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"
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
"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).
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).
Friday, October 22, 2010
"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".
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".
Monday, October 11, 2010
Naive Reading
Imagine my delight when I stumbled upon this NYTimes article on reading & literary criticism!
The first commenter on this article mentioned ye olde question of 'what is the canon' and its constant evolution (see previously mentioned Excel sheet) -- leading up to the problem of how does one become "well read"? The commenter referenced a piece from www.pandalous.com, which seems to have been created by some juvenile webmaster but actually yielded this wonderful comment from user Hanna:
In other news: stalled out for a week on "The Idiot" due to errands & such, but now back in the swing of things.
"Naïve reading can be very hard; it can be done well or poorly; people can get better at it. And it doesn’t have to be “formalist” or purely textual criticism. Knowing as much as possible about the social world it was written for, about the author’s other works, his or her contemporaries, and so forth, can be very helpful."(UPDATED: A comprehensive response to the NYTimes article, here. Two things I liked about this ... 1) "the study of literature prepares you for the study of anything" and 2) the comparison between a naive Henry James reading and a naive Stephanie Meyers reading - i.e., by reading Henry James without lit crit guidance you lose some ability to appreciate his uniqueness)
The first commenter on this article mentioned ye olde question of 'what is the canon' and its constant evolution (see previously mentioned Excel sheet) -- leading up to the problem of how does one become "well read"? The commenter referenced a piece from www.pandalous.com, which seems to have been created by some juvenile webmaster but actually yielded this wonderful comment from user Hanna:
"One of the things I love about reading is that each book dictates where I go next. The only person I'm out to satisfy when I read is myself ... I am constantly encouraged to keep going down all the side roads. I take turns this way and that, but always find myself heading back down that main highway. And I love seeing when my choices are validated. As you continue your own literary journey you'll begin to see hints of one book inside another even though they are separated by centuries. And as these connections grow and expand, then you'll know you've become well read. You'll begin to see the ember at the heart of literature, a hint at an eternal dialogue between writers and thinkers across all human existence."Ditto!
In other news: stalled out for a week on "The Idiot" due to errands & such, but now back in the swing of things.
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