Keith Richards is a Force of Nature

"Life" was way more entertaining than expected, and flew by despite the daunting number of pages (mostly thanks to Richards and Fox's easy writing style). If you're in the mood for a crazy autobiography, highly rec this one. A short & sweet review here at the New Yorker!

Minor Updates

Quick update as to where things stand moving into the new year! Still working on Gogol, mostly because other books from the library happened. Currently speeding through Keith Richards' autobiography, "Life" -- EXCELLENT. Who knew!

Checked off Jane Austen's "Persuasion" from the master booklist but I don't have much to say about it. I feel like the plot's become a cliche over time, though it was enjoyable in the sense that every Austen book is enjoyable for women. It was also fairly short -- to the point where it may have been a better, richer story if it was substantially longer. I was on a real romantic Victorian binge that weekend and watched the BBC production of "Persuasion" as well. That also gets a "meh" reaction from me, but I only got halfway through. Must try again over winter break. In the same vein, saw the newest movie version of "Jane Eyre"; my only complaint is that Mr. Rochester should totally be more beat up at the end. What's all this nonsense about "I have a beard and I'm blind, but I'll go shave and I'm getting my sight back"? I mean, in the book isn't his hand all gnarled and his leg messed up?

Plenty of book updates to follow in the new year, as I'll be stranded in rural New York for a week.

All About Death: Melancholia, The Corrections

Despite this blog being mostly for book commentaries, I occasionally need to jot down some thoughts on a movie. I've mentioned "Last Year at Marienbad" several times before (see: Sontag), so imagine my delight when I saw an allusion in Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" to the famous landscape shot! Reading this article by the excellent Jim Emerson also got me excited.

The last movie I saw by von Trier was "Antichrist" and I had such an intense visceral reaction to it -- here's a director that can make me suffer outside my comfort zone through beautiful art.

A couple things I mulled afterward:

1. I cannot agree with the statement that people and/or the world is evil. I can agree that everyone has the potential for evil ... and thus also the potential for good.

2. The main character's (Justine's) fatalism allows her to face total destruction gracefully and with her eyes open while her practical sister suffers a complete breakdown and her nephew retreats to a fantasy land. I suppose this is more of a reflection on clinical depression, because it's not as though Justine was out livin' the life before Melancholia came into view. For her this is welcome vindication and relief. I keep thinking of Dostoevsky's "The Idiot" where the condemned man is about to face the guillotine and the last two minutes of his life that he's portioned out to think about himself he instead spends staring at the sunlight's bright reflection off a building or something to that effect. I can't help thinking that right as you're about to die the world must look the most beautiful and you can't stand to leave it. So does that mean I'd rage against the end like Justine's practical sister? Well, who knows. It also reminded me of Camus' recent "Reflections on the Guillotine" which I wrote about a few entires back.

3. Given all of the above, I also pondered the fate that Justine's brother-in-law chose, which was to just kill himself once he realized the planet would hit. Spare yourself the exquisite suffering. So in that position, what would I do -- stay and watch till the very last seconds? There's always the hope that some miracle might occur and fortunes change. Hmmm. It helps to put things into less of a sci-fi planetary collision context, so on to the next topic of this post!

I FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY was able to read "The Corrections" by Jonathan Franzen. The book isn't so much about a plot as it is about people; I'll remember that family for a long time. Aside from the characterizations, it was the demise of Alfred that shook me. The thing is, he had chances to kill himself before he lost his wits (and really with that goes your identity, your person) and his freedom to a nursing home but he didn't do it. He couldn't shoot himself or stop swimming to drown. And then his very last chance to ACT (again Dostoevsky!) is to ask his son to kill him. The son refuses and Alfred is basically reduced to a non-entity. Personally, I always say that I'd rather commit suicide than lose myself to utter dementia and indignity -- who are you without your memories and consciousness? The prospect that I wouldn't be able to do that, or would put it off until it was too late honestly scared the bejeebus out of me.

So with that in mind, back to "Melancholia": maybe I'd be like the brother-in-law after all, rather than wait it out till the end to stare at the horror. But then say one does go that route, it's still the same effect; at the moment you "hear the guillotine" you can't stand to leave the world and that's why Alfred never pulled the trigger.

Back in Orange

To the sir/madame who snatched my poor laptop over two weeks ago: Booooooo.

Fortunately, thanks to my wonderful insurance company, I am back in business with a new clementine-colored little guy!

Things that have happened during the interim: "Last Year at Marienbad" showed up in "Melancholia" and made me think of Dostoevsky, I finally triumphed in my search for a copy of Franzen's "The Corrections," and I'm just getting back to "Dead Souls" by Gogol. More coming soon on those top two items.

So happy to be up and running again!

Literally, Oh My God!

Man, what cave have I been hiding in the past couple years? I cannot believe that Ken Follett's "Pillars of the Earth" didn't make it into my book pile until just now. Wow. And it was EPIC! Good triumphs over evil, God defeats Satan! I think I was on the verge of straining an eye muscle towards the end. It reminded me of the times when I read Harry Potter books in a weekend and "The Shining" in two days (the latter mostly because I was too scared to leave my recliner). And similar to Harry Potter, I thought it was a fantastic story even though the writing itself was basic. Follett can stitch a story like a quilt, but Cormac McCarthy he is not. That being said, "Pillars" is miles and miles above Dan Brown's DaVinci shenanigans and don't even get me started on the Twilight series.

I enjoyed this book so much that I'm going to avoid reading Follett again for a while; I'm afraid his other work won't be as exhilarating. This was a fun and easy break, and as soon as I catch my breath I'll be ready to get back to thinking.

Up next: It's autumn, it's getting cooler, so back to the Russians at last! "Dead Souls" by Gogol

A Few Relevant Reflections

Coincidentally, I was searching for a copy of Camus' "Reflections on the Guillotine" (bizarrely not available online) as the whole Troy Davis execution brouhaha was occurring in Georgia.

Camus does present several excellent arguments against the death penalty, but there were a few points that I think spoke more to the guillotine specifically, and not so much lethal injection. And the argument for prohibition was off-putting.

Some things that were thought-provoking:

"None among us is authorized to despair of a single man ... But pronouncing the definitive judgment before his death, decreeing the closing of accounts when the creditor is still alive, is no man's right."

"According to M. Grand, the lowest of criminals when faced with execution withdraws into himself. 'He repents and his preparation for death is thereby facilitated. The Church has saved one of its members and fulfilled its divine mission. This is why it has always accepted the death penalty, not only as a means of self-defense, but as a powerful means of salvation.'"

Interesting POV on the last quote (though whatever happened to 'Thou shalt not kill'?). I suppose peace of mind and acceptance of death, innocent or guilty, would have a lot to do with strength of faith -- i.e., judgment in the afterlife is what truly matters. Rare to find that nowadays.

"For there to be equivalence, the death penalty would have to punish a criminal who had warned his victim of the date at which he would inflict a horrible death on him and who, from that moment onward, had confined him at his mercy for months."

Personally, I don't think I could seek the death penalty against someone. I think life in prison, and the total absence of freedom for the rest of your days, is more punishing. But, I can accept that others do feel the need for "justice," and society happens to allow this.

The two things that bug me about the Troy Davis episode: 1) he died still proclaiming his innocence -- which to me means he was, because why lie when you're at the end of your life? and 2) the police officer's family made some comment to the effect of 'why is everyone acting like he's the victim? we're the victims!' -- BOTH families are victims.

Camus' Notebooks & More Greece

I picked up Albert Camus' Notebooks: 1951-59 at the sad closing sale of my local Borders, and thought it would be like the Kerouac-Ginsberg letters that I read last summer. Not so. The letters were much more interesting, and while Camus has some excellent moments ("The Hague") it's more of a collection of notes and ideas than an insightful diary.

Before I read the Notebooks, I had also happened to read Susan Sontag's critical essay on the first collection of his notebooks (think these were from the late 30s?), so I went back to see if anything rang true for me. She notes that it's very "anti-autobiographical"; not really any mention of events or other people -- SO TRUE. And of course in true Sontag fashion she points out that, "solitariness is the indispensable metaphor of the modern writer's consciousness." In other words, the writer is always alone.

From Camus, p.65:

It is alone that one must decide if he loves, and it is all alone that one must respond to the incalculable consequences of true love ... He is afraid of himself and for himself. He wants to spare himself, refusing then his condition.

For the most part in the diaries, it seems like he's trying to escape things -- his work, possibly the boredom of his marriage, politicians ... p.47:

The tragedy is not that we are alone, but that we cannot be. At times I would give anything in the world to no longer be connected by anything to this universe of men. But I am a part of this universe, and the most courageous thing to do is to accept it and the tragedy at the same time.

I think that quote relates to what Sontag describes as Camus' "leaping of the abyss of nihilism." To be honest, I really need to brush up on this whole nihilism thing and especially the ol' oft-mentioned Nietzsche. Like Zorba, Camus mentions this a bunch of time. Along with Greece. What the heck is it with optimistic quasi-nihilists writing about Greece?! ("For the first time I watch a land that I love disappearing with the painful feeling that perhaps I will never see it again before dying," p.155)

Other tidbits of interest that I starred & picked out:

- Joanna of Castile
- Sontag told me to go read Camus' "Reflections on the Guillotine," so there's a detour
- wrote more about Countess Tolstoy than Leo (should I put her diary on my reading list?)
- had a lifelong desire to write a combo of Faust and Don Juan, on the nature of love I guess

Bottom line: Mildly interesting but not impressive.

Next up: "Pillars of the Earth" ... I should also note that I read "A Decade of Hope" in the interim and was pleased with its tastefulness and wide representation. In addition, I was trying to nab "Freedom" by Jonathan Franzen from the public library and the online catalogue told me it was finally available after months and months of all copies checked out. I walk over to the library, wander around in squeaky sneakers for half an hour because the fiction section is under construction and I CANNOT FIND THE BOOKS. I finally find a small segment of new fiction moved out in the hallway and there is a book-sized gap where 'Franzen' should be. Really? Really. I got "A Decade of Hope" instead and felt self-conscious about just getting a book about 9/11, so I almost got "Pillars of the Earth" before realizing that I was not realistically going to read a 900+ page book in two weeks. My coworker kindly lent me a battered copy.

Going Greek

Last weekend I finished with "Zorba the Greek" by Nikos Kazantzakis and I've been waiting for a good air-conditioned moment to finally post. So first, my initial thoughts: well-written, thought-provoking, but Zorba is kind of maniacal and it got really irritating that the narrator was always running around shouting "Zorba! Zorba!". I wonder if my particular translated edition wasn't the best.

Philosophically, Zorba's another modernist novel and focuses especially on existentialism -- your existence precedes your "essence," which you create for yourself (i.e. make your own life). A great essay on this is Sartre's "Existentialism is a Humanism." While this whole concept can be construed as an atheistic and pessimistic worldview, I think it's pretty optimistic. Sartre says:

Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realizes himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.

Thus, it follows that the hero of an existentialist work should be a brave non-conformist that makes the most of his life ... "Zorba!" This is one (and IMHO the best) solution to the modernist quandary of How Do I Deal With My Life. Kazantzakis' views are summed up nicely in Peter Bien's Why Read Kazantzakis in the Twenty-first Century. Apparently they show the influence of Nietzsche and Bergson -- neither of whom I've read, so I'll just stop there and come back when I'm more informed.

Kazantzakis is decidedly not an atheist but neither is he overly religious. As reflected in "Zorba" he "believed in a not all-powerful deity that struggles together with humanity and that needs humanity in order to stay alive" (Anti-Nihilism in the Thought of Nikos Kazantzakis, Galanopoulos). Somewhat related side note: I had no idea this was the same guy who wrote "The Last Temptation of Christ."

As to the actual book, this is my favorite description: "popular with educated readers of discriminating literary taste ... terrifyingly intellectual" (Life Span Development in Kazantzakis' Zorba the Greek, Elsman). I wouldn't call it terrifying or intellectual, or even that you need to have some sort of trained bookworm palate to enjoy the book. Can I better appreciate the novel now that I realize the underlying philosophy? Yup. Would I have also enjoyed it on surface-value alone? Probably.

The same article above points out that "Zorba" is fairly autobiographical; Kazantzakis operated a lignite mine with George Zorba, a friend of 27 years, before parting ways with him. Interesting.

Quotes that I want to comment on or just generally connected with:

"Woe betide the woman who could sleep with a man and who did not do so!" (p.106)
... Oh Zorba, thanks for making me feel better about my weekends.

"If you take a magnifying-glass and look at your drinking water ... You'll see the worms and you won't drink. You won't drink and you'll curl up with thirst." (p.117)

"I have always been consumed with one desire: to touch and see as much as possible of the earth and the sea before I die." (p.139)
... I feel the same way. Because really, going back to Sartre, then in a way you've made your life as much as you possibly could.

"I let the brakes off when I get to the most dangerous slopes. The life of man is a road with steep rises and dips. All sensible people use their brakes." (p.146)
... Basically this is why sometimes Zorba came across as being psychotic.

And, in light of my current endeavors, one of the most important lines from the narrator:

"All the problems I was trying to solve point by point in my solitude and glued to my chair, this man had solved up in the pure air of the mountains with his sword." (p.127)

Bottom line: Not to say that reading is useless, but sometimes you just gotta live it to understand.

Most memorable moment:

When I am dead write to him and tell him that right until the very last minute I was in full possession of my senses and was thinking of him. And tell him that whatever I have done, I have no regrets. Tell him I hope he is well and that it's about time he showed a bit of sense.

"My Antonia": Little House on the Prairie?

I read every single book from the "Little House on the Prairie" series when I was a kid, to the point where I must've been sick of pioneer adventures. Opening "My Antonia" by Willa Cather, my reaction was something along the lines of: oh great, this is where the prairie cliches started. I was also biased by a friend who recalled studying the book in high school. One of those books.

Two things kept this book going for me. 1) I knew nothing of Willa Cather and I wanted to get an idea of what she was about, and 2) I never knew the Midwest had such a multicultural heritage (Swedish, Norwegian, Dutch, Russian, Bohemian). Shame on my American history teachers.

Upon finishing the novel, I was able to give it an amiable shrug and return it to the bookcase in the "to be donated/sold" section. A nice, nostalgic book about life on the frontier and the identity of America. Harsh but still romantic. I felt kind of jilted-- shouldn't there be more to it? So, I did some surfing around and dug up a couple of unexpected, interesting nuggets.

The book was written in 1918 and, taken in context, is a strong voice for women's rights. Antonia works as hard as any man, with pride in her strength and fertility; the main women of the novel survive the frontier and go on to be successful wives/businesswomen. Cather herself had quite the interesting life, leaving Virginia for Nebraska and then beginning a writing career in Pittsburgh and New York. There's quite a bit of speculation as to whether or not she was a lesbian (an actual article: "My Gay Antonia: The Politics of Willa Cather's Lesbianism"). Her works, like those of Edith Wharton, seem to be in the midst of a revival -- the female counterparts to Fitzgerald & company. I'd put her on par with "The Great Gatsby" ... but the fact remains that I knew who Fitzgerald was by the 7th grade and I didn't know who Cather was until a week ago.

As for the structure of the novel, I hadn't given it much thought but then stumbled across an article by Richard Millington, "Willa Cather and 'The Storyteller': Hostility to the Novel in 'My Antonia.'" EGADS! I referenced Walter Benjamin's essay earlier, via Sontag. The point here is that "My Antonia" is more in the tradition of stories and telling from experience than the restrictive "form" of the novel; in this sense, it's a mildly modernist work. In fact, more than just the loose structure is modernist. Jim is a subjective narrator for describing the women foreigners and their social interactions (Lena vs. Antonia, for example), but not to the point where the reader questions his reliability. And, importantly, this Georg Simmel quote from my post on Lord Jim, regarding the theme:

"to preserve the autonomy and individuality of [the character's] existence in the face of overwhelming social forces, of historical heritage, of external culture, and of the technique of life"

The immigrant residents of Black Hawk, Nebraska facing Mother Nature and American society (to grotesquely simplify things).

Bottom line: An interesting read after the actual read. Now I know who Willa Cather is, and I'm curious to see if I'll enjoy her writing in a setting other than a prairie.

Side notes: There's a PA beer called My Antonia. Thanks to a scene in this book, I discovered that the movie "Moulin Rouge" is based on the opera "La Traviata."

I also did a quick read of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Memories of My Melancholy Whores" and thoroughly enjoyed it. In stark comparison of writing styles, Marquez wins over Cather for sure.

Next up: "Zorba the Greek"

Mansfield Park: Frown of Disapproval

Which may describe my reaction to the end of the novel and Fanny Price, or may also describe the general tone of the book with regard to cosmopolitan society.

I admit that I was disappointed with Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park" -- and it turns out it wasn't even on my canon booklist. While not altogether a waste of time, I found myself ready to tear out pages in annoyance with Fanny, allegedly the "heroine." Rather than flounder around in adjectives to describe my despise, I'll just say that she strongly reminded me of Tess of the D'Urbervilles (kiss. of. death.). Bottom line: Mary should have ended up with Edmund and Fanny with Henry; everyone involved would've been the better for it, but instead there was no mixing of the pot and things ended similarly to how they had begun, conveniently minus the three most irritating characters. Austen does make it clear that no one character is without flaws, but I'd rather sympathize with the vivacious socialite Mary Crawford than the morally stuck-up sensitive Fanny. There really wasn't any particular point in the novel where I admired Fanny or thought of her as the heroine (see: Lionel Trilling's essay).

UPDATED: Lo and behold, this commentary from The New Inquiry: Mansfield Park is melting in the dark

I think this actually put me in a mildly grumpy mood. On to better things. Picked up some Camus, Cather, and "Zorba the Greek" at the local Border's closing sale. Probably returning to Sontag shortly, so I don't have another ridiculous two-month gap in posting here ... Gotta keep up the momentum!

Being "Well-Read"

Fantastic piece by Roger Ebert: Does anyone want to be "well-read?"

"Lord Jim" and (accidentally) Modernism

It's been a few years since I last read Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," but it's one of my favorite books and I had been looking forward to reading "Lord Jim." I was excited to discover that Marlow the narrator returns ... and, upon reading the introduction, that Conrad was actually Polish. For years I thought the guy was British. Not only that, but "Lord Jim" is considered in some circles to be THE beginning of modernist literature, moving away from Victorian themes.

My immediate question: "Wait, what does this modernist thing mean?"

Modernist lit generally concerns the "isolation of consciousness" (Seeley, "Conrad's Modernist Romance"), subjective narrators, possibly a nonchronological structure, and a theme of indeterminacy. Georg Simmel elaborates on the central concern "to preserve the autonomy and individuality of [the character's] existence in the face of overwhelming social forces, of historical heritage, of external culture, and of the technique of life" ... i.e., how to make sense of the world.

Modernism tends to be pessimistic, but Conrad's "Lord Jim" is also vividly romantic-- pirates! heroism! adoring natives! So, keeping this in mind, back to the actual book.

As far as Marlow and the fragmented storytelling structure go: On Lord Jim by Adam Roberts

Though parts of the book leap around in time and place, the story's bound tightly with Jim and the Patna incident, in which he abandons what he thinks is a sinking ship. Embarrassingly, the ship doesn't sink-- and Jim must face his cowardly act in court, as well as through the rest of his life. Thus, "Lord Jim" deals with his sense of self and "problems of conduct" (see Thorburn "Conrad's Romanticism"). As Thorburn notes, the story begins and ends with external disasters provoking psychic collapse, or illustrating the "antipathy of the world toward human aspirations" (Matin's introduction). Marlow, the seasoned narrator, seems to grasp this idea- after all, he's witnessed Colonel Kurtz in "Heart of Darkness."

Jim is alternately portrayed in great detail, down to his posture, and also remains vague as some kind of almost secondary character (recall the theme of indeterminacy) -- Jim's presumed lines of thought are told through Marlow, so the reader is never really clear on what's "right." Plus, Jim is a less than eloquent speaker. Significantly, at the end of the novel he is unable to write a letter explaining himself, and competing points of view on his death/suicide are offered by Stein, Jewel and Marlow.

Regarding Jim's voluntary meeting with Doramin (whom he knows will shoot him), Jim wants to prove he values his honor over life-- which is essentially what he's been trying to do ever since the Patna incident. Whether he needs to prove this to himself or others is a complex issue. Probably both. Now that I think about it, definitely both -- to resolve his own psychic/ego crisis and to have witnesses that validate his action. It's clearly a selfish move, as he leaves Jewel and the villagers to fend for themselves, and based on the idealistic & romantic nature of his character. Going back to Simmel's quote, Jim spends most of the book trying to escape a society that defines him through his worst moment. Even in Patusan, the appearance of Gentleman Brown throws a wrench into his careful fortifications and Jim is only able to preserve his individual existence through death (see! I AM honorable and heroic!). At least, that's the best theory I can muster.

I really didn't think "Lord Jim" was that pessimistic. Yeah, the guy dies in the end, and his life is haunted by the stupid Patna disaster, but I didn't find it to be this huge downer of a book. Then again, I'm a sucker for romantic idealism, so maybe I do see a noble aspect in Jim's death. Marlow says it was "the call of his exalted egoism" that led to "his pitiless wedding with a shadowy ideal of conduct" ... but he also calls Jim "one of us." No doubt Jim's a tragic figure, but I don't think the story's depressing.

I want to touch base on one more interesting thing from the introduction (and how often does that happen?): the comparison between Jim and Colonel Kurtz. In many ways, "Lord Jim" is the foil to "Heart of Darkness" ... but! It's "another tale that focuses on [Marlow's] complicated relationship with an idealistic white man who uses an imperial territory to live out his own grandiose fantasies."

In short, Marlow has already seen how a megalomaniac who arrogates to himself dictatorial powers based on racial prestige can lose sight of the putatively ethical basis of imperialism, and Jim is evidently not exempt from such tendencies, no matter how benevolent his rule in Patusan may appear.

Dangerously similar situations and personalities! While I recognized the strains of racial superiority from "Heart of Darkness" (worship the white man, because colored people can't govern themselves!), I would have never thought to compare Jim and Kurtz. I guess I was too busy trying to sympathize with Jim. Hmm.

Two favorite moments:

"And do you know how many opportunities I let escape; how many dreams I had lost that had come in my way? ... It seems to me that some would have been very fine- if I had made them come true." -Stein

"Are not our lives too short for that full utterance which through all our stammerings is of course our only and abiding intention?" -Marlow

Bottom line: this book had way more layers than I expected. Plus, Conrad is Polish and I learned what modernist literature was!

Next up is a brief break from my canon list, with Robert Wright's "The Evolution of God." Then probably some philosophical essays on love, some Kundera and Sondak, and likely "Mansfield Park" by Jane Austen to get back to the list.

Artaud, Briefly

Had the pleasure of seeing EgoPo's production of Artaud Unbound tonight, featuring stagings of his radio scenarios, black-and-white scenarios, and "Spurt of Blood" with readings from "Theater and its Double". Quite the treat, to understate it.

When you will have made him a body without organs,
then you will have delivered him from all his automatic reactions
and restored him to his true freedom.

Then you will teach him again to dance wrong side out
as in the frenzy of dance halls
and this wrong side out will be his real place.

- To Have Done with the Judgment of God

Adventures with Plato and "The Republic"

It really was an adventure, what with the single worst translation moment in history ("a shabby sort of thing") and the discovery of Franklin O. Loveland, III (Dartmouth Class of 1964, the last person to read this copy). Beyond that, I was pleased to discover that "The Republic" was not only readable, but directly relevant to current events! The chapters on despotism coincided with Egypt's anti-Mubarak protests this past week-- which also almost (almost) made me want to take a second look at "The Prince".

Anyway, moving on to the meat of it ... Plato puts forth a ridiculously difficult hypothesis: Morality is in the interest of the individual. In other words, it pays to be just. He clarifies that this doesn't mean only acting morally (external justice) but being moral (internal justice, which begets external). For example, giving to charity for the sake of garnering favorable opinions but not for the sake of the charity's work, that would be external justice. I seem like a great person.

Mini-note: the word ontology means the study of existence and being. (What is real?)
Mini-note #2: Plate defines philosophy as the desire for TOTAL knowledge and Truth, beyond the desire/curiosity for new experiences like travel and culture ... Plato is all about getting at absolutes, not relative appearances

Plato begins with the Social Contract theory, summed up as "Hey, let's agree not to murder or steal from each other and everything'll be great." BUT, imagine the suspension of law and that Social Contract ... if I have to the power to do so without punishment, wouldn't I steal? (I believe this might be called looting.) Do morality and justice have worth beyond appearances?

Plato says: Being just is success in itself -- a virtue by its intrinsic effect on a person.

Amid this main argument, Plato seeks to describe an ideal city state in order to relate back to an ideal individual. This city state (hence, the republic) is governed by a Philosopher-King, who has wisdom of the true Good -- as best as I can tell, this ultimate Good described by Plato is more or less the meaning of life.

At this point, everyone in the dialogue wants to know how to get this "wisdom" of the Good ... which leads to the famous Allegory of the Cave. The true Good of knowing is similar to the Sun (= enlightenment!). Plato also introduces his theory of Forms. For example: I'm in a dark room and I discover there's a chair in the room; I can feel around the edges and it exists. But then say I turn on the light. There's still the chair in the room, only now I know what the color and shape is all together, and should I turn off the light again I still know what it really looks like (its' Form). The absolute Form is in contrast to the world of appearances (in the dark, maybe I think it's an ugly chair ... my friend might think it's a beautiful chair ... how can it be both ugly and beautiful?).

Random movie connections: "The Matrix" (waking from the dream of the world of appearances into the Real world of Forms) & "American Beauty" (plus note the contrast between the "beautiful" girl and the Beauty of the plastic bag) ... I guess 1999 was a good year for Plato.

The philosopher in a way gets the best of all worlds. He is wise and therefore just, and is able to show moderation and restraint in his gains and ambitions (self-control). Whereas a man who is ambitious and rich but not wise will not be fully satisfied in his soul.

The big argument against the unjust man is that he is haunted by FEAR, and therefore ultimately a slave (always guarding property, paranoia, avoiding the law). Plato argues that injustice also throws off the balance of the soul (psychological strain).

I thought it was interesting that, in describing the education of philosophers and the just man, Plato shows glimmers of a concept later explored by Foucault -- the social norm.

"Is not the public itself the greatest of all sophists [teachers], training up ... into the most accomplished specimens of the character it desires to produce? ... He accepts all their notions of right and wrong."

The danger of conformity! Society creating identity! Ahh!

Continuing with modern connections ... Plato agrees with Susan Sontag that in art, aesthetics is linked with ethics. From my earlier Sontag entry: "The qualities which are intrinsic to the aesthetic experience ... are also fundamental constituents of a moral response to life." The moral pleasure in art in intelligent gratification ... one gains knowledge (WISDOM) through experiencing art! Both also stress emotionally-free, undramatic responses to art.

Plato's issue with art and specifically Homer's epics is that it reproduces conventional ideas and appearances of beauty, honor and justice, while indulging the emotions. Rather than against healthy catharsis, he seems to be more against trashy sentimentalism a la the soap opera and Jerry Springer.

Wrapping up briefly ...

My issues with Plato:
- endorsement of censorship (noble lie vs. control of information)
- communism in the ideal city (unity vs. sharing wives)
- totalitarianism in the ideal city (Philosopher-King knows best vs. political self-determination)

Bottom line: I'm glad I read this; overall inspiring and relevant.

John Updike is Pennsylvanian

And yet I've managed to live in this state 23 years without hearing a single thing about him. Kind of like my stunned realizations that Walt Whitman lived in New Jersey and Poe had a house in Philly. Also amazing is that he wrote "Rabbit, Run" when he was 28.

I took a break from 1800s Russia and revisited 1960s/80s America with "Beloved" by Toni Morrison and "Rabbit, Run" by Mr. Updike, both of which were listed by the New York Times as the best fiction of the past 25 years. They sort of cheated by including the Rabbit 'series'.

Briefly on "Beloved" - it scared the crap out of me at several points (ghost story) and was extremely shocking at others (chain gangs, Sweet Home) but overall I enjoyed Morrison's voice and especially the dialogue. Favorite character = Stamp Paid. I'd like to read one of her novels set in more modern times.

"Rabbit Run" was also shocking, but mostly at the selfishness of Harry Angstrom. This book was on my good ol' canon list. It actually reminded me of the movie "American Beauty" if it happened to a guy half Kevin Spacey's age and forty years earlier. Even more relevant, "Revolutionary Road" with a gender role reversal. Which brings up the weirdest thing about this book - I kept envisioning Harry and Janice as a middle-aged couple, even though they were like mid-twenties. Possibly because most mid-twenties people I know today don't have a family and a house.

Updike succeeds in capturing the essence of domestic discontent and restlessness (Rabbit runs .. constantly) and managed to do this in such a way that a situation written in 1961 is still equally true today. I'm not sure if that speaks to the quality of the writing or the lack of quality in American family life. Probably both. It's horrific visions like these that lurk in the back of my mind, and probably in the mind of any twentysomething approaching that invisible line between eligible single and old maid. The trendy thing to do is travel abroad for a few months ... and hopefully it's more successful than Harry driving to the Gulf.

Bottom line is: Updike was able to capture a particular American truth (if that's the word?) in "Rabbit, Run", and I enjoy being surprised when I see the copyright date.

Things that finally happened:

- watched "Last Year at Marienbad" and "Muriel" by Alain Resnais (more on that later)
- started reading through Kundera's "Encounter"