same title. I am led to believe that Hazlitt was an important radical of his time, and it seems like many of these essays would have been published in journals or newspapers.
The first piece details a boxing match - the difficulty to get there, the hype. What is most impressive about this short depiction is perhaps how well the reader is drawn into the excitement of the coming event.
The remaining essays could be considered little more than opinion pieces, lacking the theoretical or philosophical support to be perceived as anything else. Given this, a few I found interesting while others seemed to lack relevance.
The Indian Juggler begins by discussing the unrivalled talents of a juggler - but gradually leads to Hazlitt's contention: Men can't be great through dexterous feats, but rather through artistic pursuits (like writing).
His writing about the legitimacy of the Monarchy seemed a little redundant, especially given my location in time and space - however I guess there are some interesting points made.
Perhaps the most contemporary essay is that concerning reason and imagination. Although it does not purport specifically to do so, this essay provides the main basis for ethical arguments grounded in subjective reactions rather than in objectification and distance. i.e. Philosophers such as Singer hold that philosophical explorations in ethics should exist outside our human emotions and reactions, creating a hypothetical world in order to determine right or wrong. What this fails to do is acknowledge that ethics is very much tied to the society in which morality and choice are considered, and furthermore the emotional consequences to actions should be considered along with the objective consequences. For instance, Singer's example of a chimpanzee with more brain capacity than someone suffering severe retardation has more of a right to live - the problem with this argument is that it neglects the consideration of the following: the connections between the family and the severely disabled person, the instinctive recognition of the disabled person as a human - that is, we project our innate understanding of what it means to be human onto him, the responsibilities implicitly taken up by those close to the person.
(I am not anti-singer as such, I don't think he's a Nazi, I just don't agree with his take on ethics in this regard.)
It feels like Hazlitt is someone that it is a good idea to be aware of, although I'm not sure where I would use his arguments in academic writings etc - i.e. i'm not sure whether he's an authority on much. Perhaps he could be seen as indicative of the changing times?
The first piece details a boxing match - the difficulty to get there, the hype. What is most impressive about this short depiction is perhaps how well the reader is drawn into the excitement of the coming event.
The remaining essays could be considered little more than opinion pieces, lacking the theoretical or philosophical support to be perceived as anything else. Given this, a few I found interesting while others seemed to lack relevance.
The Indian Juggler begins by discussing the unrivalled talents of a juggler - but gradually leads to Hazlitt's contention: Men can't be great through dexterous feats, but rather through artistic pursuits (like writing).
His writing about the legitimacy of the Monarchy seemed a little redundant, especially given my location in time and space - however I guess there are some interesting points made.
Perhaps the most contemporary essay is that concerning reason and imagination. Although it does not purport specifically to do so, this essay provides the main basis for ethical arguments grounded in subjective reactions rather than in objectification and distance. i.e. Philosophers such as Singer hold that philosophical explorations in ethics should exist outside our human emotions and reactions, creating a hypothetical world in order to determine right or wrong. What this fails to do is acknowledge that ethics is very much tied to the society in which morality and choice are considered, and furthermore the emotional consequences to actions should be considered along with the objective consequences. For instance, Singer's example of a chimpanzee with more brain capacity than someone suffering severe retardation has more of a right to live - the problem with this argument is that it neglects the consideration of the following: the connections between the family and the severely disabled person, the instinctive recognition of the disabled person as a human - that is, we project our innate understanding of what it means to be human onto him, the responsibilities implicitly taken up by those close to the person.
(I am not anti-singer as such, I don't think he's a Nazi, I just don't agree with his take on ethics in this regard.)
It feels like Hazlitt is someone that it is a good idea to be aware of, although I'm not sure where I would use his arguments in academic writings etc - i.e. i'm not sure whether he's an authority on much. Perhaps he could be seen as indicative of the changing times?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Ignatius J. Reilly
In the introduction to A Confederacy of Dunces, Ignatius J. Reilly is described as some combination of characters I've heard of, but am unfamiliar with (Don Quixote for example). It worried me that this whole "branching out" as a result of bookgroup might be leading me books whose inter-textual references go unnoticed - resulting in the reception "it was good but i'm sure there's something i'm missing...".
Indeed, there's probably a lot in this book that might have got passed me, however Ignatius J. Reilly, however his character could perhaps be placed alongside those of Kafka, Vonnegut, Beckett. I was unable quite to locate him until the end, whereupon I decided that whereas Kafka's characters are in confrontation with an absurd world, Reilly seems to be an absurd character confronted by a normal world. At least, it is something like this. There is a comic absurdity in the depiction of a man sitting in his room reading a letter, "she must be lashed until she drops" overheard by his mother; or Ignatius' retaliation to an insurance claim against his mother, "A thousand dollars? He will not get a cent. We shall have him prosecuted immediately. Contact our attorneys, Mother."
There is certainly a disparity between what Reilly believes to be at his command, and his reality: an unemployed and obese white man, uncomfortable with the cultural "abortions" rampant in New Orleans - however at times you feel that his obliviousness is a front, protecting him from the disappointments in his life. His indictments against popular and modern habits are reminiscent of teenage/indi manifestos - so perhaps I'm laughing at myself as much as him.
::
after thinking on this somewhat I noticed that Ignatius perhaps has the same demeanor as Stewie from Family Guy... who i also find funny
Indeed, there's probably a lot in this book that might have got passed me, however Ignatius J. Reilly, however his character could perhaps be placed alongside those of Kafka, Vonnegut, Beckett. I was unable quite to locate him until the end, whereupon I decided that whereas Kafka's characters are in confrontation with an absurd world, Reilly seems to be an absurd character confronted by a normal world. At least, it is something like this. There is a comic absurdity in the depiction of a man sitting in his room reading a letter, "she must be lashed until she drops" overheard by his mother; or Ignatius' retaliation to an insurance claim against his mother, "A thousand dollars? He will not get a cent. We shall have him prosecuted immediately. Contact our attorneys, Mother."
There is certainly a disparity between what Reilly believes to be at his command, and his reality: an unemployed and obese white man, uncomfortable with the cultural "abortions" rampant in New Orleans - however at times you feel that his obliviousness is a front, protecting him from the disappointments in his life. His indictments against popular and modern habits are reminiscent of teenage/indi manifestos - so perhaps I'm laughing at myself as much as him.
::
after thinking on this somewhat I noticed that Ignatius perhaps has the same demeanor as Stewie from Family Guy... who i also find funny
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Love in a cold climate
I found Nancy Mitford's Love in a Cold Climate quite funny. As a book, its main purpose seems to be to ridicule aristocracy of 20th century England, however all fun is poked somewhat endearingly and we end up liking the characters for their idiosyncrasies and eccentricities. My favourite of which is a character modeled on Mitford's father, who believes that if you write someone's name on a piece of paper and put it in a drawer, death will meet them shortly. Some passages find him frantically scribbling an enemy's name and jamming it in the draw, however we find that if (by coincidence) one of the named ends up meeting their fate, he does feel a little guilty for a day or two. The homesexual inference toward the end of the book surprised me with its blatancy, however I guess this is part "the rich can do what they like" - one of the points being presented in the book, and part "I don't know anything about the dates of progress of progressive ideas".
The story mentions Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway which prompted me to go out and read it. Mrs. Dalloway is amazingly written, some of the passages seem to perfectly capture that camera movement we see in films where a character is focused on then up and away we fly, through the window and to another. The style was sometimes hard to for me to keep track of, however the story is able to articulate depression and disillusionment authentically through its characters Mrs. Dalloway and Septimus who act as opposing poles of English society.
The story mentions Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway which prompted me to go out and read it. Mrs. Dalloway is amazingly written, some of the passages seem to perfectly capture that camera movement we see in films where a character is focused on then up and away we fly, through the window and to another. The style was sometimes hard to for me to keep track of, however the story is able to articulate depression and disillusionment authentically through its characters Mrs. Dalloway and Septimus who act as opposing poles of English society.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Great American Novels
I recently read The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow and it's hard to describe it as anything else than The great American novel. I'm not quite sure what it means for something to be an American novel, let alone a great one, but it certainly has features that make it distinctly American beyond its author and setting.
When one looks at Augie March, Gatsby, Steinbeck novels, and perhaps Streetcar Named Desire (which i'm aware is not a novel), there is definitely something unifying. Of note, they're all reasonably bleak - presenting chracters that live almost an antithesis of the American dream: down on their luck, unable to escape circumstances and history. I found it interesting to read that A Clockwork Orange was edited when published in America, removing the final chapter (the happy ending). And then you can even think of other important episodes in the American psyche like Gone with the Wind - it's American to leave things unhappy, and yet it's also American to make a Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (maybe not everyone in America is the same? who knows...)
When beginning to read Augie March, I wondered whether Saul Bellow was one of those authors that I could not relate to, writing characters that are shallow and conceited. It was a nice surprise to find that every one of those suspicions, arising throughout the book, were quashed by some rejuvenating or explicating passage. I felt like the narrator grew with Augie March, i.e. that reflection was minimal in earlier passages, Augie seeming almost like a blank slate (indeed, it's a running theme of the book that that's what people take him to be) but with no opinion of his own, innocent and undiscerning. Later, however, he started to pronounce his opinion, bringing out his full character.
The book is somewhat episodic, and the emotions conveyed in some are unbelievably authentic (oxymoron?). After so much description, it is so easy to feel and empathise with the distress of his mother who's mentally slow son is taken away from her. Further on in the book, a break-up is described that articulates so well the complexity of run-down relationships that I couldn't help but feel a little sick to my stomach : that complex mixture of emotions where one has no right to feel betrayed, and yet the betrayal is felt all the more poignantly.
I guess part of the Americanness comes from the character's adventure, being able to sample many careers, lifestyles and people, something that was taken to the extreme in Forrest Gump! Augie reminds me somewhat of Watanabe in Norwegian Wood, with his descriptions of events touched by a melancholia that one cannot quite locate until the end. Some of the episodes are told Gatsby-style, where Augie really just sings everything he sees. Despite him seeming a bit naive and shallow in parts, the breadth of insight we are given into his character makes him human, and therefore forgivable for human faults. I was very glad to have read this book.
When one looks at Augie March, Gatsby, Steinbeck novels, and perhaps Streetcar Named Desire (which i'm aware is not a novel), there is definitely something unifying. Of note, they're all reasonably bleak - presenting chracters that live almost an antithesis of the American dream: down on their luck, unable to escape circumstances and history. I found it interesting to read that A Clockwork Orange was edited when published in America, removing the final chapter (the happy ending). And then you can even think of other important episodes in the American psyche like Gone with the Wind - it's American to leave things unhappy, and yet it's also American to make a Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame (maybe not everyone in America is the same? who knows...)
When beginning to read Augie March, I wondered whether Saul Bellow was one of those authors that I could not relate to, writing characters that are shallow and conceited. It was a nice surprise to find that every one of those suspicions, arising throughout the book, were quashed by some rejuvenating or explicating passage. I felt like the narrator grew with Augie March, i.e. that reflection was minimal in earlier passages, Augie seeming almost like a blank slate (indeed, it's a running theme of the book that that's what people take him to be) but with no opinion of his own, innocent and undiscerning. Later, however, he started to pronounce his opinion, bringing out his full character.
The book is somewhat episodic, and the emotions conveyed in some are unbelievably authentic (oxymoron?). After so much description, it is so easy to feel and empathise with the distress of his mother who's mentally slow son is taken away from her. Further on in the book, a break-up is described that articulates so well the complexity of run-down relationships that I couldn't help but feel a little sick to my stomach : that complex mixture of emotions where one has no right to feel betrayed, and yet the betrayal is felt all the more poignantly.
I guess part of the Americanness comes from the character's adventure, being able to sample many careers, lifestyles and people, something that was taken to the extreme in Forrest Gump! Augie reminds me somewhat of Watanabe in Norwegian Wood, with his descriptions of events touched by a melancholia that one cannot quite locate until the end. Some of the episodes are told Gatsby-style, where Augie really just sings everything he sees. Despite him seeming a bit naive and shallow in parts, the breadth of insight we are given into his character makes him human, and therefore forgivable for human faults. I was very glad to have read this book.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Departure and Arrival
I remember Darkness at Noon being strewn with quite dense paragraphs, but I also remember quite liking it, so I thought I'd read Arrival and Departure. Camus and Koestler were quite good friends, Koestler playing a small role in the feud that would divide Camus and Sartre. He criticized the Communist regime in post-war France, something which didn't go down too well.
I'm not sure quite what to take from Arrival and Departure. It seems more like a literary expedition rather than a novel one might put forward. A soldier has escaped capture and made it to Neutralia. A place that fascism is slowly creeping into, but where embassies exist for most countries, so he sets about trying to re-enlist. There are a great many admin hurdles (reminds me somewhat of Kafka's The Castle) and it seems like his country would rather he defected than let someone back in who has already been tortured by the enemy.
A lover he meets on Neutralia finally receives permission to relocate to America, she asks the protagonist to follow her, to which he agrees. Shortly after her departure, however, his leg stops moving. The problem is deemed to be psychological (a relatively new concept at that time I guess) and he is counseled to talk about the horrors of war he has seen, including a particularly awful experience of traveling in multi-purpose transports, which have carriages for captured slave-workers, and also ones full of Jews who are gased at some point before their carriage is detached from the train. Perhaps this is one of the first books that taps into the idea of this type of therapy - trying to reveal repressed memories and emotions. It seems to show only a basic understanding of this method although I'm not sure where psychology was at during this time.
In the end, and I guess this is the sentiment to be taken from the book, the soldier is tempted to start working (just doing little bits) for the enemy, before finally declaring that he will not - and that even if his own side is committing atrocities, and even if their philosophy does not hold up (we're presuming some type of communism), then he still must fight against the enemy because what he's fighting against is not the philosophy of the enemy but rather the acts of violence and massacre such as are committed on the multi-purpose transports.
I'm not sure quite what to take from Arrival and Departure. It seems more like a literary expedition rather than a novel one might put forward. A soldier has escaped capture and made it to Neutralia. A place that fascism is slowly creeping into, but where embassies exist for most countries, so he sets about trying to re-enlist. There are a great many admin hurdles (reminds me somewhat of Kafka's The Castle) and it seems like his country would rather he defected than let someone back in who has already been tortured by the enemy.
A lover he meets on Neutralia finally receives permission to relocate to America, she asks the protagonist to follow her, to which he agrees. Shortly after her departure, however, his leg stops moving. The problem is deemed to be psychological (a relatively new concept at that time I guess) and he is counseled to talk about the horrors of war he has seen, including a particularly awful experience of traveling in multi-purpose transports, which have carriages for captured slave-workers, and also ones full of Jews who are gased at some point before their carriage is detached from the train. Perhaps this is one of the first books that taps into the idea of this type of therapy - trying to reveal repressed memories and emotions. It seems to show only a basic understanding of this method although I'm not sure where psychology was at during this time.
In the end, and I guess this is the sentiment to be taken from the book, the soldier is tempted to start working (just doing little bits) for the enemy, before finally declaring that he will not - and that even if his own side is committing atrocities, and even if their philosophy does not hold up (we're presuming some type of communism), then he still must fight against the enemy because what he's fighting against is not the philosophy of the enemy but rather the acts of violence and massacre such as are committed on the multi-purpose transports.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Eponine
When I read an introduction to an abridged version of The Princess Bride, I wondered whether it would be worth writing an abridged version of Hunchback of Notre Dame - it is a beautiful story, but sometimes Hugo can really go on, spending whole chapters on describing 14th century Paris, the churches that are no longer there in 16th century Paris, etc.
I wanted to get Les Miserables out of the way, in particular so that I would read it before seeing the stage-show, or a movie of the stage-show - it is very long, of course. And, of course, after a few chapters Hugo ventures to write "and now it might be appropriate to describe the residence of Myriel Digne" - of course it might be appropriate - why not describe all the residences in Digne, be that as it may, only a small component of the (very long) story? However, there is something endearing about the way Hugo writes. He does like to go into heavy detail, but it is nice reading and I do believe that it enhances the narrative experience. I'm not sure whether a complete edition is available in Australia, my old edition still required me to refer to the appendix for certain chapters (which I'm happy to say I did) but I think there's still some text missing.
An important theme of the book is providence - perhaps tying in with Hugo's desire to reconcile God with history, however it seems all very well that much of the story relies on coincidences. Indeed, in literature, coincidences often hold the story together and I guess philosophically that's why we might like them so much - bridging that gap between life and art.
What I found most interesting in this book, however, was the plight of Eponine - although what I think of her is part of a wider issue. The ultimate "good" in the story, as hailed by Hugo, is the love between Marius and Cosette - the dullest characters therein. Marius is an impetuous teenager (or at least acts like one), overreacting to everything and quite certain that every impulse he has must be addressed as a matter of the highest importance. Cosette, meanwhile, is boring, quite oblivious, and loved Marius so much after seeing him in the park that she completely forgot about him when considering marriage to a passing handsome stranger. So Jean Valjean, a living dedication to God, a triumph of goodwill and the human spirit, has escaped injustice against all odds - just so that he can rescue Cosette, and see her get married to a wanker - which makes him happy even when they decide to disown him on a miscommunication.
A side-character to this, the main plot, is Eponine. Whereas Cosette has grown up being sheltered and protected by Valjean in every sense, Eponine has spent a great amount of time coming to terms with who she is, and how best she should negotiate the world - given that her family sees her as a slave, men are happy to sleep with her but not protect her, and she is responsible for a brother disowned by the family. She becomes infatuated with Marius, his modest life, and how she sees that might change her predicament. She saves his life a number of times, even protecting Cosette, and helping Marius find her, only to be forgotten by him. She, once again, represents an ultimate in human sacrifice (similar to Valjean, and interestingly they both have somewhat shady morals outside these noble endeavours) - and she is not given a thought by Marius, preoccupied as he is with the uninteresting Cosette.
It's a common love-triangle story these days, however obviously it is expressed quite nicely by Hugo. I found myself really wanting to know much more about Eponine - and i guess hoping that it Hugo might see it as a good idea to leave her happy in the end, maybe find her a man who could punch Marius in the stomach at some point... i'm not sure how she might be portrayed in the musical though.
I wanted to get Les Miserables out of the way, in particular so that I would read it before seeing the stage-show, or a movie of the stage-show - it is very long, of course. And, of course, after a few chapters Hugo ventures to write "and now it might be appropriate to describe the residence of Myriel Digne" - of course it might be appropriate - why not describe all the residences in Digne, be that as it may, only a small component of the (very long) story? However, there is something endearing about the way Hugo writes. He does like to go into heavy detail, but it is nice reading and I do believe that it enhances the narrative experience. I'm not sure whether a complete edition is available in Australia, my old edition still required me to refer to the appendix for certain chapters (which I'm happy to say I did) but I think there's still some text missing.
An important theme of the book is providence - perhaps tying in with Hugo's desire to reconcile God with history, however it seems all very well that much of the story relies on coincidences. Indeed, in literature, coincidences often hold the story together and I guess philosophically that's why we might like them so much - bridging that gap between life and art.
What I found most interesting in this book, however, was the plight of Eponine - although what I think of her is part of a wider issue. The ultimate "good" in the story, as hailed by Hugo, is the love between Marius and Cosette - the dullest characters therein. Marius is an impetuous teenager (or at least acts like one), overreacting to everything and quite certain that every impulse he has must be addressed as a matter of the highest importance. Cosette, meanwhile, is boring, quite oblivious, and loved Marius so much after seeing him in the park that she completely forgot about him when considering marriage to a passing handsome stranger. So Jean Valjean, a living dedication to God, a triumph of goodwill and the human spirit, has escaped injustice against all odds - just so that he can rescue Cosette, and see her get married to a wanker - which makes him happy even when they decide to disown him on a miscommunication.
A side-character to this, the main plot, is Eponine. Whereas Cosette has grown up being sheltered and protected by Valjean in every sense, Eponine has spent a great amount of time coming to terms with who she is, and how best she should negotiate the world - given that her family sees her as a slave, men are happy to sleep with her but not protect her, and she is responsible for a brother disowned by the family. She becomes infatuated with Marius, his modest life, and how she sees that might change her predicament. She saves his life a number of times, even protecting Cosette, and helping Marius find her, only to be forgotten by him. She, once again, represents an ultimate in human sacrifice (similar to Valjean, and interestingly they both have somewhat shady morals outside these noble endeavours) - and she is not given a thought by Marius, preoccupied as he is with the uninteresting Cosette.
It's a common love-triangle story these days, however obviously it is expressed quite nicely by Hugo. I found myself really wanting to know much more about Eponine - and i guess hoping that it Hugo might see it as a good idea to leave her happy in the end, maybe find her a man who could punch Marius in the stomach at some point... i'm not sure how she might be portrayed in the musical though.
After the Quake
There's always something unidentifiably brilliant about Murakami short stories. I'm either imposing my own good opinion on them, or I just really like the atmosphere (japanese atmosphere?), or he really does create something special each time. It could be that there is something lost in translation that leaves me confused and thoughtful... as is probably the case with Manga films that I like ("I don't get it.. but I like it!"). The unidentifiable plays a particularly important role in these stories however.
When Murakami was in self-exile, two very important events to the Japanese collective unconscious occurred: the Kobe earthquake, and the sarin gas attacks on the underground. He returned to write about each of these.
Each of the stories in After the Quake takes is only indirectly related to the Quake itself. Each of the characters is affected, as if by the aftershocks, in unpredictable ways. In one story, a woman mesmerized by the continual footage decides that she must leave her husband - she knew no-one in the quake. In a more ridiculous story, a giant frog needs a debt collector's help to fight a giant earthworm that is going to cause another quake. In each of the stories, the quake stirs something intangible, causing the characters to reconsider their lives. As usual, Murakami is able to evoke quite beautiful friendships and chance meetings (sex included of course), even in these short stories - perhaps this is because he knows the short story is probably best when things are suggested rather than shown.
When Murakami was in self-exile, two very important events to the Japanese collective unconscious occurred: the Kobe earthquake, and the sarin gas attacks on the underground. He returned to write about each of these.
Each of the stories in After the Quake takes is only indirectly related to the Quake itself. Each of the characters is affected, as if by the aftershocks, in unpredictable ways. In one story, a woman mesmerized by the continual footage decides that she must leave her husband - she knew no-one in the quake. In a more ridiculous story, a giant frog needs a debt collector's help to fight a giant earthworm that is going to cause another quake. In each of the stories, the quake stirs something intangible, causing the characters to reconsider their lives. As usual, Murakami is able to evoke quite beautiful friendships and chance meetings (sex included of course), even in these short stories - perhaps this is because he knows the short story is probably best when things are suggested rather than shown.
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