Muted Malmö

A flat owned by Nina Bergsten in Malmö, Sweden. Furnishings are a mix of family heirlooms, IKEA, and Paris flea market finds.

Residents Magazine, via Emmas designblog and Apartment Therapy

PROTEST

SOPAStrike.com

On January 18, Boing Boing will join Reddit (and Wikipedia) and other sites around the Internet in "going dark" to oppose SOPA and PIPA, the pending US legislation that creates a punishing Internet censorship regime and exports it to the rest of the world. Boing Boing could never co-exist with a SOPA world: we could not ever link to another website unless we were sure that no links to anything that infringes copyright appeared on that site. So in order to link to a URL on LiveJournal or WordPress or Twitter or Blogspot, we’d have to first confirm that no one had ever made an infringing link, anywhere on that site. Making one link would require checking millions (even tens of millions) of pages, just to be sure that we weren’t in some way impinging on the ability of five Hollywood studios, four multinational record labels, and six global publishers to maximize their profits. If we failed to take this precaution, our finances could be frozen, our ad broker forced to pull ads from our site, and depending on which version of the bill goes to the vote, our domains confiscated, and, because our server is in Canada, our IP address would be added to a US-wide blacklist that every ISP in the country would be required to censor.

This is the part of the post where I’m supposed to say something reasonable like, "Everyone agrees that piracy is wrong, but this is the wrong way to fight it." But you know what? Screw that. Even though a substantial portion of my living comes from the entertainment industry, I don’t think that any amount of "piracy" justifies this kind of depraved indifference to the consequences of one’s actions. Big Content haven’t just declared war on Boing Boing and Reddit and the rest of the "fun" Internet: they’ve declared war on every person who uses the net to publicize police brutality, every oppressed person in the Arab Spring who used the net to organize protests and publicize the blood spilled by their oppressors, every abused kid who used the net to reveal her father as a brutalizer of children, every gay kid who used the net to discover that life is worth living despite the torment she’s experiencing, every grassroots political campaigner who uses the net to make her community a better place — as well as the scientists who collaborate online, the rescue workers who coordinate online, the makers who trade tips online, the people with rare diseases who support each other online, and the independent creators who use the Internet to earn their livings. The contempt for human rights on display with SOPA and PIPA is more than foolish. Foolishness can be excused. It’s more than greed. Greed is only to be expected. It is evil, and it must be fought.

"This crisis too, like all others, finally subsided and the alley returned to its usual state of indifference and forgetfullness."

". . . It continued, as was its custom, to weep in the morning when there was material for tears and resound with laughter in the evening. And in the time between, doors and windows would creak as they were opened and then creak again as they were closed." (284-285)




Naguib Mahfouz (1911-2006) was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1988. He is best known for his novels about the evolution of modern Egyptian society. Mahfouz's early exposure to Western literature influenced his innovative development of both the Arabic novel and colloquial Arabic prose. Another inspiration was his lifelong interest in democratic politics and social justice.

Zuqāq al-Midaq (Midaq Alley, translated by Trevor Le Gassick) was published in 1966. It follows the lives of various characters who live and work in the eponymous Cairo alley. Kirsha the café owner is a gay drug addict. Husniya the bakeress routinely beats her husband Jaada with her slipper. Uncle Kamil the good-natured sweets seller is fat and sleepy. Salim Alwan is a wealthy businessman embittered by a heart attack. Zaita is a sadistic cripple-maker held in fear and esteem by professional beggars. Sheikh Darwish is a half-mad former English teacher who left his job after a demotion to roam the streets. Saniya Afify is a middle-aged landlady looking to remarry after years of independence. Dr. Booshy is a self-proclaimed dentist with a shady background. Hamida is a beautiful but selfish (and not to mention sociopathic) young woman obsessed with riches and Abbas the barber is the poor sap in love with her. And so forth. With World War II raging in Europe, Abbas and his friend Hussain Kirsha have left Midaq Alley to work for the British.

That's basically the whole plot right there: the interactions of various over-the-top personalities in a timeless locale only now starting to show the tremors of the twentieth century. The denizens of Midaq Alley are generally apathetic towards politics, viewing the whole matter as little more than a spectacle, and therefore lack any recognition of the social forces at play in their lives. Everything is up to fate and the will of God. Midaq Alley is very much a surface novel where things are as they are, arranged in place by a higher being (whether that's God or Mahfouz himself in the metafictional sense). Unfortunately, this also means that the story is bogged down by the same issues that plagued the Cairo Trilogy. It's exposition overkill and the inability to follow the "show, don't tell" rule which should be engraved on a plaque above every writer's desk.

Now I'm told that Mahfouz's original Arabic is renowned for its eloquence and how it captures everyday speech. Alas, this rarely seems to come through in translation. (And Midaq Alley and the Cairo Trilogy both had different translators.) "Arabic is, of course, a language far different in syntax and sounds from English and gives expression to highly distinctive people and a complex culture," Le Gassick says in his introduction, going on to explain how this leaves the translator with almost too much flexibility with regards to vocabulary and arrangement. "The present translation offers an approximation of how Mahfouz might have expressed himself had English been his native tongue" (xi). The situation is not entirely hopeless, however. I still do recommend the scenic, sporty Miramar, which either had a superior translator or was the product of a good day for Mahfouz. Oh, the travails of the monolingual bibliophile.

The Joy of Books

"When we are Lovecraftian, we are ourselves - utterly."

I have read that Lovecraft is a mask I wear, that as an author I am not myself. What wondrous idiocy. I am never more "myself" than when I am Lovecraftian, for he has molded what is best within me. I came to him as a child, wide-eyed and ignorant. I am wide-eyed still (but hopefull a wee bit wiser). Through my Lovecraftian vision I have seen the verdant Sesqua Valley, that sequestered place of wonder that exists only as a symbol of Lovecraftian passion. To have found it was a rich reward. At the end of lonely day, I drift in dream to the valley, and there I find the freedom to be myself absolutely. - from "The Saprophytic Fungi" (The Fungal Stain and Other Dreams)

Wilum Hopfrog Pugmire (1951-) is an author of poetry and short stories set in the world of the Cthulhu Mythos. He began writing fiction while serving as a Mormon missionary in Ireland, encouraged by his correspondence with Robert Bloch, creator of Psycho and fellow Lovecraft protege. Today, Pugmire, the self-proclaimed "Queen of Eldritch Horror," is widely considered the finest Lovecraftian writer of the modern era. He is published primarily by small presses and has appeared in many anthologies.

Thus far I have read two Pugmire books. The first one is Sesqua Valley and Other Haunts (2008), which I received for Christmas. I opened it on Christmas Eve and enjoyed it so much that I immediately ordered The Fungal Stain and Other Dreams (2006) the next day with the B&N giftcard I received. Many aspects of the Cthulhu Mythos are so iconic that it's easy to fall into the trap of pastiche, but I found Pugmire's works to be very much his own. His primary contribution to the Mythos is Sesqua Valley, a hidden region on the West Coast accessible only to individuals of sufficient aesthetic persuasion. Its native denizens are born out of the mist at the base of Mount Selta, where they eventually return after venturing into the greater world to "locate those rare souls who have tasted the dark secrets." Sesequa resembles Innsmouth somewhat in its isolated, magical locale and its people's unique "Sesqua Look," which calls to mind a wolf or toad. Their progenitor is the charismatic Simon Gregory Williams, a skilled sorcerer and player of the enchanted flute. He is grotesque and seductive, a lover of mischief and adventure reminiscent of Anne Rice's Lestat. Altogether the most memorable character I have encountered in some time.

As his nuanced portrayal of Williams indicates, Pugmire's approach to Lovecraft is one of subversion. The staid world of academia and New England aristocracy is largely absent. Our protagonists are the monsters and outcasts the Gentleman from Providence so disdained: Goths, witches, drug addicts, struggling artists, zombies, and the inhuman spawn of the Valley itself. Strong women abound too, something sorely needed in the Cthulhu Mythos, and sexuality tends to be fluid. Instead of simply cosmic terror - although there certainly is that - Pugmire evokes rich, textured atmospheres of pagan mysticism that recall the best of Arthur Machen. While the dread Old Ones dream beyond the reach of three-dimensional space, there is fear and wonder in crumbling books of arcane lore and in dances at midnight in the deep forest. Calling it "magic realism" feels trite but there is very much an openness and acceptance towards the terrible beauty of the universe where Lovecraft only saw madness, horror, and doom. Sesqua Valley is not a cesspool like Innsmouth or Dunwich but a sanctuary for visionaries and lonely creative people who stumble upon it by chance.

In the works of W.H. Pugmire I have experienced that rare sensation of kinship with an author. I drank in eagerly his haunted settings and journeyed into other realms alongside his many enraptured humans. I'm afraid I simply cannot pick and choose any individual pieces to discuss, as is properly done in reviews of short story anthologies. Instead I can only say that I look forward to reading more, particularly those Innsmouth and Dunwich stories he says he is currently writing. (Guess what my two favorite Lovecraft tales are.) There are several additional Pugmire stories available online courtesy of the Lovecraft eZine (here and here) and I strongly recommend them all. Metal fan I am, I will end by dedicating to Sesqua Valley this song by Satyrian.


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New Art

A framed 8x10 photograph of a lake at sunset. I bought this today for $10 at a local antique store whose crowded shelves and clutter I enjoy browsing every weekend. The scene itself is one of serenity yet the black-and-white coloring, dominated by dark tones, creates a sinister feel.

Now all I need to do is figure out where to put it. . . I love having a tiny studio but it does come with its difficulties with regards to all this art I keep finding. . .

"The bicycle is a vertical vehicle. . ."

The Cyclist Conspiracy
By Svetislav Basara
Translated from Serbian by Randall A. Major
280 pages
Open Letter Books
March 20, 2012




. . . If we look at a simplified graphic representation of the bicycle, we can see that the device has an abundance of religious symbols; two wheels, two circles, symbolizing the two faulty infinities (time and space) connected by the true eternity of the Trinity, represented by the triangle of the frame. At the same time, when represented like this, the bicycle has the shape of metaphysical glasses with which it is possible to correct spiritual myopia. But that is not all. If we take a birds-eye perspective (which is the viewpoint of the Holy Ghost), the bicycle has the shape of a cross, where the handlebars are the crossbars of the cross. A man who rides a bicycle is, in fact, crucifying himself. (214-215)

Svetislav Basara (1953-), former Serbian ambassador to Cyprus, is also a major figure in contemporary Serbian literature, having authored dozens of novels, essays, plays, and short stories. In 2006 he received the NIN Award for his novel The Rise and Fall of Parkinson’s Disease. At this time, only two of Basara's works are available in English: the novels Chinese Letter (1985) and The Cyclist Conspiracy (1988).

Fama o biciklistima (The Cyclist Conspiracy) is a patchwork compilation of historical documents, scholarly papers, photographs, short stories, and poetry concerning the Order of the Evangelical Bicyclists, an esoteric, transhistorical cabal that meets secretly in dreams. Psychoanalysis combines with Plato and Augustine's City of God in a theology that knows no temporal restraints, manipulating history from the future in a plot to reunite humanity and the heavens. Chronological time figures prominently as a social construct that locks the unenlightened into regimented rigidity; a favorite recurring activity of the Little Brothers is the smashing of public clocks as they speed through European capitals on their sacred vehicles. To the Little Brothers, as the cyclists call themselves, the waking world as essentially broken, an invisible prison that enslaves human souls to corrupt worldly institutions. To consolidate and subsequently purge the evil plaguing the City of Man, the Evangelical Bicyclists are seeking to construct a Grand Insane Asylum for some 20,000,000 patients - an inverted Tower of Babel that lies partly underground.

Though largely metaphysical, The Cyclist Conspiracy also bears the influence of twentieth-century Yugoslavian and Eastern European history, with Stalin as the emblem of ultimate capitulation to the world of "technology": the brutish social order of government, institutions, and science that "lies in opposition to the real world" as "nothing other than a false world, the world of deception" (92). Basara is quite satirical on this subject. The exalted goals of the Evangelical Bicyclists are at times expressed in terms of violence and destruction, as seen in the fictional Serbian journals Vidici and Student (which appear as the subjects of an academic article). As parodies of those underground political rags put out by angry radicals, Vidici and Student, despite their Nietzschean overtones, seem to recall the promises of communism that culminated in Soviet totalitarianism. Rich irony lies in the disparity between utopianism and its means. The Grand Insane Asylum is, after all, a "hospital . . . structured like a country and all its citizens are only potentially crazy" (260). One is reminded of the internment of Soviet political prisoners in mental hospitals under contrived diagnoses (such as "sluggishly progressing schizophrenia") that began under Stalin's regime.

That the world of technology (or Augustine's City of Man) is one of chaos is probably Basara's point, as a contrasted to the perfected realm of God that we glimpse only through the lens of our fallen nature. As one high-ranking Little Brother explains to a neophyte:

"I can't help you get rid of your prejudices because even what I know belongs to the sphere of prejudice. Actually, they are at a higher level, but that doesn't change anything, if you're climbing the stairs leading to eternity, it is absolutely the same if you are at n + 1 or n + 25. No one knows the real purpose of our Order. No one can tell you whether we are doing good or evil. We're simply doing what we have to. You should know that the Order is more of an interesting hypothesis than an organized institution or power. That's good, too. That is the power of our community that has been maintained for a thousand years, due to the fact that it has never been constituted and, let's say, it hardly exists at all; it was created to not exist, but to disappear. A rigid organization only offers the illusion of strength, but it is not strength." (136-137)

The Order is nebulous because it is a manifestation of humanity's perpetual search for transcendence. The bicycle is essentially a dadaist symbol (dada originally being French for "hobbyhorse") reflecting the absurdity of trying to conceptualize the divine in tangible form, an undertaking that is never anything but subjective and prone to acrimonious debate. The Cyclist Conspiracy broaches such lofty regions and builds itself a labyrinth of possibilities surrounding unknowable things. It is a difficult, Borgesian work overall, and not one likely to have broad appeal. Still, its thought-provoking creativity is rewarding and every reader is guaranteed a different interpretation.

Review Copy

2011 Retrospective

I'm back. No really, I mean it this time. One of my New Year's resolutions is to get back on my feet with regards to blogging and reading, both of which have fallen off precipitously. Compared to the previous two years in which I have completed the following meme, my stats have revealed themselves to be quite pitiful. All in all, 2011 was not a good year.

How many books read in 2011?

Only 39. *sigh*

How many works of fiction and non-fiction?

Three were works of non-fiction.

Male/Female author ratio?

I read 9 books by women and 5 short story anthologies that were mixed. The remaining 23 authors I read were men.

Favorite books of 2011?

The short stories of Robert W. Chambers and Arthur Machen, W.H. Pugmire's Sesqua Valley and Other Haunts (got it for Christmas, will review soon!), The Girl Who Played Go, and Memoirs of Hadrian.

Least favorite?

Ugh, Herland. Terrible example of feminism.

Any that you simply couldn't finish and why?

None this year.

Oldest book read?

The Subjugation of Women, published in 1869.

Newest?

Two anthologies from the Innsmouth Free Press that came out earlier this year: Historical Lovecraft and Candle in the Window.

Longest and shortest book titles?

Snow had the shortest title in terms of letter count. Leaving out anthology titles such as The White People and Other Stories: Vol. 2 of the Best Weird Tales of Arthur Machen, The Dodecahedron, or A Frame for Frames was the longest.

Longest and shortest books?

The Robert Chambers anthology was the longest at 643 pages. I didn't read every story in it, however. House of Leaves was 662 pages but probably doesn't count either due to its unconventional structure and extensive notes, illustrations, and so forth. That leaves The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo at 590 pages.

How many from the library?

9 from the library, down from a high of 15 last year. But then, I read far fewer books this year so maybe it's proportionally the same.

Any translated books?

20 total, well over half the total number read.

Most-read author this year, and how many books by that author?

Naguib Mahfouz, thanks to the Cairo Trilogy read-along. Machen and Chambers tie in the short story department.

Any re-reads?

Yep. I re-read quite a few Machen and Chambers stories. They are absolute musts for any Lovecraft fan. I almost liked them better!

Favorite character of the year?

Simon Gregory Williams, the gloriously flamboyant spawn of Sesqua Valley. He is the creation of W.H. Pugmire, a modern Cthulhu Mythos author whom I will be reviewing shortly.

What countries did you end up visiting?

So many! In terms of authors' nationalities, I visited Japan, Bulgaria, Serbia, Egypt, China, Sweden, Denmark, South Africa, France, Turkey, Great Britain, Lebanon, Argentina, and Canada.

What books wouldn't you have read without someone's specific recommendation?

None. I didn't stray too far from my comfort zone this year. Maybe that will be another New Year's resolution - explore new books!

What authors were new to you in 2010 and you now want to read more works of?

W.H. Pugmire. In fact, I used the $30 Barnes & Noble gift card I got for Christmas to order yet another one of his books, which I just received today and am already halfway through.

What books are you annoyed you didn't read?

I didn't participate nearly as much in the Year of Feminist Classics as I should have. Very disappointing.

Did you read any books you have always been meaning to read?

Machen, Chambers, Pugmire, and Stanley C. Sargent, thanks to my ongoing Lovecraft obsession.

Complete stats here.