Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Interesting discussion ...
... "A solemn thriller is really rather a bore": Raymond Chandler speaks; Ian Fleming listens. (Hat tip, Paul Davis.)
Pick a peck ...
... The Power of Peter Piper: How alliteration enhances poetry, prose, and memory.
(Hat tip, Rus Bowden.)
(Hat tip, Rus Bowden.)
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
More correspondence ...
... So I Have Thought of You: the Letters of Penelope Fitzgerald. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald, who is not, so far as I know, related.)
Literate actor ...
... Dirk Bogarde's letters - part one. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald.)
Bogarde's memoirs are worth reading. He wrote with style. Hey, he had style.
Bogarde's memoirs are worth reading. He wrote with style. Hey, he had style.
Posthumous security ...
... Why Raymond Carver's legacy keeps on growing. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald.)
Literary IPO ...
... Penniless author sells shares in next novel. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald, who says that potential investors in her next book may leave contact information here.)
The finish line ...
... On Death.
A readiness to die is, as Solzhenitsyn notes, rare in a materialist society. But it is a very healthy thing - not just in self-defence, but also as the primary aspect of nobility.Indeed.
Rediscovery ...
... Ed Champion looks at The Novels of John P. Marquand.
Edmund Wilson probably preferred Sinclair Lewis because Lewis was more obviously didactic than Marquand. Wilson seems not to have noticed that Marquand was by far the better writer. Of course, I happen to think that Wilson himself is over-rated.
Quite a twofer ...
... Melville Climbs A Mountain And Catches A Whale (1850).
Today is Conrad Aiken's birthday. He is a most unjustly neglected poet. Here is
Today is Conrad Aiken's birthday. He is a most unjustly neglected poet. Here is
- MORNING SONG OF SENLIN
- (from "Senlin, A Biography")
by: Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)
T is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.- Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones. - It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face!--
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea. . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me. . . - It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair. - Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones. - It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie. - There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains. . . - It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor. . . - . . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know. . . - Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
Live Not By Lies ...
... Carlin Romano on Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: Truth-telling Solzhenitsyn remained great to the end.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Thoughts out of season ...
... Solzhenitsyn's 1978 Harvard Address.
See also this.
I have spent all my life under a communist regime and I will tell you that a society without any objective legal scale is a terrible one indeed. But a society with no other scale but the legal one is not quite worthy of man either. A society which is based on the letter of the law and never reaches any higher is taking very scarce advantage of the high level of human possibilities. The letter of the law is too cold and formal to have a beneficial influence on society. Whenever the tissue of life is woven of legalistic relations, there is an atmosphere of moral mediocrity, paralyzing man's noblest impulses.
Legal frames (especially in the United States) are broad enough to encourage not only individual freedom but also certain individual crimes. The culprit can go unpunished or obtain undeserved leniency with the support of thousands of public defenders. When a government starts an earnest fight against terrorism, public opinion immediately accuses it of violating the terrorists' civil rights.
What sort of responsibility does a journalist have to his readers, or to history? If they have misled public opinion or the government by inaccurate information or wrong conclusions, do we know of any cases of public recognition and rectification of such mistakes by the same journalist or the same newspaper? No, it does not happen, because it would damage sales. A nation may be the victim of such a mistake, but the journalist always gets away with it.
Having experienced applied socialism in a country where the alternative has been realized, I certainly will not speak for it. The well-known Soviet mathematician Shafarevich, a member of the Soviet Academy of Science, has written a brilliant book under the title Socialism; it is a profound analysis showing that socialism of any type and shade leads to a total destruction of the human spirit and to a leveling of mankind into death.
To defend oneself, one must also be ready to die; there is little such readiness in a society raised in the cult of material well-being. Nothing is left, then, but concessions, attempts to gain time and betrayal.
See also this.
In the New Haven Review ...
... high praise for Kay Ryan's spindly, aphoristic poetry - and more; keep scrolling.
Perennial chuckles ...
... Flatulence joke is world's oldest. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald, who also informs me that "Marshall McLuhan considered detective fiction the highest form of literature and jokes the be-all bend-all of intelligent discourse, especially puns." Sounds reasonable to me.)
Today's must read ...
... Thought Experiment. (I just checked one of my email accounts, and see that Dave Lull not only sent me a link to Bryan's post, but also thought I might have something to say about it.)
As I have said before, journalism lures one into an illusion of knowledge which, as the years go by, is increasingly undermined by one's increasing awareness of great ignorance.
This is true, but only of really good journalists like Bryan. And really good journalists are, of course, in the minority.
Wittgenstein may have pointed this out, but that doesn't make it true. And I don't think it is true.
Brilliant.
If he were to say 'I have a pain', then his accuracy would be unchallengeable by any authority, even though, as Wittgenstein pointed out, the grammar of the sentence is wrong; it should be something like, 'There is a pain in the room.'
Wittgenstein may have pointed this out, but that doesn't make it true. And I don't think it is true.
It is necessary to act as if truth is possible. This is a form of faith and, I suspect, the reason the personal has become so fashionable is because people find such faith increasingly hard or unacceptable. The personal, in short, is the secular.
Brilliant.
Go with it, Minx ...
... Weird!!
I once heard Peter Straub explain that these are moments writers be on the alert for - and that should always follow where they lead.
I once heard Peter Straub explain that these are moments writers be on the alert for - and that should always follow where they lead.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
R.I.P. ...
... Alexander Solzhenitsyn dies at 89.
... Nobel laureate Alexander Solzhenitsyn dead.
... a fuller obituary from the Boston Globe: Alexander Solzhenitsyn dies at 89.
... the Times of London: Last struggle is over for Nobel laureate Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.
... Nobel laureate Alexander Solzhenitsyn dead.
... a fuller obituary from the Boston Globe: Alexander Solzhenitsyn dies at 89.
... the Times of London: Last struggle is over for Nobel laureate Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.
Pathetic ...
... this may explain more about the decline of newspapers than anything else I've seen: AngryJournalist.com.
Everytime I turn in an article, I turn in clean copy with no errors, just to have my editors f*** with it and add grammitical and style errors.Hmm.
These new kids pray to the altimate pagen for thanks in the internet. Because, without the internet, nobody would talk to them.
A fresh look ...
... at the New Critics: When Lit-Crit Mattered. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
The New Critics were still in the ascendancy when I was in college, but their advocates tended sometimes toward the overbearing. Still, I learned a lot from it (though what is "The Intentional Fallacy" other than a turgid explication of D.H. Lawrence's admonition to trust the story, not the storyteller?). But a poem is not a lab specimen; it is a portal to life.
The New Critics were still in the ascendancy when I was in college, but their advocates tended sometimes toward the overbearing. Still, I learned a lot from it (though what is "The Intentional Fallacy" other than a turgid explication of D.H. Lawrence's admonition to trust the story, not the storyteller?). But a poem is not a lab specimen; it is a portal to life.
Pseudo-history ...
... and its perils: Can't See the Wood for the Factoids.
Thanks to a long-deceased governor - Gifford Pinchot, who was himself a forester - Pennsylvania's state forests are among the best managed on the planet.
Thanks to a long-deceased governor - Gifford Pinchot, who was himself a forester - Pennsylvania's state forests are among the best managed on the planet.
Nor mine ...
... The Books That Did Not Change My Life.
Off the top of my head I'd say that the book that has had the greatest influence in my life was Mother Goose. The rhymes caught my fancy immediately and the verbal sound effects I think is what led to my interest in poetry. Poe, of course, further encouraged this. Keats sealed it.
Wasting away ...
... On Being Thin.
As long as Bryan feels good, more power to him. I weigh more than I did 20 years ago - though not much more - but I've always thought it was not be a good idea to weigh the same as I did when I was a youth. I am also fascinated (appalled?) by those gaunt and harried-looking men my age trying desperately (or so it seems to me) to stay in competition with guys half their age. Bear in mind, my doctor tells me I'm quite healthy (perhaps I should worry about that). I can walk the 2.2 miles from here to The Inquirer in about 35 minutes and not be remotely out of breath. In the long run, though, I will be dead.
Quite possibly ...
... An Overlooked Literary Genius? (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
The art of storytelling is definitely underrated. It is, like the art of poetry, something one either has or doesn't. You can learn how to write verse, but poetry is a gift. So is storytelling.
The art of storytelling is definitely underrated. It is, like the art of poetry, something one either has or doesn't. You can learn how to write verse, but poetry is a gift. So is storytelling.
Down, Rover ...
... Taming the criticism beast. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
Thanks to Lee for the kind words and even kinder dedication.
Thanks to Lee for the kind words and even kinder dedication.
Today's Inquirer reviews ...
... I size up John Banville's latest Benjamin Black opus: Irish novelist returns to action mode.
Note: The following paragraph should be in italic - and was when I sent it in; it's a quote from the book:
... Randall Miller looks at The abandoned Catholics.
... Caroline Berson ponders Warrier Girls: For their sports, women play hard but hurt harderTrying to be a good man, facing penance again.
Note: The following paragraph should be in italic - and was when I sent it in; it's a quote from the book:
His reports on Northern Ireland during the Troubles, on the massacre in Tiananmen Square, on the Rwandan genocide, on the intifada, on the bloody afternoon in Srebrenica, not so much reports as extended and passionate jeremiads - there would be no more of them. Something had ceased in him, a light had been extinguished, he did not know why.
... Randall Miller looks at The abandoned Catholics.
... Caroline Berson ponders Warrier Girls: For their sports, women play hard but hurt harderTrying to be a good man, facing penance again.
I love dinosaurs,
and I love this guy's web comic. The pictures are always exactly the same. Genius.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Uh-oh ...
... we forgot this: ‘Middlemarch’ and ‘Karamazov’ - together at last!
Now there would be a couple: Mary Ann Evans and Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
Now there would be a couple: Mary Ann Evans and Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
PostSecret,
the website that posts pictures of postcards people have sent to Frank Warren, the site's creator, revealing their "secrets" (without revealing their identities) has been turned into a book and a tour and a whole big deal. They just announced new tour dates. I've heard of kids pranking this thing and I have to wonder how many of the secrets are fakes.
And
I also just downloaded the new Nine Inch Nails album for free from the band's website. It too has been released into the world under a Creative Commons license (this one). Thank you, Internet! Thank you, Trent!
Whoa,
this looks interesting. There is a festival of online performances called UpStage taking place on August 8-9. I haven't heard of this before but according to the website UpStage is an open source server application that allows you to watch and interact with other people's performances live on a web page, without downloading any special software (you just need a Flash player plug-in or whatever). You can also download the program for free and use it to make your own art pieces, though I don't know what creating said pieces actually means in practical terms; I'll have to try it myself and see. I like this too because it's licensed under a Creative Commons copyright! Fight the power!
Oops ...
... Kafkaesque story morphs badly.
I don't know who derekcatermole is, but as someone who has edited Ed Champion, let me say that Ed's prose is never turgid, reviews are expected to have a point of view (which does not make them tendentious), and where the hell is the pomposity?
I don't know who derekcatermole is, but as someone who has edited Ed Champion, let me say that Ed's prose is never turgid, reviews are expected to have a point of view (which does not make them tendentious), and where the hell is the pomposity?
Oh neat,
I just discovered what must be a newish feature on LibraryThing, the site that lets you catalog your book collection. Each day it lists the births and deaths of literary figures throughout history for that day. On this date in 1922, apparently, Alexander Graham Bell died, a fact the site included because he wrote a few books on speech and telephony. Hm.
An afterthought ...
... It occurs to me that am posting everything for Saturday on Friday night, because I will be otherwise occupied on Saturday. So if I seem unresponsive to email Saturday, that will be the reason.
So that's what Gregor was up to ...
... Franz Kafka’s porn brought out of the closet. (Hat tip, Judith Fitzgerald.)
Friday, August 01, 2008
And why not ...
... A Poetic Celebration of Horses.
I'm a big horse fan. In fact, many years ago, I did the racing charts at The Inquirer. Then my career began to spiral downward.
Good to know ...
... Mahler triumphant.
I fell in love with Mahler's music one afternoon when the fifth symphony was played on the radio. I guess I was maybe 17. At the time I believe there was only one complete set of the symphonies on record. Most of the recordings were of the third, fourth, second and ninth. Mine was thought at the time to be an odd enthusiasm. All that started to change in 1964, Mahler's centenary year.
This week's batch ...
... of TLS Letters, including a rousing defense of V.S. Naipaul (toward the bottom).
Talking fish
I'm very interested in theories of human language evolution. Here's a—uh—new one I just read about on LiveScience.com via the Utne Reader's blog: People learned to talk from talking fish. I'm oversimplifying in a silly way of course. It's more like this: Researchers at Cornell are now saying that (to quote the LiveScience article): "the chirp of a bird, the bark of a dog and all the other sounds that come out of animals' mouths are the products of the neural circuitry likely laid down hundreds of millions of years ago with the hums and grunts of fish."
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