Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts

Monday, July 15, 2013

Of Mankell, and Hamlet, too

Picture from Mankell's WEB site.

Henning Mankell, an optimist even after 4 past marriages and 40 published books (first in 1973) of which only a quarter involve Wallander:

"...Too few writers accept they have a moral responsibility to take a stand".

The Guardian reports in an article called Henning Mankell: 'I shall not miss Wallander'.

I've always thought that every writer takes a stand, since, supposedly, the books are not published by accident, but, rather, by purpose. At least from a point of view of this, an eternally blue-eyed, reader.
Olivier as Hamlet in 1948

A problem may be how to make that 'stand' palatable to readers and not boring like the 'stand' most often is. But then, perhaps Mankell really means that the writers have a moral responsibility to take a stand similar to his. Looking at the Nobel winning writers, it may be that the Nobel judges have the similar stand to Mankell's. Which is Ok with me.

By the by, I don't read much crime at all and have only read a few of Mankell's books, although have watched with intense interest both the Swedish-made Wallander-films and the ones made with Kenneth Branagh. I liked the Swedish ones better. Branagh's version of Wallander was too angsty, Shakespearean sort of way, which, obviously, is no wonder at all. Branagh's Hamlet is probably as good a Hamlet as they have ever been. Recently I watched Olivier's (1948), Branagh's (1996) and David Tennant's (2009) versions back to back in one day. All are splendid adaptations and well worth watching.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Twain and a Mysterious Stranger

http://www.classicreader.com/book/1370/9/
Let's recall an angel, called Satan, from the pages of Mark Twain's posthumous (1916) story from 1590, the 'Austrian Middle Ages' as Twain calls the storytime, The Mysterious Stranger, Being an Ancient Tale Found in a Jug, and Freely Translated from the Jug, (Chapter 9) to tell us about just wars:

"...and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers...but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation...will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception..."

One would, perhaps, be forgiven to think that in certain types of thing, the times have not really been a-changin' that much at all.


Saturday, February 25, 2012

Anna Karenina and Other Hairy Tales

Picture:Penguin Classics Deluxe Editions

Anna Karenina is a book best gobbled when one is bound by one’s pubertal angst. It is more painful to swallow once one has tasted real life in great quantity. Funny that a writer like Leo Tolstoy got it so right for both.

Of course, it’s not the only such novel: think of Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe (for youths it’s an adventure, for adults a metaphor for the British Empire), or almost any of the Jane Austen’s novels (for youths the life’s passion is in the initial burning kisses, adults know that the real life starts only after).

If you havn't read Anna Karenina yet, here is a chance to do it on line. And check, if the most famous clichéd quote from high literature really goes:
"All happy families resemble one another; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way..."
Of course, the translators always insert their marks in the original text, after all translators are really interpretors on behalf of those who don't read in many tongues.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Dreams and Angsts

Picture: Umberto Eco as seen by John Macdougall's camera in Chigaco Tribune on 14.11.2011
"Because now I am excruciatingly aware, each time I pick up a book, of all the books I am shunning in order to focus on the one in my hand."
The above quote is from an article, Umberto Eco and the guilty pleasure of re-reading, by a cultural critic Julia Keller in Chigaco Tribune on November 9, 2011.

The older one becomes the more angsty urgency there is to read those books that should have been read a long time ago but never were for reasons of laziness, inattention, carelessness, active avoidance and other human failings. We all have only this finite time. As always: When one turns to embrace somebody, one's back is turned to all others.

I may have mentioned this already, Dear Reader, but my dream has been for a long time to read Dostoyevsky in Russian. I’ve even started learning Russian, several times in fact, just that particular dream in mind. Variations of the dream include Pushkin, Turgenev or Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina but funnily enough not his War and Peace.

I mention this in passing here because an angsty urgency has hit again and out comes the Russian learning material. Ludmila, a second-hand book dealer in the Saturdays’ book market in Melbourne’s Ian Potter Museum of Art-building, one of the post-modern buildings in an important Melburnian landmark, the Federation Square complex, has already got a request to look for a new Russian text for a desperate beginner.

Saturday, January 07, 2012

The Artist of Disappearance

The reading year 2012 has started. The first finished novel (actually a collection of three beautiful novellas) is by Anita Desai called The Artist of Disappearance.

Book's three novellas fit in 156 pages (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) and share some big themes like problems of modernisation of society, solitude, social alienation, nature of art, role of artists and such things somewhat familiar from her previous books.

Friday, January 06, 2012

Whitman, Shakespeare and Company

Picture by Hanhensulka

The picture is of Walt Whitman and is located on a wall next to the Shakespeare and Company bookshop in St. Michel on the left bank of Seine opposite Notre Dame in Paris, France. The previous owner, an American called George Whitman, died in December 2011 in Paris at 98. The text (translated into French by León Bazalgette about hundred years ago) is from from Walt Whitman's poem 'To A STRANGER' from his life's work "Leaves of Grass":
"Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you..."
The Shakespeare and Company is presently owned by George's daughter, Sylvia Whitman. Neither she nor George is related to Walt the Poet.

Thursday, January 05, 2012

Tilda has no errors, or does she?

Aargh! Apparently there is an error in this, if one can call it like that. The photo is linked to the image sharer site imgur.

The picture depicts Tilda Swinton as 'Orlando' in film by the same name, which is based on Virginia Woolf's book Orlando: A Biography. The book tells a tale of a woman (or a man) who exists through space and time starting in the Elizabethan England.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A Twenties Memory

Not my memory, mind you. But a short story by Woody Allen, "A Twenties Memory" in his 1971 book "Getting Even", turns into "Midnight in Paris" in mere 40 years.

The "Midnight", his best picture for quite a while, might still rescue Allen's battered reputation from the gutters. I loved it.

The linked article, "Woody Allen's First Stab at 'Midnight in Paris': A 1971 Short Story", is from The Odds by Steve Pond.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

An Education

Sarah Thornton, the author wronged

Lynn Barber said in June 2009 about ‘An Education’ that tells of her fling with an older man when she was 16:
“Oh, it's a bad moment and it's going to be bad whatever happens”.
Not bad enough, apparently. Recently she wrote in The Telegraph:
Sarah Thornton is a decorative Canadian with a BA in art history and a PhD in sociology and a seemingly limitless capacity to write pompous nonsense”.
Sarah didn’t like that much and The Telegraph was condemned to pay £65,000 damages to the photogenic author of Seven Days in the Art World.

The Judge sentencing The Telegraph to pay said:
"a reviewer is entitled to be spiteful as long as she is honest"
The difference between honest and not-honest in this case seems to be that Barber forgot the fact that Thornton had interviewed her and said so in her review.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Criticism of criticism

D.H. Lawrence in his essay about John Galsworthy (February 1927):

"Literary criticism can be no more than a reasoned account of the feeling produced upon the critic...The touchstone is emotion, not reason...All the critical twiddle-twaddle about style and form...is mere impertinence and mostly dull jargon..."

Autch!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Incendies


Saw an intense movie called Incendies by Canadian scriptwriter/director Denis Villeneuve based on Lebanese-born Wajdi Mouawad's play Scorched.

This is one of those movies where it is obligatory that whoever writes about it does not reveal too much of the content.

Briefly, the film is about a woman’s fate in a war-torn country called Fuad (Lebanon) where Christians and Muslims kill each other in a tit for tat cycle of violence. The woman, Nawal Marwan (portrayed by Belgian Lubna Azabal), is Christian, persecuted by the Muslims, who goes through an ordeal, moves to Canada and dies. With her last will, she surprises her teenage twins, sister and brother, and sends them on a mission to Fuad in search for their father and brother.

Due to minor problems of some dates of things within the narrative (perhaps those could've been clarified either by dialogue or texts), the movie-goer will have to be extremely vigilant from the very beginning till the end, and perhaps an appearance of some of the characters is a bit confusing at the end, which tries the watcher's 'willing suspense of disbelieve' close to the limit, this is really a great, enjoyable movie that holds its grip throughout. Highly recommended.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Lord of the Rings fans

Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of Bad Dress-Sense and Cure for Insomniacs

Entirely without proof and purely through the unkindness of heart, I suspect there are two kinds of Lord of the Rings fans: those who only fall asleep while reading the books and those who also do it while watching the movies.

I tend to fall towards the latter with considerable fervour. Although, although...

Something somewhere inside my weather-toughened torso sometimes kindles and glows tenderly and makes me love the sagas nonetheless.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Of Printed and Internet Information

Picture from Wikipedia: François Rabelais (c. 1494 – April 9, 1553) a French satirist

I find the New eWorld of ‘enformation’ exiting, promising and half-full of rubbish, but, then, so is the 'old world', too. Think of the old encyclopaedias, as useful as nun’s – well, be that as it may, but one’d rather dig rubbish in seconds from internet than in hours or days from obsolete printed sources.

And what splendid rubbish there is to excavate from internet (or one could even say ‘unearth’ since the New eWorld information certainly is not any more of earthly appearance): rubbish with almost live and equally rubbish commentary – some of it my own – and some nuggets of gold like whispers, vissible but hidden, to be prospected out with the help of prior knowledge or, lacking that, by pure intuition or plain guesswork.

The information on internet is as democratic as it possibly will ever be, with viewpoints of many rather than just some one old fart, what’s-his-face, that sage, who probably died eons ago (or before I was borne, anyway) and was, to some extent, as ignorant as a schoolkid without internet would be today – if such an oddity would still exist – and was buried with his own, real, now unknown, prejudices, preconceptions and one-sidedness, and wisdom, even sageness, too, admittedly, but that we can easily ignore since we and not he are still well and breathing.

'All the world's wisdom’, fully augmented by the 'Wisdom of Crowds', is just there, under your fingertips, available in seconds or even milliseconds, without ever going to library, to one’s bookshelves or without picking up a newspaper with that peculiar whiff of promise, paper and ink. Insta-knowledge. Available without reading for a long, satisfying time fully expecting to concentrate on something satisfyingly demanding, on a flickering surface without feeling of the dry, gentle touch of the bearable weightiness of being, well, civilisation really. All that has become secondary to requirement due to old media's slow and cumbersome nature that flouts the need for instant gratification but still signals an alluring invitation.

The real and savvy media guys probably think that the notion of 'wisdom of crowds' is true. The truest and most telling form of that wisdom is surely the internet and the more focused form still, and, one could say, the actual living proof, is, of course, the Wikipedia, without which nobody with an internet connection can live any more. The (very old) cliché of 'what did we do before' is epitomised in Wikipedia (through the wisdom of crowds).

Abundance of available information may feel like a problem.

But think of all the factual and fictional books, essays, reports, studies, theses, notes, rules, regulations, laws and directives that you have never read, intended or wanted to read or have never known of not-having read, because they are not, never have been and would never be available to you. With internet – assuming all that is available is put on it – you have a manyfold chance to find it (whatever this ‘it’ were), far better than you ever had with just the printed media or, even more transiently, with radio or TV, where the information, once transmitted, was lost forever, doing speed of light towards other Worlds forever undiscovered and firmly lost somewhere among the stars, where it will benefit no one and will forever be not-seen and not-heard again, ever.

Unless it was recorded on another medium, which probably would be obsolete in a few years' time and then forgotten, or perhaps forgotten even before its obsoleteness.

I read somewhere that 90 % of recorded material is never listened to or watched after recording (this information was from somewhere in Internet, so it may or may not be accurate with an acceptable tolerance or at all). Although, being lost in space may be a more glorious and favourable end for a source of information than being burned, pulped, rotted, eaten or soiled otherwise as happens to printed information, and, to large extent or even mostly, before it was ever used by those whom it reached or was destined to.

So, all in all, I think it is a good thing, this new medium of information, or perhaps a mastodon-size thing, or a sperm whale of things, or a colossus of things. Or even, Heaven help us, a Gargantua of things.

And it may be prudent to remember well the kind of appetite Gargantua had and his creation, too, the Abbey of Thélème, and the Abbey's motto : Fay ce que vouldras (‘Do what thou wilt’). And remember also that there was a Gargantua v. 2.0, his son, Pantagruel. And in the Abbey of Thélème life was grand, like this:
"...
By this liberty they entered into a very laudable emulation to do all of them what they saw did please one. If any of the gallants or ladies should say, Let us drink, they would all drink. If any one of them said, Let us play, they all played. If one said, Let us go a-walking into the fields they went all. If it were to go a-hawking or a-hunting, the ladies mounted upon dainty well-paced nags, seated in a stately palfrey saddle, carried on their lovely fists, miniardly begloved every one of them, either a sparrowhawk or a laneret or a marlin, and the young gallants carried the other kinds of hawks. So nobly were they taught, that there was neither he nor she amongst them but could read, write, sing, play upon several musical instruments, speak five or six several languages, and compose in them all very quaintly, both in verse and prose. Never were seen so valiant knights, so noble and worthy, so dexterous and skilful both on foot and a-horse-back, more brisk and lively, more nimble and quick, or better handling all manner of weapons than were there. Never were seen ladies so proper and handsome, so miniard and dainty, less froward, or more ready with their hand and with their needle in every honest and free action belonging to that sex, than were there.
..."

Ah, does that not sound so familiar, like wisdom of crowds or perhaps even the Internet, isn't it. Grand life v.2.0 already in the 16th century! Or at least that's what was addressed to us all, the Humanity, by that old, long-dead and buried fart, a Frenchman of all things, François Rabelais, possibly a sage, whom almost all of us have already forgotten.

Let's, in the end and for the Glory of New eWorld, borrow a verse from the inscription on the gate to the Abbey of Thélème (or from Wikipedia, whatever):
"Grace, honour, praise, delight,
Here sojourn day and night.
Sound bodies lined
With a good mind,
Do here pursue with might
Grace, honour, praise, delight."



Written in this blog by a true Lover of Books