Monday, May 31, 2010

Bad, Bad Blood

I've got a new post up at Slaves of Golconda. It's a group blog/book club I participate in that "meets" every two months to discuss the selection we had voted on from a list of candidates. This time it was Lorna Sage's award-winning autobiography Bad Blood. Unfortunately, I didn't finish it. It started to bore me and I was already weighed down by Tender Morsels, which was also dragging. So I decided to cut my losses and post about the parts of Bad Blood I did read.

Also check out: my October post for Susan Hill's Woman in Black, which I loved.

(Belated) Sunday Salon

The Sunday Salon.com

Happy Memorial Day, everyone! I know it's actually Monday but I've been out of town since Friday with no computer and no Internet. And almost no cell phone either, because I was in the mountains.

I used the time to get a ton of Lovecraft reading done with the anthology of his short stories that I purchased last week. I've gotten through nearly all of them and am now thinking of doing a Lovecraft essay, because there really is a lot more to his work than simply OMG! EXTRA-DIMENSIONAL ALIEN HORROR! He's actually pretty Modernist and I'd like to discuss that. Plus, his views were horribly racist even by contemporary standards (check out "The Horror at Red Hook") and I'm not about to let him get away with it.

And also: I just got Albert Cossery's A Splendid Conspiracy in the mail from its translator, Alyson Waters! I had previously reviewed another project of hers, Vassilis Alexakis's Foreign Words, so I'm really looking forward to this one. Cossery (1913-2008) is actually Egyptian but he wrote in French. The description of A Splendid Conspiracy reminds me of Tayeb Salih's Season of Migration to the North: European-Arab culture clash, mystery, and all. Very eager to start this one but I have to review A Thousand Peaceful Cities first.

Happy four-day vacation!

And now for my weekly link round-up:

The Adventures of Lil' Cthulhu

Brontë Sisters Power Dolls! (via Feministe)

Calls for Cthulhu, Episode 1

A Conversation with Vader

Don't patronise popular fiction by women *

Ricardo's Story

* I disagree with some of this article but it does raise a very important issue.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Tough Morsels

I can understand, to a point, . . . that you were allowed to take two tiny children there. But how you managed to keep them there for so long, as they grew, is more of a mystery, for they did not belong there. Urdda did the natural thing and returned to life in search of her true future; Branza ought to have done the same. It is a great misshapement of things that she stayed so long - until the age of twenty-five! She has not had enough of a true life to even conceive of her own heart's desire. To spend her whole life within yours - tut! That is no kind of existence.

Most fairy tales have very dark undercurrents. Behind the magic and happily-ever-after there is murder, abuse, abandonment, and the macabre. Cinderella's stepsisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into the glass slipper. Hansel and Gretel are thrown out by the house by their stepmother and captured by a witch who fattens Hansel up for the oven. In one of the Grimm brothers' lesser-known tales, the Devil forces a man to chop off his beloved daughter's hands.

Although most of these fairy tales have been sanitized for modern children (particularly by Disney), their original versions are creatively fertile ground. The layers of allegory and symbolism, the cultural anxieties (for example, witches, wicked stepmothers, and female power), and elements of the fantastic have provided inspiration for countless scholars, writers, filmmakers, and artists, and will doubtlessly do so for the next several hundred years. Viewed through mature eyes, fairy tales can be surreal and frightening - a weird blend of innocence and horror. The image of beautiful, young Snow White fleeing into the dark woods from a huntsman who's been commanded to kill her and cut out her heart is a haunting one. (The huntsman brings the evil Queen the heart of a boar instead, and she devours it, thinking it was stepdaughter's.)

Margo Lanagan's Tender Morsels, a contemporary YA novel, is a feminist attempt to re-imagine the classic fairy tale form and focus on its symbolic and psychological aspects. In the beginning we have Liga, a poor, motherless teen abused by her father (as opposed to the clichéd and misogynist "wicked stepmother"). He is killed in an accident shortly after impregnating her for the second time, which results in Branza. While Branza is still an infant, Liga is gang-raped by a band of young men from the town. Her subsequent attempt to kill both herself and her child is interrupted by a "moon babby" who whisks Liga and Branza away to another world, a safe haven fashioned by Liga's own mind. Here she will give birth to Urdda, a product of the rape, and raise both daughters in a fantasy land where nothing bad ever happens, animals are gentle and fun-loving, and other humans are one-dimensional props. But reality eventually finds its way in, and the two sheltered girls may not be prepared for the "savage garden" that awaits them.

Tender Morsels is a story of trauma, coping mechanisms, sexuality, and the uneven relationship between men and women. Liga's literal and figurative withdrawal from the world threatens to suffocate her daughters and stunts her own emotional growth. Intruding on her hiding place are men in the form of bears, which represents a carnal nature that preys on female morsels. Magic is real and witches are benevolent. In fact, this make-believe power of magic is the only power women are able to wield in their own right, which speaks to the difficulties faced by real-life women in patriarchal societies. Overall, the premise of Tender Morsels is a good one, and I came into this book expecting to enjoy it.

Alas, that was not to be. I agree with Richard that the 432-page story is just way too long. The second half spends too much time in the real world when the focus should have been on the supernatural. Fairy tales are quick and to the point, and Tender Morsels comes across as a fairy tale stretched past its limit. I'm thinking of something like Heart of Darkness or Carlos Fuentes's Aura or Mercè Rodoreda's Death in Spring, as novels that may be short but are also dark, rich, and deeply metaphorical. The reader is engulfed in the story but it ends before the atmosphere becomes stale and too much is revealed or explained. They're more intense that way. Tender Morsels could've easily lost about two hundred pages - spend less time on Bear Day, for instance, and the infodump from Miss Dance.

Plus, the dialect - i.e. "littlee-man" and bab/babby - is half-hearted and ridiculous.

I'm also bothered by Tender Morsels being categorized as Young Adult fiction (where my local library had it shelved) and marketed as such. (Frances, a children's librarian, has raised similar concerns.) Since I usually don't read YA, I'm not sure what, if any, limitations there are on teen literature. But still, this is a novel with incest, forced abortion, gang rape, sodomy, and borderline bestiality. I've read Henry Miller and William Burroughs and even I almost couldn't get past the rape scene (luckily, it's a fade-out) and was seriously weirded out by a certain episode involving Branza and a man-bear. I don't know if Margo Lanagan actually wrote this as YA or if that comes from the publisher, but I really feel that Tender Morsels would have been much better off as a book for adults. In fact, I think it would have stronger resonance with grown women who have children of their own.

In conclusion, I have to say that this book was a disappointment. I can see what Margo Lanagan was trying to do and it was a great idea, but she drags it out until it got to the point where I was just skimming. There is, however, one thing that one thing Lanagan did get right but which other reviewers have criticized her for.

<SPOILER ALERT>


*
*

It's the marriage at the end between Branza and David Ramstrong, one of the few good male characters. Liga was in love with him herself, but due to the disparity between the flow of time in the real world and the other-world, she is forty years old at the close of the story. In traditional societies, obviously, young men usually do not marry women old enough to be their mothers. Furthermore, as Emily noted, it's another illustration of how Liga's own coping mechanisms have damaged her life. She's spent so much time in Fantasy Land that she's missed out on a lot and nearly caused her daughters to do the same. I can understand why other readers objected, but not all fairy tales can have fairy-tale endings.

*
*

</SPOILER ALERT>

Alisa Libby's The Blood Confession sounds like another questionable YA fairy-tale revamp. It's based on the legend of Snow White and the real-life Countess Elizabeth Báthory, who liked to bathe in the blood of young girls to preserve her beauty. It actually does look like a compelling read, but not for the kids!

Since no one likes my music (*sigh*), I resisted posting Forever Slave's "In the Forest" here even though that song is just perfect for a story like Tender Morsels.



Tender Morsels was our Unstructured Group Read for the month of May. Please feel free to join us at any time! You can find a complete book list here.

Other May participants include:

Emily
Frances
Jill
Richard
Sarah

Past selections:

April: Georges Perec, Life: A User's Manual
March: Tennessee Williams, The Night of the Iguana


Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Wordless Wednesday


A painting called At Last by artist Kristine Schomaker. (Click here for more Wordless Wednesday.)

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Teaser Tuesday

• Grab your current read.
• Let the book fall open to a random page.
• Share with us two "teaser" sentences from somewhere on that page.
• You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from. That way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
Please avoid spoilers!

A Thousand Peaceful Cities by Jerzy Pilch
Page 47 - It looked as if he wished to perform a pantomime called "The Flight of the Vodka Glass to the Light," but the Commandant interrupted the performance with an imperial gesture, put the date book, which was still lying on the table before him, away in his pocket, and pointed to the sacred place on the oilcloth where the vessel, already taken down from the heights, but still shot through with special radiance, ought to stand. And it came to pass: Father placed the vodka glass before Commandant Jeremiah and filled it.

Horrible Dare Challenge 2010

Normally I am not a big fan of challenges, but I found this over at books i done read and it was just way too good to pass up. To complete the Horrible Dare Challenge, the three following Horrible Books must be read and reviewed (snarkily) by September 21, 2010:

LA Candy by Lauren Conrad

After high school, two best friends move to Los Angeles hoping to start "a new and amazing life," but their existence is anything but glamorous. Jane is an intern for a famous event planner and Scarlett is a freshman at U.S.C. However, things change quickly when a TV producer asks them to be in a new reality series along with Madison and Gaby, following their lives as they try to make it in L.A. After signing on, the two friends move into a posh apartment and get into the hottest clubs. Scarlett is skeptical about all the attention, but Jane enjoys being in the limelight. When Jane becomes the show's star, Madison is jealous and plots to bring her down. By story's end, Jane learns that having cameras follow you everywhere isn't what it is cracked up to be. The cliff-hanger climax indicates that there will be more to come. Conrad writes from experience (she stars in MTV's The Hills) and the result is a light read that will leave readers wanting more. The novel contains underage drinking and sexual liaisons, activities that are realistic for the lifestyle of the young women portrayed.

Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick (Hey, that cover's gorgeous!)

High school sophomore Nora Grey, a dedicated student striving for a college scholarship, lives with her widowed mother in a country farmhouse outside Portland, ME. When Patch, her new biology partner, is suddenly thrust into her life, Nora is both attracted to his charm and put off by his inexplicable awareness of her thoughts. Eventually, she learns that he is a fallen angel who wants to become human. She is susceptible to his control, but other forces are at work as well, and Nora finds herself caught in the middle of dangerous situations and unexplainable events. The premise of Hush, Hush—that fallen angels exist and interact with humans on Earth—is worthy of contemplation and appealing to teens. But stories with such supernatural themes require that the details of day-to-day life be realistic and believable. Unfortunately, most readers won't be convinced that a mother whose husband has recently been murdered would leave her daughter alone overnight in their home far from the nearest neighbor or that a school counselor would be replaced by someone whose credentials were not checked. While teens may enjoy the scenes of tension and terror, most will be disappointed by characters without dimension and the illogical sequence of events.

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

Grace, 17, loves the peace and tranquility of the woods behind her home. It is here during the cold winter months that she gets to see her wolf—the one with the yellow eyes. Grace is sure that he saved her from an attack by other wolves when she was nine. Over the ensuing years he has returned each season, watching her with those haunting eyes as if longing for something to happen. When a teen is killed by wolves, a hunting party decides to retaliate. Grace races through the woods and discovers a wounded boy shivering on her back porch. One look at his yellow eyes and she knows that this is her wolf in human form. Fate has finally brought Sam and Grace together, and as their love grows and intensifies, so does the reality of what awaits them. It is only a matter of time before the winter cold changes him back into a wolf, and this time he might stay that way forever. Told from alternating points of view, the narrative takes a classic Romeo & Juliet plot and transforms it into a paranormal romance that is beautiful and moving. Readers will easily identify with the strong, dynamic characters. The mythology surrounding the wolf pack is clever and so well written that it seems perfectly normal for the creatures to exist in today's world. A must-have that will give Bella and Edward a run for their money.

Raych will also design a custom-made MS Paint button just for you if you can stomach at least one Danielle Steele novel.

Here is some more information on The Lit Connection.

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Elegance of the Bonsai

The Private Lives of Trees
By Alejandro Zambra
Translated by Megan McDowell
98 pages
Open Letter Press
July 20, 2010






When someone doesn't come home in a novel, Julián thinks, it's because something bad has happened. But this is not, fortunately, a novel: in just a few minutes Verónica will arrive with a real story, with a reasonable excuse that justifies her lateness, and then we will talk about her drawing class, about the little girl, about my book, the fish, the need to buy a cell phone, a piece of casserole that's left in the oven, about the future, and maybe a little, also, about the past.

Alejandro Zambra, born in 1975, has been acclaimed by his fellow Chileans as one of the greatest writers of his generation. He is also a poet, critic, and professor of literature at Diego Portales University in Santiago. The Private Lives of Trees (La vida privada de los árboles) is his second novel, following the widely celebrated Bonsái.

Julián is a university professor who dreams of becoming a writer. After several years' labor his novel of a man tending his bonsai has been pared and pruned from 300 pages to a mere 47, leaving him to wonder if what he has created is art or just a sheaf of paper. At present, however, Julián is giving his stepdaughter Daniela another installment of their improvised bedtime story about two trees in a park that are best friends. And his wife Verónica still hasn't come home from her art class. As Daniela sleeps, Julián will wait through the night, thinking about the history of his relationship with Verónica, the story of himself and ex-girlfriend Karla, and of Daniela's future without her mother.

Both of Alejandro Zambra's novels begin with the image of the bonsai, a tiny tree grown in a container and carefully cultivated to a certain shape and size. Says Zambra,
At one point, Chile was full of bonsais. I don’t know if I liked them, but they had rare beauty, this fragility. . . . At first, the only thing I had in mind was the image of someone who had a bonsai, took care of it, wanted it to have a certain form, and understood that it was a true work of art because it could die.
Human bonds are vulnerable as well, must be nourished over time, and always head towards an inevitable end - either the death of one or by simple dissipation. "The book goes on even if it's closed," Julián muses, but this book will only end with Verónica's return. Other stories will sprout from this one, of course: Daniela (Julián imagines) will go to college, maybe for psychology, and maybe she will have a boyfriend named Ernesto whom she will take to the bridge where she once stood with her stepfather. The elegance of the bonsai is that of living art which grows and flourishes only briefly.

The disappearance of Verónica also recalls the hundreds of disappearances that occurred during Chile's recent military regime. Julián remembers quiet evenings with his parents as curfew fell. He was the only one of his classmates "who came from a family with no dead, and this discovery filled him with a strange bitterness: his friends had grown up reading the books that their dead parents or siblings had left in the house." As such, The Private Lives of Trees can also be read as an elegy for Pinochet's victims and a portrayal of the initial effects of loss on the victims' families. The frailty of the bonsai and Julián's transformation of reality into a story - a form of detachment - acquire an even more poignant note.

Macedonio Fernández, a fellow South American author, tried to understand the existence of love and beauty in the face of death. His novel didn't want to begin, knowing full well that something that begins has to eventually end. Alejandro Zambra, by contrast, has written novel that doesn't want to end even though the present seems frozen in worried suspense. As the publisher's copy recommends, The Private Lives of Trees is best read in a single sitting so that reader's experience is analogous to that of Julián. We wait too, and move through the night with him, wondering what has happened to Verónica.

But what is with that ugly cover?!



The one thing even the best of recordings on the best of sound systems lacked—all that movement. The weave of the baton, the stroke of the bow, fingers blurring on glittering brass. A symphony was a life lived in exaltation and killed with triumph. Eternity made the best of music monotonous, the best of lives meaningless. The performance was made wondrous by the fact that it would end. - Eugene Woodbury





Review Copy




The Call of Ktulu



Between this song and "One" (inspired by Johnny Got His Gun) Metallica is surprisingly literary. (There's actually a ton of cool Lovecraft stuff on YouTube.)

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Sunday Salon

The Sunday Salon.com

Bad news, folks.

I can't make the Book Blogger Convention this year. I only found out about it last week, and then I waited too long to make arrangements and couldn't find a room in a hotel I could afford for May 27-May 29. I found this neat little hostel near Central Park for only $36 per night (and it had 100% positive reviews on Hotels.com!) but when I called them to double-check their availability, the guy said no, we don't have anything for those nights. Darn darn darn! I was so looking forward to visiting NYC but it looks like that will have to wait for another day. This is what happens when you have procrastination problems.

The good new is, I just got two books from Open Letter Press! They are The Private Lives of Trees by Chile's Alejandro Zambra and A Thousand Peaceful Cities by Poland's Jerzy Pilch. I just finished Zambra so look for that review tomorrow.

I think it's going to rain today but that's okay. More reading time for me.

And lastly: starting today I'll be listing in my Sunday Salon posts any fun and interesting things I find on the Web each week. I'm not sure what I'll call this feature but here is my first batch. Enjoy!

The Rejection of Anne Frank

Embrace the Horror (Lovecraft parody!)

Latte Art

One Awesome Kid!

Steampunk Home Makeover

Saturday, May 22, 2010

"watching a parade of monsters go by"

"The historian's view is conditioned, always and everywhere, by his own location in time and space; and since time and space are continually changing, no history, in the subjective sense of the word, can ever be a permanent record that will tell a story, once and for all, in a form that will be equally acceptable to readers in all ages, or even in all quarters of the Earth." Sibelius, of course, is animated by intentions of an entirely different nature. In the final analysis, the British professor's aim is to testify against crime and ignominy, lest we forget. The Virginian novelist seems to believe that "somewhere in time and space" the crime in question has definitively triumphed, so he proceeds to catalog it.

Nazi Literature in the Americas
, by the late great Roberto Bolaño and translated by Chris Andrews, is a work of fiction though not a novel. It is a satiric encyclopedia detailing the lives of thirty-one imaginary writers of the right from the United States and Latin America, particularly Argentina and Chile. In a 2007 interview with The New York Review of Books, Bolaño stated that he was actually talking about the left as well and about the whole suspect enterprise of literature in general.

Nazis and their acolytes may be ridiculously easy to caricature (i.e. Downfall parodies and The Producers), but Bolaño resists the urge and instead describes thirty-one nuanced and somewhat sympathetic men and women devoted to their craft even in the face of ridicule and obscurity. Their works are sonnets, epic poems, experimental prose, conventional novels, science fiction, and literature as performance/conceptual art. Many sound quite interesting, despite the author's highly questionable political leanings. Bolaño seems to be challenging the reader here, asking us to consider whether or not art can still be appreciated and acclaimed as such, even when it promotes destructive or hateful ideas. According to Stacy D'Erasmo in the New York Times, Bolaño saw literary culture as, ultimately, "a whore."
In the face of political repression, upheaval and danger, writers continue to swoon over the written word, and this, for Bolaño, is the source both of nobility and of pitch-black humor. . . But what can it mean, he asks us and himself, in his dark, extraordinary, stinging novella “By Night in Chile,” that the intellectual elite can write poetry, paint and discuss the finer points of avant-garde theater as the junta tortures people in basements? The word has no national loyalty, no fundamental political bent; it’s a genie that can be summoned by any would-be master. Part of Bolaño’s genius is to ask, via ironies so sharp you can cut your hands on his pages, if we perhaps find a too-easy comfort in art, if we use it as anesthetic, excuse and hide-out in a world that is very busy doing very real things to very real human beings.
Chile's Willy Schürholz (who died in Kampala, Uganda in 2029), for example, composed highly avant-garde poetry involving sentence fragments and topographical maps. His exhibit at a local university is revealed, belatedly, to consist of the layouts of several infamous Nazi death camps accompanied by instructions for their reassembly in Chile. Schürholz's friends insist that it's actually a critique of Pinochet's regime, although his later output indicates otherwise. So how are we to approach something like this? Bolaño wants to know. Do we censure it or recognize Schürholz's creativity or both? At what point does content overshadow form or expression?

You can also apply these questions to older works of literature that may be beautifully written but which also promote beliefs that are now condemned. Chinua Achebe wants Heart of Darkness ejected from the canon for its racism. I definitely see his point, but it's one of my favorite books! Conrad was a product of his time just like everyone else is! So which of us, me or Achebe, has the stronger position?

Bolaño also takes us deeper into his fictional universe, as previously visited in 2666, The Savage Detectives, and Antwerp. In addition to a reference to Eugenio Entrescu, who was murdered by his own men in "The Part About Archimboldi," there is that enigmatic darkness that permeates even the buoyancy of The Savage Detectives. Bolaño was a fan of Georges Perec (who is also referenced in Nazi Literature), and his narratives often take the form of lists, similar to those that characterize Life: A User's Manual. In 2666, nearly the entire "Part About the Crimes" is a litany of dead bodies, while the center part of Detectives is one first-person account after another from dozens of individuals all over the world. Nazi Literature is much closer to Perec in this respect.
His characters are usually based on figures from the Civil War and sometimes even bear their names . . . ; the action unfolds in a distorted present where nothing is as it seems, or in a distant future full of abandoned, ruined cities, and ominously silent landscapes, similar in many respects to those of the Midwest. His plots abound in providential heroes and mad scientists; hidden clans and tribes which at the ordained time must emerge and do battle with other hidden tribes; secret societies of men in black who meet at isolated ranches on the prairie; private detectives who must search for people lost on other planets; children stolen and raised by inferior races so that, having reached adulthood, they may take control of the tribe and lead it to immolation; unseen animals with insatiable appetites; mutant plants; invisible planets that suddenly become visible; teenage girls offered as human sacrifices; cities of ice with a single inhabitant; cowboys visited by angels; mass migrations destroying everything in their path; underground labyrinths swarming with warrior-monks; plots to assassinate the president of the United States; spaceships fleeing an earth in flames to colonize Jupiter; societies of telepathic killers; children growing up all alone in dark, cold yards.
(And don't you just want to read some of those stories, even though it's been established that J.M.S. Hill admired Hitler and that shows up in his work?) Both Perec and Bolaño reveal a vast knowledge of myriad disparate subjects, which gives Life and Nazi Literature a real density and a broader range than initially expected.

I found Nazi Literature in the Americas to be a quick read and an amusing one despite its subject matter. "Halfway there she crashed into a gas station," one entry concludes. "The explosion was considerable." Much as I hate to say it, this book about neo-Nazis was a lot of fun and reflected a side of Bolaño I hadn't seen before. Recommended for anyone who likes intelligent and creative snark.

Click here for Richard's review and here for another great review.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Death on the Pampas

My Borges edition didn't include "The South" ("El Sur"), which was this week's selection, but I found it online here. It's a very short piece and the general plot is thus: a Buenos Aires resident named Juan Dahlmann knocks his head on a recently painted door someone had forgotten to shut. He comes down with septicemia, which leads to a hallucinatory stay in a hospital followed by a sanitarium. Upon his release, Dahlmann seeks out the family ranch, which he hasn't seen in years. Unfortunately, a simple lunch at a local store soon spirals out of control. On his way to the subsequent knife fight, Dahlmann finds that he is unexpectedly fearless and actually proud to be headed towards an honorable death.

Now Dahlmann has been established as both a bibliophile (he was carrying a special edition of The Thousand and One Nights at the time of his accident) and an ostentatious Argentinian patriot. As Amateur Reader recently noted, Argentina and the United States share a common history: "the immigrants, the frontier, the cowboys, the wars with indigenous people." I'm assuming, then, that the gaucho occupies a cultural space similar to that of the American cowboy - as the rough-and-tumble hero of untamed lands. So basically what we have here is a coalescing of various elements.
The general store at one time had been painted a deep scarlet, but the years had tempered this violent color for its own good. Something in its poor architecture recalled a steel engraving, perhaps one from an old edition of Paul et Virginie. A number of horses were hitched up to the paling. Once inside, Dahlmann thought he recognized the shopkeeper. Then he realized that he had been deceived by the man's resemblance to one of the male nurses in the sanitarium.
Given the dreamlike quality of "The South" as a whole, juxtaposed against the improbability of its climactic incident (a guy throws a couple of breadcrumbs and now we're having a knife fight?), I'm inclined to think that the whole episode actually ends with the sanitarium. The rest is all in Dahlmann's head, the whole episode a fever-vision of a remote, romanticized Argentina that only exists in Dahlmann's imagination. His death at the hands of a gaucho is active and idealized, as opposed to a passive succumbing to illness in a modern clinical setting. His fantasy gives him agency: this ending he chose.

In reading "The South" I was reminded of a Thomas Man story I covered awhile back called "Tristan." It's about an airheaded writer staying at a convalescent home even though there's really nothing wrong with him. He meets a sick woman and falls in love with her, imagining her as a wildly romanticized wilting flower and her son and husband as a pair of brutes undeserving of her ethereal presence. The ensuing narrative is a parody of those emo artist types who view real life through the lens of their own overwrought, fiction-fueled imaginations. Although "The South" is obviously a more serious work, we have essentially the same thing happening here, only to a much greater extent. It all goes back to a theme I often write about regarding chaos, the narrative, and human cognition. In essence, reality is how we perceive it.

"The South" may comes across as a very different Borges story, but his familiar topics of time, reality, and perception are all present if you look closely enough. Though less conceptual than "Pierre Menard" and "The Library of Babel," it is also more accessible to the general reader and may serve as a great launchpad for other Borges works.

"The South" also inspired a short story by the late, great Roberto Bolaño called "The Insufferable Gaucho."



The Non-Structured Book Club read three short pieces by Borges for the month of May. Our schedule went as follows:

May 7: "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote"
May 14: "The Library of Babel"
May 21: "The South"

This week's participants were:

Claire
Nicole
Richard
Rise


Thursday, May 20, 2010

Pearls Before Swine

The therapist, after a deeply upsetting investigation of normality at this time and place, was bound to conclude that a normal person, functioning well on the upper levels of a prosperous, industrialized society, can hardly hear his conscience at all.





I've concluded that Kurt Vonnegut is hit-or-miss for me. Thus far, I have read two and a half Vonnegut novels: Timequake (abandoned), Mother Night (loved), and now, for my local book club, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, or Pearls Before Swine. Conclusion: meh.

Our book club leader is a former English teacher in his early sixties. He first read Mr. Rosewater shortly after it came out while he was in high school. I was literally rolling off the bed, I was laughing so hard, he recalled. Similar reactions from the others: it was so funny! I was like That One Guy.

To make matters worse, I couldn't even articulate what it was that turned me off. We read quite a few passages out loud (such as the therapist's theories about Samaritphobia) and even I had to admit that they certainly were humorous. A couple of the older members were nevertheless surprised at how bitter the tone was compared to their first readings years or even decades ago. There were several comparisons made to Twain, who I do enjoy, and I could definitely see where they were coming from but. . . I just can't figure out why I didn't like this particular book! It was also agreed that Vonnegut's style is very plain and unsubtle, so maybe that was it. I do tend to approach prose from an aesthetic perspective.

Kurt Vonnegut is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, one guy summed up, but it's what's in the fine dust that matters.

"That's how Mother Night was for me," I said. "I don't know why this book wasn't."

Maybe it was a case of pearls before swine.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Wordless Wednesday


We're reading a book right now (Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan) that features bears that act like people and people who act like bears. This picture felt especially appropriate. (Click here for more Wordless Wednesday.)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Teaser Tuesday

• Grab your current read.
• Let the book fall open to a random page.
• Share with us two "teaser" sentences from somewhere on that page.
• You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from. That way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
Please avoid spoilers!

The Witching Hour by Anne Rice
Page 310 - "My young husband is beautiful and all that I ever dreamed of when he rode by on his way to the castle, and to a castle he shall take me now, though it be in another land. It is as if I have entered into the fairy tales told by my mother, and I shall be that Comtesse, and all those rhymes and songs shall be made real."

Monday, May 17, 2010

A Unicorn Grows in London

A Kid for Two Farthings
By Wolf Mankowitz
128 pages
Bloomsbury Publishing
November 2009
Original Pub. Date: 1953






'Every animal when it was made by the Almighty was given one extra-special present, . . . But the unicorn got the most special present of all. He was given a magic horn which could cure anything anybody was ever sick from. It could grant anybody's wish - straight off.'


A Kid for Two Farthings by Wolf Mankowitz has been recently reissued as part of the Bloomsbury Group, a series of out-of-print novels from the early twentieth century specially chosen by writers, bloggers, and readers. The books also have beautiful vintage-inspired covers that will surely delight any print junkie.

Best known for his work on the early James Bond films, Wolf Mankowitz was born in 1924 on Fashion Street in Spitalfields, London. The Jewish community where he grew up is also the setting for A Kid for Two Farthings, where six-year-old Joe lives with his mother above a workshop owned by Mr. Kandinsky the trouser-maker. With Joe's father away working in Africa, Mr. Kandinsky has become a surrogate parent of sorts who frequently entertains Joe with fantastic stories. According to Mr. Kandinsky, unicorns once flourished until they were hunted nearly to extinction for their horns, which could grant wishes and were worth ₤100,000. The remaining unicorns found refuge in Africa, although some may still be found out in the world, ready to bring good fortune. Mr. Kandinsky, for example, could use a Superheat Steam Presser, while his assistant Shmule needs to win an upcoming wrestling match to buy his fiancée a ring. And Joe still doesn't know when his father is coming back.

Then Joe unexpectedly finds a unicorn for sale at the local animal market. Maybe now everyone's dreams will come true.

Actually, Africana is a small goat but Joe's innocence transforms the sickly little animal into a magnificent stallion from an exotic fairy tale. This fanciful perception is also reflective of how Joe, as a very young child, views his world at large. Although the tough character of his neighborhood is made clear, its implications often go over Joe's head. For example, little work simply means that his mother and Mr. Kandinsky have more time for him, while Mr. Kandinsky's story of the unicorns can actually be seen as an allegory of the Holocaust. Still, it is obvious that Joe is learning about his environment. After witnessing an old homeless man die in the street, Joe understands that he no longer has to worry about the "cannibal king" who had seemingly threatened Africana several days ago.

This double perspective gives A Kid for Two Farthings a particular charm that will appeal to both kids and adults alike. Children will enjoy the simple story of a boy's imagination and desire to help his friends with the assistance of a unicorn. Older readers, meanwhile, will emphasize with the difficulties faced by the residents of Fashion Street and may also be interested in the social history aspects. The setting actually reminded me of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and taught me that the immigrant ghetto of the early twentieth century is not a uniquely American phenomenon.

Overall, I would place A Kid for Two Farthings alongside Harry Potter and the films of Miyazaki as children's entertainment that parents can appreciate as well. It's an adorable, poignant little book and I am very glad that Bloomsbury has given modern readers the opportunity to experience it.

Wolf Mankowitz adapted A Kid for Two Farthings into a screenplay. The film was made 1955 and directed by Carol Reed. Here is part one of the complete film available on YouTube.





Click here for Frances's review.





Review Copy




Sunday, May 16, 2010

Sunday Salon

The Sunday Salon.com

After last week's unholy snowfall I am pleased to say that not only have temperatures been in the 70s, but I've been able to make progress with my gardening! Yay spring! I haven't planted my vegetables yet but we have a little shade garden against the house that hadn't been taken care of since last summer. It was full of ginormous weeds. I ripped out the entire rock border and actually had to shovel some of those weeds out. Then I went to Lowes and got some new shade plants. I also got a ceramic mushroom made by a local potter for decoration.

Now that spring is here let's hope it stays here.

In reading news, I got my review up for The Rose Tattoo, followed by my post for Borges's "The Library of Babel." Nobody agreed with my interpretation of the Borges piece. In fact, my conclusions were the exact opposite of everyone else's - I thought he was being optimistic, they thought his Giant Cosmic Library metaphor was positively nightmarish. Maybe I really should reread that one.

I'm still in the middle of Tender Morsels. But then, for really no reason at all, I started Anne Rice's The Witching Hour, which I last read when I was sixteen. It's a 1,000+ page behemoth, although it does go by quickly. I got 100 pages read yesterday, which is a lot for me. I actually haven't read Anne Rice in general in what seems like forever and it feels like I've rediscovered some great treasure. She was my absolute favorite author when I was in high school but then we sort of drifted apart. It's nice to get reacquainted with old friends again. But the rest of my reading may be put on hold for a few days.

So I hope everyone had a great spring weekend and, as always, happy reading!

Friday, May 14, 2010

People of the Books

Last week my relationship with Jorge Luis Borges underwent a dramatic improvement thanks to our supplemental reading assignment. Now let's see if the momentum has continued.

"The Library of Babel" tells of an unnamed first-person narrator who lives in a massive Library. It is composed of hexagonal galleries beyond number, linked by bottomless staircases and reflected into infinity by endless hallways lined with mirrors. Technically speaking, it's the universe, but Borges chooses the metaphor of the Library to organize the vastness of the heavens into a recognizable format. The sheer volume of human knowledge already compiled on religion, metaphysics, philosophy, mathematics, and science, in addition to all that remains undiscovered, is enough to overwhelm the individual mind. To comprehend this enormous amount of STUFF requires an intellect of no less than godlike proportions. We mortals simply lack the psychological capability to process the universe as raw data.

The image of the Library is also the springboard for Borges's exploration of language as the means by which information is discovered, recorded, and disseminated. Some of the books in the Library appear to be pure gibberish. If any words can be deciphered at all, they are meaningless phrases such as "the plaster cramp" and "the combed thunderclap." One tome consists entirely of the letters MCV in various combinations. Yet, as the narrator notes, the number of characters utilized is always limited to the period, the comma, the space, and twenty-two letters of the Latin alphabet. It has been determined that the Library is actually finite in area, as it contains no more than the total number of books needed to record every possible sequence of these twenty-five orthographical symbols. Each volume is 410 pages with 40 lines each, composed of 80 letters each.

As such, the Library contains some 25(410x40x80) = 251,312,000 books. That's more books than our real universe has atoms.

If the sum total of all possible knowledge is expressed through language, and all possible languages are expressed through all possible arrangements of a small number of symbols, then it can be said that all languages lead back to the same source. Says the narrator,
I cannot combine some characters
dhcmrlchtdj
which the divine Library has not foreseen and which in one of its secret tongues do not contain some terrible meaning. No one can articulate a syllable which is not filled with tenderness and fear, which is not, in one of these languages, the powerful name of a god. To speak is to fall into tautology. . . (An n number of possible languages use the same vocabulary; in some of them, the symbol library allows the correct definition a ubiquitous and lasting system of hexagonal galleries, but library is bread or pyramid or anything else, and these seven words which define it have another value. You who read me, are You sure of understanding my language?)
I saw this as an argument in favor of pluralism. Borges's metaphor portrays religious leaders, sects, and zealots as librarians and library patrons who ransack through card catalogs and throw "heretical" books down the air shafts. The realization that the Library contains all Truths for all humans of all time, but said Truths remain lost in gibberish or the very immensity of the Library, drives some people to madness or suicide. To spend one's life obsessively searching for a specific, pre-ordained bit information in an infinite sea of information is ultimately tragic and absurd. All books - that is all faiths and modes of believing - are but different facets of the primordial Truth. We are in no position to squeeze the universe into one iron mold.

To be God is not to allow for one Truth and condemn all others as falsehoods (by destroying their books), but to know how all Truths fit together.
We also know of another superstition of that time: that of the Man of the Book. On some shelf in some hexagon (men reasoned) there must exist a book which is the formula and perfect compendium of all the rest: some librarian has gone through it and he is analogous to a god. . . Many have wandered in search of Him. For a century they exhausted in vain the most varied areas. . . In adventures such as these I have squandered and wasted my years. It does not seem unlikely to me that there is a total book on some shelf of the universe; I pray to the unknown gods that a man - just one, even though it were thousands of years ago! - may have examined and read it. If honor and wisdom and happiness are not for me, let them be for others. Let heaven exist, though my place be in hell. Let me be outraged and annihilated, but for one instant, in one being, let Your enormous Library be justified.
Like the Library it speaks of, Borges's little story is open to multiple interpretations from myriad different angles (i.e. mathematical, philosophical). I've only just scratched the surface. You can even make the case that the Library can be likened to the Internet as a immeasurable storehouse of information that exists in another realm (cyberspace) without physical form. (So it's transcendent, then? No wonder William Gibson likes this guy!) But of course, that's an anachronistic perspective that Borges could not have thought of, which brings us back to the questions raised in "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote."

But above all, I saw "The Library of Babel" as an affirmation of the human drive for knowledge and understanding. By presenting the universe as a Library, and the Truths as language - that is, as recognizable forms - Borges posits that it is technically possible for humans to glimpse divinity if we search long and hard enough. "The Library of Babel" opposes narrow-minded dogma, celebrates diversity, and binds intellect and spirituality. I'm impressed. Borges and I are on good terms now. Finally!

To fully appreciate what Borges has done with "The Library of Babel," check out this amazing article, including the comments, which get us into parallel universes.

And also: a virtual Library of Babel for English and French!



The Non-Structured Book Club is reading three short pieces by Borges for the month of May. Our schedule is as follows:

May 7: "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote"
May 14: "The Library of Babel"
May 21: "The South"

This week's participants were:

Claire
Emily
Jill
Nicole
Richard
Rise
Sarah


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Brokedown Palace II: The Funny Edition

The Rose Tattoo
By Tennessee Williams
122 pages, plus supplemental material
New Directions
April 23, 2010
Original Pub. Date: 1950






They make the life without glory. Instead of heart they got the deep-freeze in the house. The men, they don't feel no glory, not in the house with them women; they go to the bars, fight in them, get drunk, get fat, put horns on the women because the women don't give them the love which is glory, - I did, I give him the glory. To me the big bed was beautiful like a religion. Now I lie on it with dreams, with memories only!


My first Tennessee Williams play was The Night of the Iguana, originally performed in 1961, which I read back in March as part of the Non-Structured Book Club. It was a bit much at times, but I enjoyed Williams's decadent setting and the vivacity of the characters. Another Williams production, The Rose Tattoo, which debuted at Chicago's Erlanger Theater in 1950, has been recently re-released with a new introduction by playwright John Patrick Shanley. Once again, I would like to thank Frances for sending me her extra ARC.

The Rose Tattoo concerns one Serafina delle Rosa, a first-generation Sicilian-American who lives somewhere on the Gulf Coast with her 15-year-old daughter Rose. Her husband Rosario, a small-time drug smuggler, was murdered and Serafina lost the baby she was carrying shortly thereafter. Since then, she has sequestered herself and her daughter from their small Italian community and spends her listless days in a worn shift, sewing gowns and fine clothes for other people's special events. Three years have passed and it is now Rosa's high school graduation, signaling her movement out from under her mother's authority and into adulthood and her own self-realization. This terrifies Serafina, who wants Rosa suspended in time with her and her late husband's memory. Even worse is that sailor Rosa has fallen for! But then Alvaro Mangiacavallo ("eat-a-horse" in Italian), a goofy truck driver with a sexy body, arrives that afternoon and - oh Dio! He reminds Serafina of Rosario and has even gotten his very own rose tattoo!

According to Shanley, "The Rose Tattoo is over the top. It is a lurid play, redolent of the smell of goats, the cries of ragged children and squawking birds. Its perimeters are defined by women, hairy-legged women, gossiping, clownish women, whores, and witches." I actually had a feeling of déjà vu. The oppressive tropical ambiance; the voluptuous, larger-than-life widow; the emotional stagnation and pervasive carnality - The Rose Tattoo and The Night of the Iguana feel like two versions of the same story. Written about a decade later, Iguana comes across as a more mature work, with its themes of sexuality, religion, mental illness, and human nature. It also lacks the neat resolution of The Rose Tattoo and the cast of characters is more diverse, ranging from pure and detached (Hannah) to Serafina-like (Maxine) to falling apart as we speak (Shannon).

Which isn't to say that The Rose Tattoo is a mediocre play or not worth it if you've already read/seen Iguana. It's a comedy starring a tacky, ridiculous woman who lives surrounded by dress dummies and Catholic kitsch. Alvaro is a love-struck doofus. The Italian accents are preposterously exaggerated and the overall setting is clearly a satire of the close-knit, gossipy immigrant community. Serafine tries so hard to be spiritual she simply ends up ironic.
SERAFINA: Oh, Lady, Lady, Lady, give me a sign!

[As if in mocking answer, a novelty salesman appears and approaches the porch. He is a fat man in a seersucker suit and a straw hat with a yellow, red and purple band. His face is beet-red and great moons of sweat have soared through the armpits of his jacket. His shirt is lavender, and his tie, pale blue with great yellow polka dots, is a butterfly bow. His entrance is accompanied by a brief, satiric strain of music.]
Iguana certainly has comic relief but Tattoo is such a self-parody that it borders on metatheater. It knows its atmosphere is overheated and blatantly sexual and populated by caricatures. The humor comes from its own premise and execution. If anything, The Rose Tattoo, despite being the earlier of the two, is also a parody of The Night of the Iguana, which has many of the same elements but asks to be taken seriously. It's like Iguana reflected in a funhouse mirror.

This new edition of The Rose Tattoo also includes The Dog Enchanted by the Divine View, an earlier one-act piece by Williams that became the genesis for Tattoo. I haven't read anything else by Williams so I wouldn't know if his other plays are more differentiated, but I found The Rose Tattoo to be a great companion piece and counterpoint for The Night of the Iguana. I enjoyed reading them and would love to see both onstage.

Wordless Wednesday


Awesome Nouveau wallpaper from The Vintage Moth. (Click here for more Wordless Wednesday.)

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Teaser Tuesday

• Grab your current read.
• Let the book fall open to a random page.
• Share with us two "teaser" sentences from somewhere on that page.
• You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from. That way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
Please avoid spoilers!

Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan
Page 185 - Branza more or less forgot him, and when she walked out in the early spring, she was not even thinking of bears. But then she happened on one - a new, smaller bear than the ones she had known, standing in the stream, waiting for the salmon to jump.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Anime Soundtracks!

Since I discussed Ghost in the Shell in my recent post on Borges's "Pierre Menard," I thought I'd do a bit of follow-up and introduce everyone to the joys of anime music! Below are some songs from several different GitS soundtracks, all of which are composed by Yoko Kanno. (Unlike Western soundtracks, which are basically compilations, the Japanese actually write original music.) All three are performed by Origa in Russian and English.

Yoko Kanno is pretty much the #1 person for anime music. I've been interested in checking out her work for Cowboy Bebop. According to Wikipedia, "The series' art direction centers around American music and counterculture, especially the beat and jazz movements of the 1940s-60s and the early rock era of the 1950s-70s, which the original soundtrack by Yoko Kanno and The Seatbelts recreates."



"Inner Universe," the opening theme from the first season of GitS: Stand Alone Complex



"Rise," the opening theme from the second season of GitS: SAC



"Player," from Ghost in the Shell: Solid State Society, the third and most recent film (This video was made by ninetailfoxkyuubi using images from the Kingdom Hearts video games, which are also Japanese in origin and have a ton of anime influence - especially that kid's hair! So cute!)

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Sunday Salon

The Sunday Salon.com

I woke up to three inches of snow. Yes, it snowed last night. What the unholy freaking name of. . .

Happy Mother's Day to all those who did not wake up to winter weather! (I'm sorry, but I just can't. It snowed. In May. The trees have leaves and they have snow. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WRONG THAT LOOKS???)

At the time of this writing, which is 10:30 pm, most of the snow has melted and the forecast is calling for temps in the mid-50s tomorrow. It's supposed to be 56 on Tuesday. So hopefully the snow will, you know, take a hint.

In other news, this has been a productive week for me. I received a package from Frances that contained not only her extra The Rose Tattoo ARC but also a surprise copy of Roberto Bolaño's Antwerp, just out April 30! Thanks Frances! Of course, I got that read and reviewed right away. I also finished The Rose Tattoo so expect that review maybe tomorrow.

I am happy to report that Borges and I have made significant progress in resolving our differences.

I have completed the Lord of the Rings read-along! My post on Tolkien and racism is here.

Right now, I'm reading Margo Lanagan's Tender Morsels, which is the May selection for the Non-Structured Book Club. Or I'm trying to - a gang rape scene just came up and I can't seem to get past it. I'm not usually a timid reader but wow, is this really YA? I really don't want to read that scene but I can't just skip without feeling guilty, like I'm doing the book a huge disfavor. That's something else I'll work on tomorrow.

And so, once again, Happy Mother's Day to everyone! Have fun, uh, making snowmen!

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Menard Stands Alone

Borges and I have never agreed with each other. Same with Kafka. The puzzling thing is that I've loved other authors who either influenced them or were influenced by them (such as Macedonio Fernández, Georges Perec, and Ferenc Karinthy), and I came into Kafka and Borges wholly expecting to love them. I studied both in college too, but that still didn't help. (Actually, the best insight into Kafka I've ever gotten was from an anthology about the Iron Curtain called The Wall in My Head.) So when I heard that our Non-Structured Book Club was going to be doing an extracurricular Borges reading, I initially opted out and chose to simply read everyone's posts instead. But then I found myself intrigued by what was being said about "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote," so I decided, why not? Maybe I should give Mr. Borges another chance.

"Menard" is written in the form of an article from an academic journal. The author/narrator was a friend of the late Pierre Menard, a French literary critic, and is utterly infatuated with what he perceives to be Menard's brilliant project involving Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote. Menard wanted to write it himself. Not copy it. He wanted to somehow channel Cervantes and compose the Quixote word for word. As Menard explained it:
When I was ten or twelve years old, I read it, perhaps in its entirety. Later, I have reread it closely certain chapters, those which I shall not attempt for the time being. I have also gone through all the interludes, the plays, the Galatea, the exemplary novels, the undoubtedly laborious tribulations of Persiles and Segismunda and the Viaje del Parnaso . . . My general recollection of the Quixote, simplified by forgetfulness and indifference, can well equal the imprecise and prior image of a book not yet written. Once that image (which no one can legitimately deny me) is postulated, it is certain that my problem is a good bit more difficult that Cervantes' was. My obliging predecessor did not refuse the collaboration of change: he composed his immortal work somewhat à la diable, carried along by the inertias of language and invention. I have taken on the mysterious duty of reconstructing literally his spontaneous work.
Menard rejects the idea of literally becoming Cervantes by forgetting all the history of Europe since 1602, fighting the Turks as Cervantes did, and so forth on the grounds that such a thing would be impossible. Of course, he acknowledges that the whole undertaking is impossible, but of all the ways of going about it, that would be the least interesting.

Borges's imaginary academic nevertheless believes that Menard's endeavor was quite successful, even perceiving his friend's signature style in certain passages of the Quixote which are completely identical to those of Cervantes. He claims to recognize the influence of Shakespeare and further praises Menard's mastery of a foreign language and alien dialect (Renaissance Spanish) compared to Cervantes's advantage of writing in his own native tongue. Why, it's astounding, he goes on, that Menard was able to ignore the work of William James and, like Cervantes, proclaim history to be the origin of reality instead of an inquiry into reality! In short, the narrator is arguing that Menard's word-for-word duplicate of the Quixote is richer, deeper, and a grander achievement than Cervantes's original.

As Emily notes in her post, Borges brings up a multitude of questions surrounding context, subjectivity, and perspective. Although the two texts are identical, the copy is held to be superior because its reader (the author of the article) was able to locate more meaning in it. In other words, he examined the copy as an artifact of the environment in which it was produced: the early twentieth century, presumably in France, as opposed to Spain in the late 1500s. Since the narrator views this Quixote as having arisen entirely in the mind of Menard, it's like a copy without an original.

It was then that the heavens opened, a light shined down, and Borges started to make sense.

I'm a big fan of Ghost in the Shell, a (post)cyberpunk Japanese franchise that began with the Ghost in the Shell manga by Masamune Shirow and has since expanded to include two manga sequels, three acclaimed anime films, and a popular anime television series. Like The Matrix, which it greatly influenced, GitS is deeply concerned with postmodern philosophy and social theory. The title of the TV show, Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, refers to a concept developed over the first season. The "stand alone complex" is basically a "phenomenon where unrelated, yet very similar actions of individuals create a seemingly concerted effort." For example, say a building catches fire and burns down. While accidents like that happen all the time, depending on the greater context of the time and place in which said building was located, people can get it into their heads that the fire was the work of an arsonist motivated by whatever political or religious ideology is currently making news (i.e. Islamic terrorism). Several malcontents then get on the imaginary bandwagon and commit their own acts of arson in the name of Allah. A chain of spontaneous order is then created out of the chaos of society, politics, media, and random accidents. But the copycats have no original.

And then I realized I was doing the exact same thing as Borges's fictional academic! I was anachronistically analyzing an older text ("Pierre Menard: Author of the Quixote" by Jorge Luis Borges) from the perspective of someone familiar with literary and philosophical ideas that would not be developed until decades after said text was written. "To attribute the Imitatio Christi to Louis Ferdinand Céline or to James Joyce, is this not a sufficient renovation of its tenuous spiritual indications?" Menard's disciple asks. (I like Emily's translation better: ". . . a sufficient renewal of those faded spiritual warnings?") Just as Cervantes's position regarding the power of letters v. arms could not possibly have been influenced by Nietzsche (as Menard's completely identical passage is claimed to have been), Borges could not possibly have written "Pierre Menard" with any knowledge of Japanese cyberpunk anime.

And thus: the meaning of a text is ultimately subjective, as the reader's response always occurs within the context of the reader's knowledge and experience, which may be completely and utterly different, especially given the passage of time, from those of the author.

I get it! I like Borges now!

My Borges edition, incidentally, has an introduction by William Gibson, whose Neuromancer trilogy is widely regarded as the origin of the cyberpunk genre. I knew I was onto something.



It's the audio from the Matrix: Reloaded trailer with images from GitS: SAC, starring Togusa as Neo, Motoko Kusanagi as Trinity, and Daisuke Aramaki as Morpheus.



The Non-Structured Book Club is reading three short pieces by Borges for the month of May. Our schedule is as follows:

May 7: "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote"
May 14: "The Library of Babel"
May 21: "The South"

This week's participants were:

Claire
Emily
Nicole
Richard
Rise
Sarah


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