A Lengthy Intermission, then Dostoyevsky

I've written stories since the minute I figured out that anyone could write their own stories. For reasons related to the real world and real life, I had pretty much packed up shop for years. I didn't have any inspiration, a lot of older fic websites were gone or abandoned, my laptop was slowly dying, people were writing much more quality material that was above and beyond what used to be out there. I think I made one (1) rough plot outline those five years.

Then, as I was passionately complaining about a fandom dilemma, my sister asked me why I'd stopped writing, and suggested I get back into it. And I thought about it, and came up with the excuses I listed above, and then I realized that really I was just plain intimidated. What if I sucked at it now, what if I didn't know enough about the source material, what if nobody liked it? The last question/fear was what really stuck with me. Nobody's paying me to write material. The most important thing is to write for yourself. So, I decided to write a story with the intention that I would write the entire thing and do multiple proper drafts and proofreading before publishing/posting. I still wasn't sure I wanted to publish/post. What I did want was to devote time to rediscovering and improving my writing, and craft a thematically mature, realistic story. And my takeaway from months of writing and thinking about writing was: I'm never stopping again!  

I wrote through the pandemic lock-down and insane overtime shifts at work, I wrote through pregnancy and now mom life. I wrote batshit insane content. Still am. Writing for yourself is its own reward, and sometimes it's all I do in the half hour at the end of the day when I finally have "me time" -- just set up shop with my silly little characters and write a couple sentences in their silly little scene. 

All this to say, it's hard to find balance between reading and writing when you're dealing with these precious slivers of time. I moved from Riffle to StoryGraph for organizing my ever-growing virtual to-read pile. I knocked out a bunch of books that I don't feel like blogging about, mostly because it's been such slow reading that by the time I finish a book I just want to leave it behind me and not continue to wallow in it. Might do a round-up / catch-up post to list everything because I'm a completist. 

Exception: I finally finally FINALLY read Crime and Punishment by Dostoevksy. I went into this book thinking it was going to be the perfect winter Russian slow-read and was surprised to find it an absolute comedic delight?!  Some top-tier slapstick scenes that are clearly intentionally written as such, just over-the-top dramedy theatricals. A 600-page soap opera that I ate up. Not only is it very funny and tongue-in-cheek, but the main character never actually repents of his murderous crime! The last bit of the book falls into the requisite late-1800s popular shlock of "and then I found Jesus" but it's so shoe-horned in, it feels like someone at the censorship office told Dostoevsky he had to write it. The main character's development arc is basically a flat line but I have to tip my hat to the subversion of expectations -- he did indeed commit a crime and receive punishment and in the end he had no regrets except for the stupid way he committed the crime and his weakness in the face of his guilt afterwards. Bonus points for the 'stripper with a heart of gold' trope and crime-thriller procedural interludes, 1860s Russian style. 

Also really enjoy this quote from Nabokov in Lectures on Russian Literature, re: Dostoevsky: "It is questionable whether one can really discuss the aspects of 'realism' or of 'human experience' when considering an author whose gallery of characters consists almost exclusively of neurotics and lunatics."

This year's 'perfect winter slow-read' is finally finally FINALLY Saint Genet by Sartre, as I try to recapture the magic of my undergrad contemporary drama class with far fewer brain cells. 

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.

Nabokov on Tolstoy, Dostoevsky

After finishing Stacy Schiff's excellent biography of Vera Nabokov, I was inspired to finally shell out the dollars for "Lectures on Russian Literature" by VN and "Encounter" by Milan Kundera, both of which I had mentioned in connection with "The Idiot" a few entries back. My little Russian lit excursion doesn't seem to be nearing an end.

An important note about Nabokov (both Vladimir & Vera, insomuch as VN stands for two): the art is in the image, or rather the imagery, the description.

Nabokov elaborates on what a "good reader" is (and what amateurs like me should aspire to) on p.11 of "Lectures":

-not guided or defined by class or nation (i.e., don't read through the lense of middle-class America)
- "identifies himself not with the boy or the girl in the book, but with the mind that conceived and composed that book"
- does not seek historical information within the novel (the world of the book is imagined and specific to the author)
- "not concerned with general ideas" but with "the particular vision" ... TEXTUAL DETAILS! If I'm a good reader, then I enjoy what the author wants me to enjoy -- the devil can be in the details; close reading

I was relieved and pleased to see that Nabokov doesn't idolize Tolstoy's descriptive techniques; instead he chalks the realism up to the pacing of the novel -- the author and the reader follow the story in synchronized yet subjective time (i.e., it doesn't feel rushed or plodding). (p.142)

I also LOVE that Nabokov also finds Tolstoy's long boring philosophical chapters long and boring! Whew, I was afraid they were actually supposed to be weighty and influential and an integral part of the novel. Now I don't feel so bad about hating the end. His notes on this are hysterical. (p.143)

On to Dostoevsky ... Nabokov is not a fan, to put it lightly.

First, a definition of sentimentality: "the non-artistic exaggeration of familiar emotions meant to provoke automatically traditional compassion in the reader" (p.103)

Dostoevsky's post-Siberia writings were guided by his support of the Greek-Catholic Church, absolute monarchy, and Russian nationalism -- none of which endears him to Nabokov. Memorably, he dislikes how the characters end up "sinning their way to Jesus" (p.104). Not to mention that Dostoevsky commits a chief offense by limiting or forgoing physical descriptions of people and places; where is the imagery?

Nabokov makes the argument, similar to Sontag's essays, that a "reaction to true art" is a "feeling of pleasure and satisfaction and spiritual vibration" which is largely absent in "The Idiot" because of Dostoevsky's mentally unstable characters. In other words, how can the reader hope to observe and generally learn about the human soul (the cause of the reaction to true art) in the midst of such rampant madness? How can this inspire reflection on the human experience when so far removed from the norm? ... I thought this was a great point. I mean, Prince Myshkin doesn't give much insight that can be generally applied or grounded in reality. Though he does make for great conversation about religion and morals. Nabokov continues his character criticism and points out that although "The Idiot" has a deep plot, there is hardly any character development, aside from general disintegration into madness which was arguably happening at the outset anyway.

Summarized: Myshkin has epilepsy, General Ivolgin has senile dementia, Nastasya is hysterial (something in common with a lot of the female characters), Rogozhin is a psychopath (and allegedly an erotomaniac?)

So, after this slicing and dicing of poor Dostoevsky, I was hoping for something interesting from Kundera. Surprisingly, his short essay on "The Comedic Absence of the Comical" was directly about that and not much else.

Briefly: to find humor in seeing/realizing that nothing is funny ... or amused at recognizing humorless laughter (is this like realizing that existence is comical because it's nonsense? might have to check back to class notes here.) Kundera also brings up examples of laughter as a rebuke of the ridiculous, an expression of hopeless (?) anguish, and a means to blend in. Actually, just typing that, it's most definitely a commentary on existence. (It's tragic! It all means nothing! It's comical! Absurd!) Impressive that Kundera is able to draw that out. More of a connection to contemporary avant-garde themes than Russian literature.

Next up: quite possibly "Anna Karenin(a)"? Or Gogol's "Dead Souls"?

Other notes: Robbe-Grillet. Plus the zillioneth mention of Last Year at Marienbad. WHO/WHAT?

May mosey through more of Sontag & Kundera.

"The Idiot" and Prince Myshkin

I plowed through the last of Dostoevsky's "The Idiot" thanks to a head cold.

First impressions:
1) WHY OH WHY did the Prince go back to Nastasya Filippovna!
2) To my great relief, Prince Myshkin is not quite the male counterpart to Tess of the D'Urbervilles.
3) My favorite character was Aglaya, until the epilogue.

General things to keep in mind:
1) Dostoevsky was a Christian Russian nationalist living in Western Europe at the time this was written (under deadline, in serial form) ... he had been in prison & had epilepsy
2) A lot of critics consider this one of his less impressive works because it's not cohesive in terms of plot and characters
3) I read this because I kept finding references to it (Kerouac & Ginsberg & Milan Kundera)
4) The only other Russian lit I've read is "Dr. Zhivago" and I don't remember it

So, to go through this review/critique, I'll probably just follow along where I starred passages in the book and introduction (which I read after). Most of the literary criticism out there focuses on the religious undertones in the book, which I thought were fairly obvious. Another thing to come back to, later down the road: why is there such an emphasis on faces? (As masks? As real?)

The Prince is not Don Quixote because he isn't comical, but tragic. And, well, kinda pathetic. BUT, why did he strike me as pathetic? Because he couldn't engage with a materialistic, cynical and cruel reality-- although he does in certain moments, it's really not something he can generally handle. ("The horror! The horror!" -Conrad's Heart of Darkness parallel) The reason I can't stand these pure, innocent main characters --exemplified by Tess of the D'Urbervilles-- is that they are totally unable to DO anything in their own self-interest. Childish behavior in an adult world always meets a bad end. (And anyway, I disagree with the stereotype of innocent children.)

To portray the Prince as a Christ-like figure is ok, to a point. I mean, Jesus wasn't this naive guy wandering around. I guess Dostoevsky wanted to show the rejection or unwillingness to accept religion in a world that is increasingly materialistic and egocentric -- many of the passionate speeches in the book mention atheism and nihilism (existence is meaningless) -- by showing the Christ-like Prince as a well-intentioned idiot that cannot navigate society's double faces. Ehhh, not sure how I feel about that. Yes, Jesus forgave Mary Magdelene (arguably a fallen woman like Nastasya Filippovna) but Mary wasn't still traipsing around afterward in an effort to preserve her self-destructive personality.

Lastly, before I get to my laundry list of interesting bits, it's intriguing to note that Jack Kerouac often considers himself (throughout his years of letters to Ginsberg) in "Dostoevskian situations" or that he himself is "the Idiot" ... which is SO INTERESTING because, in the end, Prince Myshkin the idiot succumbs to his illness when confronted with the cruelty of reality (murder/senselessness) .... and of course Kerouac in his later years was an alcoholic and a recluse from the constant barrage of press and the public eye, before dying of alcoholism. WOW.

The themes of illness in the novel: epilepsy (psychological), tuberculosis (physical), self-destructiveness (philosophical). And everyone is a victim of their illnesses in the end. In keeping with Russian lit trends, half the people in this book are straight-up out of their damn minds.

"Murder by judicial sentence is immeasurably more horrible ... all this final hope, with which it's ten times easier to die, is taken away for certain."

"It's natural,' he said, 'that it occurred to my client, being so poor, to commit this murder of six people, and indeed is there anyone in his shoes to whom it would not have occurred?'"
(poverty as an excuse for crime - right or wrong or gray area or what)

"Show me an idea that binds the mankind of today ... And do not try to intimidate me with your prosperity, your wealth, the infrequency of famine and the swiftness of the paths of communication! The wealth is greater, but the power is less; there is no binding idea left; everything has grown soft, everything has stewed to mush!"
(Dostoevsky was alluding to Western Europe, but I can imagine him saying the same thing about America today)

"... in every serious human idea that is conceived in someone's head, there always remains something that cannot be conveyed to other people, even tough whole volumes were written and your idea explained for thirty-five years ... so that you will die without perhaps ever having conveyed to anyone the most important part of your idea."

"Suicide may possibly be the only action I can still begin and end of my own free will. What of it, perhaps I want to take advantage of my last chance to act?"
(ah yes, ye olde philosophy of suicide ... a reaction to powerlessness. I want to read Camus' take on this situation, so I might come back to this quote later in my travels)

"Is it enough simply to exclaim: 'Oh, I'm to blame!' You're to blame, yet you persist!"
(name at least two people you know in real life that do this on a regular basis)

Tangential to this reading: Gogol, Balzac, Nabokov's "Lectures on Russian Literature", Tolstoy's "War and Peace" staring me down from my bookshelf, Kundera's "The Comical Absence of the Comical".