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.

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.

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.

the Kafka Sentence

I had been recommended Disgrace from a number of sources, one of which said Coetzee was the best writer alive. He had told me about the court scene - which sounded very reminiscent of The Outsider, however on reading it I'm not sure whether that's deliberate... surely Coetzee would be familiar with Camus... anyway - : I struggle with books where I can not identify with any of the characters, this is probably one of those cases.

The protagonist, a somewhat washed up lecturer, wants to sleep with his students so endeavours to do so. Everyone's of age, so it's all legitimate, however what makes him dislikeable to everyone else is that he refuses to apologise in the hearing. It's a very Mersault type response, completely admitting the act, but suggesting that it makes no difference whether or not he feels bad about it, because he doesn't agree with their values. What makes the character dislikeable to me at this point, is that he claims to be "in love" with the girls, clearly identifying desire and love as one, which doesn't make him uncommon, I guess, but does make me think he lacks a recognition of the more complex and deeper feelings that constitute love. This is merely the novel's point of departure, the central theme of the novel is reconciliation in South Africa.

Lurie is ostracized and goes to live with his daughter for the sake of everyone and himself. It's not a completely cowardly gesture. His daughter is raped by a group of dark-skinned Africans, and the remainder of the novel looks at the relationship between father and daughter, and their individual responses to the traumatic experience.

To some degree, there is a focus on the difference between the two, Lurie being quite arrogant and righteous when it comes to his privileges, his daughter caring, sensitive and forgiving. What I found most noteworthy was what they shared: a Kafka-type sentence.

Both have been dealt a sentence, one that is to some degree just, and to some degree not. But each accepts this, and is willing to play the hand they have been dealt. Lurie does not agree that he did anything wrong, but he understands his responsibility to deal with it and not proclaim his innocence. His daughter, as she feels, has been punished for the faults of her people. She tries to deal with all the horrors of rape, the hatred and powerlessness, without complaining because she knows that in some ways she is suffering in retribution for the unjust crime committed against the African people during apartheid.

It is an admirable trait of each of them, although I did find myself struggling with the logic of the daughter. Sometimes it might be best to allow yourself to feel the victim, let yourself get angry and project your negativity onto someone else... but i don't know. I can relate to the sense of serving a sentence, just accept the limits now placed on your life and try to do your best in the circumstances. It's somewhat similar to the Kafka sentence - characters are placed in an irrational world, but try to deal with all the nonsense, rather than refuse to accept their predicament.

Absurdity in Kafka and Beckett

In Sartre's An Explication of The Stranger, he identifies the similarities in style between Camus and Kafka. It's not a comparison I've read a lot about, however there is certainly a similarity between the sentiment of Beckett and Camus, and in turn, a similarity in nonsense between Beckett and Kafka. Beckett's Endgame and Waiting for Godot are fairly similar. One is presented characters who seem determined to get-to-doing something, but never quite make a start. We are forced to follow, along with them, their absurd logic, and wonder why they bother doing anything at all when there seem to be no logical consequences for any of their actions. In Waiting for Godot especially, it seems obvious that they will be waiting forever, and yet we understand why they feel they must continue to wait. The similarity to Kafka in this respect is quite clear, although I think Kafka does a better job at detailing worlds, while Beckett presents us with a small fragment of a world which quite possibly has nothing beyond it.

The Castle is not finished, and not edited, so overall it is not very satisfying. The first scene, however is perfect. K. (his name changes, but let's call all of Kafka's characters K.) arrives at a village within the province of a castle, where he has been invited as a land prospector. After arriving, he is woken during the night and told that he cannot stay within the castle's realm without appropriate papers, and they seem quite unwilling to help him acquire these papers. I get the feeling that some of the side-episodes of Kafka stories relate to a specific life event, however I do love his style.

Similarly, I could read Beckett plays all day. There is something that seems to resonate true, that I find amusing and also feels justifies my own existence. The last line of Godot, "Let's get on with it" is a reference to the same line that closes Sartre's In Camera.

After Dark, after Japan

After Dark was the first Murakami book I read after visiting Japan. I had the quiet delight of being able to recognise the restaurant spoken of in the opening paragraphs and understanding very well the concept of the Love Hotel. This is one of Murakami's shorter books, and follows the events of Mari over the course of a single night.

The characters are all as we would expect from Murakami, and it is one of those semi-unconscious fantasy stories. One of the things I liked about it (which others mightn't) was its reasonably unresolved ending. Some things are never explained, so we can just focus on the images and feelings that come through. I think, as long as this is done well, leaving out details is a nice way to keep a novel tidy. It avoids sections that would be reminiscent of Plan Nine from Outerspace "Funny how the humans, who can think, are so afraid of those who cannot: they are the dead. Luckily our positron emitting guns enable us to control them, otherwise we too might be attacked" or something like that.

St. Exupery's Other Books

As I loved The Little Prince, I thought I might also like Saint Exupery's other works. Namely: Wind, Sand and Stars (Terre de Hommes), Night Flight, Southern Mail, Flight to Arras.

The first one of these I read, Wind, Sand and Stars seemed to be quite dense at first, requiring a lot of re-reading - however I think this was just my own mind being a little preoccupied. All of these books focus on flights, usually those to transport mail or to discover new flight routes. There is a beautiful image in my head that gets evoked each time, of flying at night, just being able to see the horizon, and seeing the stars above. It reminds me of driving home in the country, that serene and humbling experience of feeling alone in a vast open space.

I can't fly a plane, and I don't fly often, so there is nothing here that need only interest pilots. Saint Exupery has a lot of existential/absurdist ideas concerning the meaning of friendship, love, freedom and these notions all come through in these works. He was someone in love with the sky, not making a particularly good or faithful husband, which a lot has been written about (including The Tale of the Rose, by his wife). So what we hear more about is his adoration of friends and comradeship.

One particularly nice story, in Wind, Sand and Stars involves a crashed pilot, walking across snow covered mountains in search of rescue. After each kilometre he has to stop, open up his shoes to deal with the swelling, and continue on as his feet gradually become more and more useless. What keeps him going is the thought that if he is missing, his wife will not get the insurance payout until they find his body. After finally making it home, the first thing he says (admired so much by Exupery) is "I swear that what I went through, no animal would have gone through."

Exupery is loves the triumph of the human spirit, and of the modernist consolations of existence which come from freedom, friendship and love. One reads these books and can't help but admire the pioneer in him. He is still very popular in France - there is a nice big picture of him in a hotel in Toulouse, which the owners only thought it semi-odd that I would wander in only to look at it. (I mention this to show how much I am fond of Saint Exupery, not to offhandedly mention that I was once on a trip).