Wow. Can I just take a moment to say wow? Beckett does it again with Mercier and Camier. I've read a dozen of Beckett's works; I've been reading him since high school, but this is the first novel I've read that he had written. Honestly, this book is pretty much a shittier version of Waiting for Godot, but still good. Which doesn't really help my case, because I just finished criticizing Chekov and Pessoa, and here I am defending a piece I probably shouldn't. There are some technical errors I'd point out if I didn't totally love Beckett. So I'm biased. Sue me.
Mercier and Camier's travel results in no change: that's the point of the story. From beginning to finish, the two staccato characters encounter everything from bars to crossroads, meeting interesting characters along the way. However, though different events happened, there was absolutely no change in the lives of the characters or the way they continued to operate after the story ended. Beckett stays with this theme throughout his career, and it's directly a reflection on the way the world operates in his eyes.
Based on the way Beckett writes, I'd have to say he's one hell of a pessimist. Life's just a big pointless mess, with so many events occurring but to no end. He's a total existentialist, practically the poster boy for that movement. Mercier and Camier totally expresses that point, at one point a woman is bleeding and writhing, and one of them says something along the lines of "Hmm, what's to be done about this?" and the other says "Ah, yes, I think there is a lesson to be learned from this. A lesson." and then they move on. So hilarious.
They meet Watt at the end, a strapping man of high stature. After a short conversation, he loses it. Breaks the cane over the table, throws it into the liquor shelves and screams "Fuck life!" Obviously Beckett was giving us a character who represented the ideal, but was shallowly repressing his hatred for life's cruel virtues, and when it finally broke out, Mercier and Camier saw it. You know, Mercier and Camier are our eyes in the sky, our unbiased, unchangeable characters who represent neutrality. It's really the shit going on around them that Beckett's point lies. Some say Beckett never has a point, but that's total bullshit. Everyone has a point.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Criticism of Uncle Vanya and Book of Disquiet
I wanted to write this entry because all things considered, I simply could not write two pages on Uncle Vanya and Book of Disquiet individually. This post is less a criticism of the two works and more of an explanation of why I couldn't write two pages about them. We'll start with Uncle Vanya.
Don't get me wrong. Chekov's great, but reading Uncle Vanya was like reading a cook book filled with the names of vegetables I've never heard of and trying to go grocery shopping with it. There were so many characters with so few identifiable traits that I often got them confused for one another, and couldn't keep up with their long Russian names. The reason I couldn't identify them separately was largely for the fact that the plot of the play was basically a soap opera, and no character performed any memorable actions that moved the action of the play.
I want to identify specifically what I mean- it's not that the characters in the story weren't unidentifiable, they all were decidedly different, it's just the fact the story is moved by conversation and not by action that put me off. I mean, they're all in the same setting, discussing their lives and what have you, but all the information I'm getting in this play comes directly from the mouths of the characters, and I never see it happening. It was the lack of behavior, not the lack of presence that made it hard for me to keep up with this piece.
Don't even get my started on Book of Disquiet, though. I hated this book. I'm often known for my quick criticism of other work, but never without a well thought-out and reasonable excuse- in Book of Disquiet's case, I know exactly why it doesn't appeal to me, and this journal is here so I can spell it out for you.
I'd actually rather start in Book of Disquiet's defense rather than the opposite. I'm a well read guy, and so when I say I don't like this book, it's solely based on the fact that I've read books that attempt the same thing this guy does, only better. Let me explain what I mean by that. Pessoa really does change the game with his aphoristic structure- whatever. But this book is largely a poetic prose reflection on his philosophy on life. And that's the point I'd like to emphasize- his philosophy on life.
How many other writers have written from their experience? I'd say nearly all of them, and most writers write- hell, most artists "art" in order to explain something through a medium that more specifically expresses the complex ideas that are bouncing around in their heads. But Pessoa's philosophy is contrived and unoriginal- it's the same thing I've heard a dozen times over and sure, he uses birds and flowers to describe it, maybe ends a large string of poetic language on a good stop- I get it. But I just can't be impressed when the philosophy he talks about, to me, seems so basic. How to look at the finer details in life. How to be optimistic in a pessimistic world.
I much prefer Salinger, who writes philosophical narrative to great affect in Franny and Zooey, though Salinger and Pessoa's style are vastly different. I'll give him that, I loved the aphorisms, but the fact that every god damn chapter is the same shit one after the other made me want to throw the book away. I just couldn't identify one aphorism for another half the time and honestly, I skimmed the shit out of this book. Sorry, Erin. That's just the way that it is.
Don't get me wrong. Chekov's great, but reading Uncle Vanya was like reading a cook book filled with the names of vegetables I've never heard of and trying to go grocery shopping with it. There were so many characters with so few identifiable traits that I often got them confused for one another, and couldn't keep up with their long Russian names. The reason I couldn't identify them separately was largely for the fact that the plot of the play was basically a soap opera, and no character performed any memorable actions that moved the action of the play.
I want to identify specifically what I mean- it's not that the characters in the story weren't unidentifiable, they all were decidedly different, it's just the fact the story is moved by conversation and not by action that put me off. I mean, they're all in the same setting, discussing their lives and what have you, but all the information I'm getting in this play comes directly from the mouths of the characters, and I never see it happening. It was the lack of behavior, not the lack of presence that made it hard for me to keep up with this piece.
Don't even get my started on Book of Disquiet, though. I hated this book. I'm often known for my quick criticism of other work, but never without a well thought-out and reasonable excuse- in Book of Disquiet's case, I know exactly why it doesn't appeal to me, and this journal is here so I can spell it out for you.
I'd actually rather start in Book of Disquiet's defense rather than the opposite. I'm a well read guy, and so when I say I don't like this book, it's solely based on the fact that I've read books that attempt the same thing this guy does, only better. Let me explain what I mean by that. Pessoa really does change the game with his aphoristic structure- whatever. But this book is largely a poetic prose reflection on his philosophy on life. And that's the point I'd like to emphasize- his philosophy on life.
How many other writers have written from their experience? I'd say nearly all of them, and most writers write- hell, most artists "art" in order to explain something through a medium that more specifically expresses the complex ideas that are bouncing around in their heads. But Pessoa's philosophy is contrived and unoriginal- it's the same thing I've heard a dozen times over and sure, he uses birds and flowers to describe it, maybe ends a large string of poetic language on a good stop- I get it. But I just can't be impressed when the philosophy he talks about, to me, seems so basic. How to look at the finer details in life. How to be optimistic in a pessimistic world.
I much prefer Salinger, who writes philosophical narrative to great affect in Franny and Zooey, though Salinger and Pessoa's style are vastly different. I'll give him that, I loved the aphorisms, but the fact that every god damn chapter is the same shit one after the other made me want to throw the book away. I just couldn't identify one aphorism for another half the time and honestly, I skimmed the shit out of this book. Sorry, Erin. That's just the way that it is.
Lady with a Little Dog
I read this piece in my literature class with Lunberry last semester. I always wonder how basic literature becomes so popular. I mean Lady and the Little Dog in a literature class, really? I just didn't find anything about this story so outstanding that one should read it outside of its collection, let alone study it. A chauvinist meets a soft-hearted woman and their hearts are intertwined. It doesn't work out, and when he stalks her back to her home country, they are disheartened at the fact that their love shall never be.
Let's break it down. The opening scenes introduce Gurov, this totally douchey guy who watches the Lady with the Little Dog in the park until he decides to make a move. They date for a little while, and of course, we have to mention the scene with the watermelon- Lunberry's favorite. After the girl pours her heart out, Gurov totally ignores her and cuts a melon for thirty minutes. So existential. So Beckett.
I guess I don't really even have anything to say about this piece, right? But I have to write at least two pages on it! Which is something I don't get. Why two pages for a journal entry, but four pages for a midterm essay? That doesn't add up! Every time I take Lunberry I think to myself, one page for a journal entry. That just makes sense. That just makes sense! One page for a journal entry. That's it.
That rant ties into Lady with the Little dog because like the absurdity of writing two pages for a journal entry, Gurov soon discovers the absurdity of love when they confess their love for each other, but cannot ever be. The story ends with an active passion: that the two lovers should be together, but ends with them both not taking any action toward that end. Again, very Beckett- like Waiting for Godot, when Vladamir and Estragon agree to leave their plight forever and chase their dreams, they still remain standing on the stage. This story is very Beckett. I like it.
Which brings me back to my original comment. It's not that I don't like this story. I do. I just don't think it's as good as everyone hypes it up to be. Like Lil Wayne, in my humble opinion. Yeah. This story is like Lil Wayne.
Let's break it down. The opening scenes introduce Gurov, this totally douchey guy who watches the Lady with the Little Dog in the park until he decides to make a move. They date for a little while, and of course, we have to mention the scene with the watermelon- Lunberry's favorite. After the girl pours her heart out, Gurov totally ignores her and cuts a melon for thirty minutes. So existential. So Beckett.
I guess I don't really even have anything to say about this piece, right? But I have to write at least two pages on it! Which is something I don't get. Why two pages for a journal entry, but four pages for a midterm essay? That doesn't add up! Every time I take Lunberry I think to myself, one page for a journal entry. That just makes sense. That just makes sense! One page for a journal entry. That's it.
That rant ties into Lady with the Little dog because like the absurdity of writing two pages for a journal entry, Gurov soon discovers the absurdity of love when they confess their love for each other, but cannot ever be. The story ends with an active passion: that the two lovers should be together, but ends with them both not taking any action toward that end. Again, very Beckett- like Waiting for Godot, when Vladamir and Estragon agree to leave their plight forever and chase their dreams, they still remain standing on the stage. This story is very Beckett. I like it.
Which brings me back to my original comment. It's not that I don't like this story. I do. I just don't think it's as good as everyone hypes it up to be. Like Lil Wayne, in my humble opinion. Yeah. This story is like Lil Wayne.
The Underground Man
Can we take a minute just to discuss how well The Underground Man works as a dark comedy? This novel was hilarious! The story begins with our nameless narrator's monologue, where he explains his acute understanding of the universe; how focused and clear his insight is of the world around him, and how innately angry he is at life for being anything but perfect. Two plus two equals five! Five! His rant was hilarious from start to finish- so over-the-top and ridiculous I couldn't help but laugh. He hyperbolizes such minute trivialities that it turns a serious rant into a comedic piece.
When we get into the story of the winter, he visits old colleagues who despise him. They absolutely torture him, making fun of his lisp, ostracizing him from the party, and leaving him for whores. He fights for their attention by trying desperately to give a good toast (to Zverkov, who he has already told us is his arch enemy). He fails terribly. He finds himself pacing, sweating drunk for two hours while they talk and revel in their brotherhood.
Finally, he ends up getting into a long conversation with a hooker he meets, who, to his lack of awareness, is sitting and patiently putting up with him while he speaks for two complete pages. Is there any more of an epic fail of someone who pays for sex, and then still can't perform? The narrator is such a pitiable character!
Which brings me to my next point. He is not tragic, according to Aristotle, because for him, the tragic character is both pitiable and fearful. I am not afraid of the Underground Man, unless he were to ever one day snap and go on a killing spree. For the time being, Underground Man seems to be pacified enough to be safe.
Either way, I love this character, and this was my favorite piece we read all year. I identified with him as being pitiable, and felt very sorry for him. Like a sad puppy. I just wanted to give him a hug, like Lunberry said. This was a great book and a fun read. Loved it.
When we get into the story of the winter, he visits old colleagues who despise him. They absolutely torture him, making fun of his lisp, ostracizing him from the party, and leaving him for whores. He fights for their attention by trying desperately to give a good toast (to Zverkov, who he has already told us is his arch enemy). He fails terribly. He finds himself pacing, sweating drunk for two hours while they talk and revel in their brotherhood.
Finally, he ends up getting into a long conversation with a hooker he meets, who, to his lack of awareness, is sitting and patiently putting up with him while he speaks for two complete pages. Is there any more of an epic fail of someone who pays for sex, and then still can't perform? The narrator is such a pitiable character!
Which brings me to my next point. He is not tragic, according to Aristotle, because for him, the tragic character is both pitiable and fearful. I am not afraid of the Underground Man, unless he were to ever one day snap and go on a killing spree. For the time being, Underground Man seems to be pacified enough to be safe.
Either way, I love this character, and this was my favorite piece we read all year. I identified with him as being pitiable, and felt very sorry for him. Like a sad puppy. I just wanted to give him a hug, like Lunberry said. This was a great book and a fun read. Loved it.
Madame Bovary as Tragic Anti-Hero
In the literary world, tragic heroes are known to be ambitious individuals who, by some tragic flaw, find themselves meeting a tragic end. Tragic heroes have been around since the ancient Greeks, and have been developed throughout Shakespeare and writers today. The tragic hero is a popular archetype for the ambitious writer to choose, and often gets good reviews by an audience if the character is written well.
I want to propose a new archetype in order to better understand the nature of Madame Bovary's character. Upon my first sketches of this journal, I wanted to write on Bovary as a tragic hero, but I quickly realized that she has no heroic qualities whatsoever! I found myself at a loss in finding an appropriate title for this character.
In my Critical Reading class with Donovan, we defined anti-hero as being a person with heroic ambition, but unlike the hero, directs that ambition toward their own benefit, rather than the benefit of others. I think this definition fits snugly on the character Bovary, who has almost no desire to appease the people around her. Even her daughter, she writes off and treats with complete disregard.
In fact, I find it necessary to take a whole paragraph to discuss Bovary's blatant self interest. From the beginning, she wants only to leave the city in which she lives, burdening Charles and placing guilt on him until she gets what she wants. Arriving in the new city, she is then confronted with Leon, a strapping young bachelor in his late twenties, early thirties. After Charles has so graciously treated his wife to a new home, almost without a second thought, cheats on him with Leon, if not for anything but the sexual benefits. Charles is far from poverty, and in fact has more financial benefits and esteem than Leon, but the taste of new fruit is too tempting for Bovary, and she ends up riding the beast with two backs anyway.
There is no end to the evidence of Bovary as an anti hero. The argument that she is a tragic anti hero comes from her flaw of insatiability. It is because her lack of satisfaction that Bovary is driven to total madness in the face of the ennui in her life. Never being satisfied, she swallows the arsenic, putting herself to a quick end. For this reason, I think she's a tragic anti hero, if that's even a thing.
It is now.
I want to propose a new archetype in order to better understand the nature of Madame Bovary's character. Upon my first sketches of this journal, I wanted to write on Bovary as a tragic hero, but I quickly realized that she has no heroic qualities whatsoever! I found myself at a loss in finding an appropriate title for this character.
In my Critical Reading class with Donovan, we defined anti-hero as being a person with heroic ambition, but unlike the hero, directs that ambition toward their own benefit, rather than the benefit of others. I think this definition fits snugly on the character Bovary, who has almost no desire to appease the people around her. Even her daughter, she writes off and treats with complete disregard.
In fact, I find it necessary to take a whole paragraph to discuss Bovary's blatant self interest. From the beginning, she wants only to leave the city in which she lives, burdening Charles and placing guilt on him until she gets what she wants. Arriving in the new city, she is then confronted with Leon, a strapping young bachelor in his late twenties, early thirties. After Charles has so graciously treated his wife to a new home, almost without a second thought, cheats on him with Leon, if not for anything but the sexual benefits. Charles is far from poverty, and in fact has more financial benefits and esteem than Leon, but the taste of new fruit is too tempting for Bovary, and she ends up riding the beast with two backs anyway.
There is no end to the evidence of Bovary as an anti hero. The argument that she is a tragic anti hero comes from her flaw of insatiability. It is because her lack of satisfaction that Bovary is driven to total madness in the face of the ennui in her life. Never being satisfied, she swallows the arsenic, putting herself to a quick end. For this reason, I think she's a tragic anti hero, if that's even a thing.
It is now.
Flowers of Evil
In Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil, Baudelaire writes poetry and short poetic prose about hookers, opium, ennui, and suffering. All great subjects. I personally did "You'd Entertain the Universe" as my recitation for this class.
My only way of looking at Baudelaire is with an analytic eye. Being a writer, I am quick to jump on any literary work and give it my two cents and in this case, Baudelaire gets the world-envious Tyler Norris Stamp of Approval.
I've never entertained the idea of reading Victorian or classical poetry (or writing in general, unless it's Wilde, who I think supersedes his time with a strikingly post modern perspective on the world. Post Victorian? I digress). Knowing the cannon of classical poetry, I was already prepared for "O"s, flowery diction and melodramatic themes. With all this included, Baudelaire is a pleasure to read. I enjoyed many of his poetic works.
"The Love of Illusion" was one of my personal favorites. In fact, I loved it so much I wrote on it for my midterm essay for Mauro. I held Baudelaire up to Becker and compared his poem's similarity to the description of the Freudian Romantic Solution, to great effect. I got a B+ on my essay!
I also enjoyed the one about the hooker- oh wait, that was all of them.
Anyway, Baudelaire gets a pass. I never prefer a classical style of writing but I think Baudelaire, for all intents and purposes keeps it interesting and fun to read.
My only way of looking at Baudelaire is with an analytic eye. Being a writer, I am quick to jump on any literary work and give it my two cents and in this case, Baudelaire gets the world-envious Tyler Norris Stamp of Approval.
I've never entertained the idea of reading Victorian or classical poetry (or writing in general, unless it's Wilde, who I think supersedes his time with a strikingly post modern perspective on the world. Post Victorian? I digress). Knowing the cannon of classical poetry, I was already prepared for "O"s, flowery diction and melodramatic themes. With all this included, Baudelaire is a pleasure to read. I enjoyed many of his poetic works.
"The Love of Illusion" was one of my personal favorites. In fact, I loved it so much I wrote on it for my midterm essay for Mauro. I held Baudelaire up to Becker and compared his poem's similarity to the description of the Freudian Romantic Solution, to great effect. I got a B+ on my essay!
I also enjoyed the one about the hooker- oh wait, that was all of them.
Anyway, Baudelaire gets a pass. I never prefer a classical style of writing but I think Baudelaire, for all intents and purposes keeps it interesting and fun to read.
Madame Bovary
In Madame Bovary, Bovary is a young girl looking for love and the cure for her everlasting boredom. The story begins with her relationship with charles, whom she marries, and shortly follows with them moving to Yonville. There, she meets Leon, a strapping young man with whome she begins having an affair. The story ends with Emma Bovary falling deeply into debt and tragically poisoning herself with Arsenic.
I did my close reading on the second part of the book. Flaubert uses clothing to characterize the characters he introduces in the second part of the book, namely Binet and Leon. Binet is described as wearing "a blue frock coat that hung straight down all around his thin body... a black wool vest, a horse hair collar, gray trousers, and, in all seasons, highly polished boots with two parallel bulges." I also noted that he respectfully puts his hat on the rack before entering the room.
For me, his neat clothes and gray trousers make him particularly boring, which is how he is described in the book. On the other hand, Leon comes in and leaves his hat on, putting himself in a position of power. There is also a short monologue by the pharmacist about his belief in God after being accused of having no religion. I particularly enjoyed it because of his mention of Socrates, my favorite philosopher, and Voltaire, whom I have studied (though not necessarily enjoyed).
I also noted the Freudian symbol, "Gazing from her bed at the bright fire that was burning, she once again saw Leon standing, as she had seen him out there, flexing his cane with one hand and with the other holding Athalie, who was sucking peacefully on a bit of ice." This is the scene where Leon is discovered being in love with Emma, and I could read that as nothing other than being sexual.
There is also another instance with a singing homeless man, who sings songs that spell out prophecy, and inevitably, Bovary's demise. Prophets have been used in storytelling since the invention of theater in ancient Greece. Tireseas is the original seer, soothsayer and fortune teller of the literary world. Here, the homeless, toothless man with his eyes gauged out reminds me of Oedipus the king. It is even possible that Flaubert wrote this with the intent to make that allusion.
I did my close reading on the second part of the book. Flaubert uses clothing to characterize the characters he introduces in the second part of the book, namely Binet and Leon. Binet is described as wearing "a blue frock coat that hung straight down all around his thin body... a black wool vest, a horse hair collar, gray trousers, and, in all seasons, highly polished boots with two parallel bulges." I also noted that he respectfully puts his hat on the rack before entering the room.
For me, his neat clothes and gray trousers make him particularly boring, which is how he is described in the book. On the other hand, Leon comes in and leaves his hat on, putting himself in a position of power. There is also a short monologue by the pharmacist about his belief in God after being accused of having no religion. I particularly enjoyed it because of his mention of Socrates, my favorite philosopher, and Voltaire, whom I have studied (though not necessarily enjoyed).
I also noted the Freudian symbol, "Gazing from her bed at the bright fire that was burning, she once again saw Leon standing, as she had seen him out there, flexing his cane with one hand and with the other holding Athalie, who was sucking peacefully on a bit of ice." This is the scene where Leon is discovered being in love with Emma, and I could read that as nothing other than being sexual.
There is also another instance with a singing homeless man, who sings songs that spell out prophecy, and inevitably, Bovary's demise. Prophets have been used in storytelling since the invention of theater in ancient Greece. Tireseas is the original seer, soothsayer and fortune teller of the literary world. Here, the homeless, toothless man with his eyes gauged out reminds me of Oedipus the king. It is even possible that Flaubert wrote this with the intent to make that allusion.
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