Don't Mess with Alaska, and other lessons

Before I do a little blurb about Jon Krakauer's "Into the Wild", I have to link here (Grizzly Man) because it's a strikingly similar story and Werner Herzog is the shit.

In Search of the Miraculous:

 "Is there anybody out there still experiencing anything besides somebody else's book commenting on somebody else's book? Where do we turn to find the experience—preverbal, nonverbal, subverbal, transverbal—on which the books and reports must finally be based?"



Aside from the obvious irony that I'm commenting on Krakauer's book commenting on the above quote, Roszak totally has a point.  Though as a literature lover, I have to argue that the experience of reading a great book or a classic has merits -- if I had a choice between traveling the world and reading a library, I'd do both.  Do you really need to have been on a whaling ship to understand Moby Dick?  No.  And even if you had been, the book isn't really about whaling, in the same way that Lord Jim isn't about Indonesia.  I guess in answer to Roszak's question, you could turn to find experience anywhere (where is there greed, where is there racism -- with regard to Moby Dick/Lord Jim examples).

Now quoting Krakauer:
"[Chris] was so enthralled by these tales, however, that he seemed to forget they were works of fiction, constructions of the imagination that had more to do with [Jack] London's romantic sensibilities than with the actualities of life in the subarctic wilderness." (44)

Ah!  So, he turns to find the experience in the wild, but ... the book's not really based on life in the wild.  No matter.  The ordeal is an exercise in solitude, based on the latter part of Tolstoy's life (who may I add died alone at a train station -- perhaps not the best role model for hermitage), and a weirdly selfish venture.  I had a more visceral "WTF" reaction to McCandless' story when I watched the movie adaptation a few years back, and I think Krakauer's writing was more understanding and empathetic because I found my position softening a little.  But only a little.  For a guy that was so interested in humanitarian crises and social injustice in the world (e.g. food shortage in Africa), he was remarkably self-absorbed.  Like the cliche, "Be the change you wish to see in the world" -- kinda hard if you remove yourself from society and the world. 

Krakauer notes that Chris was "relieved that he had again evaded the impending threat of human intimacy, of friendship, and all the messy emotional baggage that comes with it ..." (55).  For a student of Tolstoy, he was pretty anti-social -- because really "War & Peace" is an epic generation-long love story.  And of all experiences, isn't human intimacy the most difficult? 

And then this moment, which just broke my heart:

"When Alex left for Alaska," Franz remembers, "I prayed. I asked God to keep his finger on the shoulder of that one; I told him that boy was special. But he let Alex die. So on December 26, when I learned what happened, I renounced the Lord. I withdrew my church membership and became an atheist. I decided I couldn't believe in a God who would let something that terrible happen to a boy like Alex ... [I] bought a bottle of whiskey. And then I went out into the desert and drank it. I wasn't used to drinking, so it made me sick. Hoped it'd kill me, but it didn't. Just made me real, real sick." (60)

"Such bereavement, witnessed at close range, makes even the most eloquent apologia for high-risk activities ring fatuous and hollow." (132)

Bottom Line:  I suppose that gets at the heart of why I always find his story so ingratiating and tragic.  Like, go travel through Mexico and live off the Alaskan land if that's what it takes to have a revelation about life, but to have impacted others lives so negatively is sad.  I love Jack Kerouac because while he zoomed around the continent, he did it with friends and always sent his mom postcards.  He also penned several influential books and did not starve to death alone (with the nuance that it was slow alcoholism). 

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.

"War and Peace" : Initial Impressions

I had been putting off this entry until I could bring together some succinct thoughts on Tolstoy's "War and Peace" and I'm 90% sure this will be expanded in the future (hence the "initial" impressions).

To be honest, my first thought on finishing this book was "That's it? Thank God that's over. Man that last part was boring." And I fully blame this on the crappy edition I was reading, where none of the philosophical/historical essays were edited out (or even compiled at the end) and there were no footnotes. Thus, instead of pleasantly finishing with the post-war families, I finished with seven chapters of detailed historical philosophy.

Overall, while the book was engaging and monumental in scope, I can't seem to get on the "Tolstoy is a genius of descriptions!" bandwagon. Yes, he's eloquent with his visuals, but I actually think Cormac McCarthy (especially with "Suttree") is better.

Anyway, starting off. While looking for some guidelines to help me better think about the book, I discovered that Tolstoy is Tolstoi is Tolstoj. As if Russian names weren't already difficult without consonant/vowel flexibility.

Tolstoy's argument as author & historian is to place emphasis on small, commonplace events versus monumental global events, and how inherent disorder in those small events is what defines history (not Napoleon or Emperor Alexander). Ironically, or appropriately, he does this in a huge 1400-page novel about a multi-year international war. The argument he makes is formally called "prosaics"; see "The Poetry in War and Peace" by David Sloane. Towards the end of the book, Tolstoy seeks to dispel the idea of free will, claiming that all of history is a series of effects stemming from an unknown, original cause. Interestingly, he manages to formulate a milder version of Michel Foucault's later ideas on how individuals are not truly individual but rather shaped by societal norms. So to me, the final few chapters weren't really earth-shattering news but I imagine that in the mid-1800s they were fairly novel approaches to history.

Unlike Foucault, Tolstoy then uses this (meaning, wars are won or lost by all men acting individually rather than just one, i.e. Napoleon) as evidence for a higher power / God; essentially predetermined history.

"It is not a novel," Tolstoy says of his book. I think he says this because it's sprawling and nearly all-encompassing, and doesn't have a clear-cut ending. However, I do think there is a plot. Yes, it's a depiction of LIFE in general and life in specific (a social novel and a personal novel, as Raymond Williams points out in "Realism and the Contemporary Novel") -- but, it starts out with peace and establishing characters, rises to a climax with the occupation of Moscow, and sort-of concludes with the post-war families. It isn't a traditional novel, in the 1800s sense of the word, but the plot is, well, war and peace and the effects of that on the characters.

I didn't realize I had a problem with the depiction of women in this book until I really started thinking about it. Tolstoy champions religious and familial devotion as being the paths to true lasting love, with a big helping of suffering on the side (Sonya, Marya, Natasha). By the end of the book, none of the main female characters are a part of mainstream society, but this may be a compliment since Tolstoy portrays social circles as petty and false. I was expecting a less conservative outcome, so this was disappointing. Another weird thing I wanted to mention: it was so completely disturbing to read Marya's rationalization of her father's total domestic abuse towards her.

Random observation for later, maybe: Count Bezukhov is similar to Hamlet -- failure to act!

Other thoughts: Tolstoy's General Kutuzov doesn't so much command the army as 'go with the flow', in accordance with the theme of predetermined history in the book. However, if I was a soldier and I saw my General falling asleep during the strategy session, I'd be more than a little nervous -- don't you need the illusion of grand leadership in order to motivate individual actions of men? Also, in terms of "prosaics," it's interesting to see that many of the battles are waged or prevented because of petty and confusing intrigues within the army and diplomatic ranks of countries. Personal interests tend to come before troops and the nation even in dire circumstances, and overcommunication often results in no communication (breakdown of hierarchies & order with regard to small events, like retreating the battery unit or not).

I won't read this book again, but at least now I'll understand the allusions and references. And I'm sure I'll have more entries on how to understand/appreciate "War and Peace" as my little literary adventure continues.

Currently taking a break from the canon to read Stacy Schiff's "Vera: Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov" -- still stuck in Russian lit land! Also read through Sontag's "Marat/Sade/Artaud" but won't be commenting on it here, as it didn't really put forth new perspectives but rather reinforced a few (summed up: theater may be both didactic and experiential/sensual).