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?
Thursday, July 30, 2009
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.
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