tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-277939322024-02-18T18:54:42.412-07:00Bibliophilia ObscuraUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-80262529631629652412022-11-30T10:24:00.000-07:002022-11-30T10:24:58.917-07:00The Greek Tyrants by A. Andrewes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2K3kDgSMkc28Np2yyC5IVVA-z1r8iVXJ4gTtG8GzYRB76x7nsIJ-iKb_rc4DV5OtZsMDEdlRcuUzJ7799GG05FWMJt9Xd2aWRYiRo-n6Lsh83Hr_ScbvCprYp78ZUocniDiqpr6w9s5l_mnDMTshPpsZvn72Kr8qWie0I-vuIDTNdUgE8Q/s278/tyrants.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2K3kDgSMkc28Np2yyC5IVVA-z1r8iVXJ4gTtG8GzYRB76x7nsIJ-iKb_rc4DV5OtZsMDEdlRcuUzJ7799GG05FWMJt9Xd2aWRYiRo-n6Lsh83Hr_ScbvCprYp78ZUocniDiqpr6w9s5l_mnDMTshPpsZvn72Kr8qWie0I-vuIDTNdUgE8Q/w130-h200/tyrants.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>I've had this Harper Torchbook edition for a ridiculously long time, and it's a book I've seen on my shelf and challenged myself to read many times, to no result. No biographical data on Mr. Andrewes is provided, but it's no surprise to find on Wikipedia that he was, as I imagined him, an Oxford classicist of the old school (the first edition of <b>The Greek Tyrants</b> was published in 1956).<p></p><p>Although short and incredibly dry, this volume packs a lot of information as to what was known about pre-classical political structures of ancient Greece, and particularly about the long transitional period from the "dark ages" from monarchy to aristocratic rule, and subsequently from tyranny (in the instances where it occurs) to democracy. Sources from this time are scarce, and it is the work of contemporary poets, such as Hesiod and Pindar, that supplement the (often questionable) writings concerning various tyrannies in later historians such as Herodotus. Although some archeological evidence is referenced, anecdotes and quasi-legendary stories make up a good deal of the "facts", such as this amusing story:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Something must also be said of the spectacular meeting about 570 which ended in the marriage of Cleisthenes' daughter Agariste to the Athenian Megacles, the son on Alcmeon. Herodotus tells us about this competition organized in the leisurely style of the epic. A formal invitation was proclaimed at Olympia after Cleisthenes' victory in the games, the illustrious suitors spent a year in various tests at his court, then on the last evening the dance of the Athenian Hippocleides grew wilder till at last he stood on his head and waggled his legs: Cleisthenes warned him that he had danced away his marriage, but he replied "Hippocleides doesn't care."</i></p></blockquote><p>Most other anecdotes are more brutal, such as the tyrant of a Greek colony in Sicily who was famous for roasting his enemies inside a large bronze bull, and battlefield atrocities are not uncommon. There is a good discussion of the Samian tyrant Polycrates, who was - depending upon who you asked - either a pirate or a shrewd operator who understood the value of sea power. He must have had charisma: Herodotus notes that "his friends were more pleased when he returned their goods than if he had never seized them in the first place."</p><p><span>Andrewes is not one to overpack his study with anecdotes however, and we read insightful analyses of the role of the growing middle class in providing hoplites to tyrants as a hedge against aristocratic overreach, the political status of the Sicilian colonies and the Greek enclaves along the coast of Asia Minor, the development of the unique Spartan system, and the growing shadow of the Persian Empire and its influence on Greece through support or dissatisfaction of various tyrants along the western seaboard. Andrewes begins the study with a long analysis of the etymology and meaning of the word "tyrant" (</span><i>tyrannos</i><span>) itself, noting that the term carried a variety of connotations in ancient writers: that tyranny in pre-classical Greece was necessarily considered bad should not be assumed. Much depends on the author and the context to which he is referring.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-81298838744673764632022-11-14T11:06:00.000-07:002022-11-14T11:06:42.202-07:00The Rings of Saturn by W. G. Sebald<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d-T-5QfjDAZ2lpAt20M4EgNYk67S12FaXq6Rzg6sDTwgBy507xrAG0rJ0h6sumuUy_UC8bvw_VfKl8INXYHK6S0UDrT9Py5iRFUJZJIAjsBFNyWwepGHrjYwRB5pH-8Hchx0__n6X4nE-SiqZn_4P-vD5o0XWXx42nD4rkMAcMS--qaGNg/s273/rings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="185" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_d-T-5QfjDAZ2lpAt20M4EgNYk67S12FaXq6Rzg6sDTwgBy507xrAG0rJ0h6sumuUy_UC8bvw_VfKl8INXYHK6S0UDrT9Py5iRFUJZJIAjsBFNyWwepGHrjYwRB5pH-8Hchx0__n6X4nE-SiqZn_4P-vD5o0XWXx42nD4rkMAcMS--qaGNg/w136-h200/rings.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>I'll keep this short, as W. G. Sebald is hardly "obscure", having been on the thinking person's radar ever since he was praised by Susan Sontag in a 2000 essay entitled (what else?) "On W. G. Sebald". I haven't taken the trouble to go back and reread Sontag's essay to see what she found so illuminating about his works, but I'm sure the praise was deserved. In reading <b>The Rings of Saturn</b> over a few nights, I came to appreciate the slow, discursive tone of this fiction, which describes a walker's memories and experiences whilst sauntering in the North (or German, per Sebald) Sea vicinity of Norwich, as well as the opposite shore of the Netherlands.<p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUar7UWmXJWU4mn0F9IKd9lEJmXY2Vrcgq-TFXY-35H6PdBY0DG-lvIhWTGJkB-M3Cn5HyqV-3jZykEPOHtPbM5rV50rZGn3A7PS64XY9rBzjZSCv53Aoq4fOBKDVcGaKp5__sZsaZk-cqKFF6lIx2UpMcrfSRhYgvKDzLpIpmR6HKS3Ayuw/s273/sebald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="185" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUar7UWmXJWU4mn0F9IKd9lEJmXY2Vrcgq-TFXY-35H6PdBY0DG-lvIhWTGJkB-M3Cn5HyqV-3jZykEPOHtPbM5rV50rZGn3A7PS64XY9rBzjZSCv53Aoq4fOBKDVcGaKp5__sZsaZk-cqKFF6lIx2UpMcrfSRhYgvKDzLpIpmR6HKS3Ayuw/w136-h200/sebald.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>Similarly to Borges, whom he openly admires, one can't vouch for the veracity of the facts as presented by the narrator; of course, there is a basis in reality, but one can't be sure where the narratives presented transition into fancy. Sebald discourses on a number of topics, beginning and ending with Sir Thomas Browne, with reflections on Rembrandt's "Anatomy Lesson", Edward FitzGerald, the silkworm moth, Joseph Conrad, Chateaubriand, China's Dowager Empress, and the isolated and eccentric personages he encounters in his rambles. What is most apparent is the stasis of many of those whom he encounters and the bleak landscapes which they occupy, or, in the instances of Conrad and Chateaubriand, an escape from stasis only to find the sorrows and ugliness of the world awaiting them. One comes to sense a deeper unity in the narrative, which at a glance seem to be a series of discrete essays on diverse topics; the whole is, of course, more complex than its parts. Towards the end, the author reveals the unifying element - "...our history, which is but a long account of calamities...".<p></p><p>With appropriate ambiguity, W. G. Sebald died in Norwich in 2001, of either a heart attack or an automobile accident.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-69222784887522292362020-10-23T09:37:00.004-07:002020-10-23T10:48:04.399-07:00The Mysteries of Paris by Eugene Sue<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCZl1cmntxek1MgPEAsbzm_M3oB0wrZuKPln_qWcXDckBfn63B-UoGHlo7XIo5IYYVLrgfskMbnMbwd575KKrTUvcdDn4Ctm1bkRKnlN0xol68QyuezVsF2uWT4MW-18HsCWt/s262/mp.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="193" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCZl1cmntxek1MgPEAsbzm_M3oB0wrZuKPln_qWcXDckBfn63B-UoGHlo7XIo5IYYVLrgfskMbnMbwd575KKrTUvcdDn4Ctm1bkRKnlN0xol68QyuezVsF2uWT4MW-18HsCWt/w159-h232/mp.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve had a copy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Mysteries of Paris</i>* on my shelf for decades, with the clear intention of
reading it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose the pandemic gave
me the opportunity to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had my
anonymously translated and undated 1,300 + page Walter J. Black edition for
long enough that it’s finally been superseded by a Penguin Classics translation
from 2015.** I read the beginning of both editions to help me decide which
version to go with (I’m sure as hell not going to read it twice), and
ultimately chose the older one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite
its having been thoroughly bowdlerized, with an inexact (if not simply
fanciful) translation, the 19<sup>th</sup> Century sensibility and underworld argot
seem more alive here than in the meticulously translated (and to me –
remarkably flat) Penguin edition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure,
some scenes have been omitted, but it’s pretty easy to tell from the context of
the narrative when a rape or some other such horror represented by lacunae has
occurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, I simply enjoyed the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">flavor</i> of the older edition better, and
I’m reading for enjoyment.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mysteries of Paris</i>
began publication in a serialized form in 1842-43, and was an immediate
success. It was a social novel, luridly yet humanely representing different
strata of Parisian society and therefore appealing to a wide audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be read in bourgeois drawing rooms,
or aloud in a smoky tavern for eager listeners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It proved to be a model for later works, such as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Les Miserables</i> (which took up its examination of social issues
having to do with crime and the poor, and the responsibilities of the wealthy)
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Count of Monte Christo</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue clearly sought to use his novel as a
means of putting forth aspirational views of reforming how French society views
the poor, and how society approaches questions of incarceration and
rehabilitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The cast of characters is large, but surprisingly intimate
in a contrived way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we read, we
become astonished at how, in a large and crowded metropolis, the right people
just happen to run into each other at the right time; for instance, in a
woman’s prison, the heroine just happens to form a bond with another inmate
whose lover happens to be the brother of the river pirate who will later try to
drown said heroine in a hit job later in the novel. There is a remarkable trend
of serendipity in this work, from the very first scene.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>*Potential Spoilers Ahead*</b></p><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPYuMyLBaoYvbFhyphenhyphenUZ7syAQ6RHhKx-RIMFJTWZWlkfV8ieoJL-Ooa3xNxV0Oh31QXL_Bgrd5XjmQO81UUlO2C5FLnT1Z8dsEcaEP7Is8KAnvKWvAzPzNEaGHc9m2PJnQbXu2-/s278/owl.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="181" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPYuMyLBaoYvbFhyphenhyphenUZ7syAQ6RHhKx-RIMFJTWZWlkfV8ieoJL-Ooa3xNxV0Oh31QXL_Bgrd5XjmQO81UUlO2C5FLnT1Z8dsEcaEP7Is8KAnvKWvAzPzNEaGHc9m2PJnQbXu2-/w164-h252/owl.jpg" width="164" /></a></div><br />And so – in the beginning, a mysterious man thwarts an attempted assault of a teenage streetwalker by a ruffian who goes by the name of
“Slasher” (the first of many delightful sobriquets in the book).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slasher, as we should not be surprised to learn,
is a fellow with a sharp knife and anger issues, but comes to have a deep
respect – devotion, really – for Monsieur Rudolph, who has, to use the
vernacular, kicked his ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Incredibly,
this M. Rudolph, the Slasher, and the virginal prostitute <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">la Goualeuse</i> (aka Fleur-de-Marie) end the evening as fast friends.
From here, the novel descends into a blur of secrets, betrayals, suicides,
madness, poverty, infanticide (alleged), noble actions, social polemics, and
icky craven lust. We meet the Screech-Owl, a one-eyed crone who is the
tormenter of dear Fleur-de-Marie and the companion of the hideously disfigured
(by his own hand) Schoolmaster and other unsavory types.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take side trips to an idyllic farm run as
a social experiment, and to an antebellum slave plantation in Louisiana, where
the (obviously) cruel master keeps a harem of dusky maidens to serve his own
perverted lusts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We meet the honest
clerk Germaine, of uncertain parentage (there’s a lot of that) and the
endearingly hardworking seamstress Mademoiselle Dimpleton (aka <i>Rigolette</i>),
the desperately poor gem-cutter Morel and his family, which includes his
gibberingly senile mother-in-law and his unfortunate daughter Louise, who is
held captive and assaulted by the loathsome solicitor Jacques Ferrand, and we
meet the proprietors of the rooming house where many of these folks live, the
comical Madame Pipelet and her husband Alfred who, in characteristic
ill-fitting clothing and a floppy oversized hat, is tormented to distraction by
the affectionate teasing of a bohemian <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">artiste
</i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">named Cabrion</span>, who plasters
he and Alfred’s names on the walls of Paris as exemplars of inextinguishable
friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will also meet an
epileptic nobleman who holds a gentleman’s breakfast during which he blows his
own head off after his wife – who has had her father turned against her by a
gold-digging stepmother who has likely poisoned her (the wife’s, that is) own
mother – refuses to sleep with him due to his horrid foaming-at-the-mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Apparently he stopped foaming long enough
once to have sired a daughter upon her, but who the hell knows what happened to
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wrong!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not Fleur-de-Marie –
she’s someone else’s lost daughter, the big secret of the book that’s revealed quite
casually about one-third of the way in.)<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lest you think I’ve given too much away, my friends, we’ve
hardly scratched the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t
even mentioned Cicely, the irresistibly sexy quadroon (think young Lisa Bonet)
who brings about Ferrand’s downfall, driven mad with lust; her abandoned
husband, the African-American David, who rose from slavery to the practice of
medicine in the service of Rudolph; the Skeleton, who rules his fellow prisoners with an iron hand; a
disenfranchised noblewoman and her daughter, dying helplessly of hunger in a
garret as the daughter is threatened with assault; or finally the duplicitous
Sarah McGregor, who pursues Rudolph (remember him?) even unto death based on an early prophecy that she would marry into nobility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just who is this Rudolph, master of
disguise?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he a lowly clerk, or
something more? Like maybe, say, a German prince? That might explain the Sarah McGregor thing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s a long and raucous ride, with lots of noble actions, regretful
weeping, earnest emotion, hidden love, violence, torture, assault, blinding (for his own
good, really), drownings and near-drownings, partings and reunions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after all the twists and turns and the
serial cliffhangers, the wicked are punished to the appropriate degree of their
repentance, monetary legacies are established to raise the poor – a few of them
anyway – above the filth and violence of the Paris streets, and father and
daughter are reunited for a happy ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, not really: Sue sought fit to tack on an epilogue in which, despite
his best efforts, Rudolph simply cannot convince his poor daughter, the
delicate flower who had been debauched in the dark alleys and dim taverns of
Paris, that you can unring a bell, and a fat turd of a downer is dropped on the
final act, but one which might have been oddly satisfying to the weeping
readers of France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Entitled <i>The Works of Sue</i>, a misnomer, as <i>The
Mysteries of Paris</i> is the only work represented, and Sue published many
other works, including an equally long novel called <i>The Wandering Jew </i>(1844).</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">** There is also a Dedalus edition, based, I believe on a different older translation. I don't believe this one is still in print</span>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-10246627881311582302020-09-10T14:21:00.001-07:002020-09-10T14:21:54.465-07:00Searching for Icons in Russia by Vladimir Soloukhin<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7cQZs5YAUaK88LxszIZsgy-BcnlS3_Wpo03uBZ8hL4-Y0xN1ewkKFyQP8RuPDPGTNo-qTe4Zz_CymAsOBDNfWb3hFq3vyyHKhRHbiGl27tbr0R1yDjNblqXE3JGFYUDnqC1G/s256/4185hs7rq1L._SX258_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr7cQZs5YAUaK88LxszIZsgy-BcnlS3_Wpo03uBZ8hL4-Y0xN1ewkKFyQP8RuPDPGTNo-qTe4Zz_CymAsOBDNfWb3hFq3vyyHKhRHbiGl27tbr0R1yDjNblqXE3JGFYUDnqC1G/s0/4185hs7rq1L._SX258_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" /></a></div><br />Tangible reminders of Russia’s Byzantine heritage, icons are intensely venerated images of Christ, Mary, saints, and holy scenes popular in Orthodox pre-revolutionary Russia. As
they age, the varnish that gives their surfaces a brilliant luster turns black. In the past, the darkened images were often painted over, the new image reflecting what was
generally a less artistic manifestation of the underlying image.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This could occur several times, and, as
Vladimir Soloukhin discovered sometime in the late 1950’s or early 1960’s (his
chronology is obscure), it was relatively easy to strip off the later images
layer by layer, ultimately revealing a pristine and vibrant sixteenth century
painting below the accumulated later works. This discovery led to an obsession
which consumed much of Soloukhin’s time as he traveled from village to village
in Soviet Russia, searching out the icons that had, for decades, been devalued,
reused to make vegetable crates, watering troughs, and window coverings, or
axed into kindling.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Translated into English in 1971 and now out of print, this work (originally
titled <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Black Boards</b> in Russian) is
an anecdotal account of some of the author’s encounters with rural villagers as
he seeks out rare and beautiful icons. It is in part an elegy for the
destruction of a part of the Russian heritage, and while Soloukhin wisely does
not debate the wisdom of Soviet policies towards religion, he does write
passionately regarding the beauty of the icons as a unique manifestation of the
Russian artistic heritage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seeks them
in abandoned or repurposed churches and in the homes of elderly village women
who have managed to salvage a few icons and continue to venerate them, if not
as religious objects, at least as relics of a disappearing past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some of Soloukhin’s attempts to separate the objects from
their caretakers may raise an eyebrow, but in general, the caretakers feel
somewhat reassured that the images will be respected and tended to, rather than
fall into the hands of heirs who would just as soon burn them for firewood.
Most of the villagers the author encounters are bemused, rarely hostile, as he
collects the relics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few give him a
good ribbing as to why he values such useless items, but he counters with
passionate arguments in favor of beauty for beauty’s sake (pointing at the
lilacs along the fence line - “What did you plant them for? They’re not
potatoes or carrots, you can’t eat them”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What is most disconcerting is the general indifference to the past, that
not a thought is given to the bulldozed churches where their parents were
married, or the cemeteries where their grandparents lie, the stone and marble
grave markers carted away and cheap plywood markers used for the graves of
those who have died under the Soviet regime.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Soloukhin begins the book with a chapter on collecting, on
the mania that people can suddenly develop for stamps, books, chinaware,
etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scene where his artist friends
show him the technique for revealing ancient icons beneath the layers of the
“black boards” soon follow, and one assumes that he is simply entranced by their
beauty and intrigued by their fairly easy availability in the rural areas of
the Soviet Union.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is only much later
in the book that he reveals that, as a child, he and his friends would take the
boards and figurines abandoned outside the church in the village in which he
grew up and float them off in the nearby stream, lobbing rocks at them to sink
them. Surely Soloukhin – the poet who later published impassioned works on the
necessity of preserving the Russian artistic heritage and who was denounced for
his troubles, only to be revitalized as an enthusiastic supporter of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">perestroika</i> – felt a sense of shame for
the unperceived callousness of his childhood games. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Searching for Icons
in Russia</b> is a pleasant and unique testament to one person’s passion, and a
love letter to collectors everywhere, who pursue their objects of desire with
enjoyment of the chase and the pleasure of acquisition, with a sense that they
have done a small service to the past by preserving an aspect of it for the
future. <o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-65858871964081126482020-01-07T20:34:00.000-07:002020-01-07T20:34:21.659-07:00On Having Too Many Books (First of an Occasional Series)<br />
Recently, I sat in a colleague’s office discussing a
project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind him was a small
bookshelf with a number of nice hardcover volumes, some of which were on topics
of interest to me, and some of which I hadn’t seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll admit to a certain distraction as we
conducted the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Books are
catnip – or porn, if you want to be vulgar about it - to me, and if they’re in
plain sight, well, I’m going to be looking at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also gonna hightail it out after the
meeting and look up as many of the titles as I can remember to see if they
should go on my wishlist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a
bibliophile, and that’s what we do.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdb8o_l3AY-Onuqq5Nuo0UOaHusD__FTRv6JIEDJ5QABOGuQLW0vluJg0F1BRG3pfAl8R9opNqOLrLoL3vpCPR2jSi3ZI3r8xSRjkyFR2KZNfR_vkYQUiXnmimuIRIWRLaeJj/s1600/OIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="162" data-original-width="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdb8o_l3AY-Onuqq5Nuo0UOaHusD__FTRv6JIEDJ5QABOGuQLW0vluJg0F1BRG3pfAl8R9opNqOLrLoL3vpCPR2jSi3ZI3r8xSRjkyFR2KZNfR_vkYQUiXnmimuIRIWRLaeJj/s1600/OIP.jpg" /></a></div>
Over the holidays, we visited relatives in Seattle and my niece gave us a nice tour of the University of Washington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was particularly struck by the beautiful
reading room in the Suzzallo Library, a/k/a ‘the Soul of the University’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this vast booklined space, I noticed two
things: all of the hardcovers lacked dust jackets, and none were
catalogued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dug deeper and found out
that this particular collection houses books that were gifted to the University
and that were duplicate copies of those already in their collections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tore myself away, but only after taking
photo of a book that caught my eye. I checked Amazon that evening and found
that the most inexpensive copy of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The
Frozen Tombs of Siberia</b> by Sergei Rudenko (University of California, 1970) could
be purchased for around eighty dollars.<br />
<br />
A few days later, a Twitter post alerted me to the existence of
Everett Bleiler’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Checklist of Fantastic
Literature, </b>which sports a delightful drawing of a gargoyle-like creature
reading with evident relish on the dust jacket. That one’s going for
fifty-eight bucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t likely be
buying either this or the Rudenko book anytime soon (my Christmas gift cards
have already been exhausted), but I feel happier knowing that they are out
there, and I can gaze upon them in my wishlist whenever I like, biding my time
until a bargain copy turns up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such are
the cheap thrills of a bibliophile.<br />
<br />
At present, my book catalogue shows a total of almost 7,500
volumes in my library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a separate
spreadsheet showing that I’ve removed almost 1,300 books since I began to tally
such things only a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although it may appear static, a personal library is an ever-changing
beast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, it is a comfort to me
that I can stand and look at the shelves and recognize individual titles and
think about the meaning that each of them has; they are all talismans of a
sort, with individual meanings whether they’ve been read or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It humbles me to think of how many of these
books that I, a constant and lifelong reader, have not yet read and, as my age
creeps up on me, I may never have the opportunity to read.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every one of them is something I’ve picked up
in a book store, or found in a catalog or website, considered, and ultimately
decided that it was worth bringing home. I’ve had few regrets in these
decisions, although I’ve had plenty of regrets for items I’ve passed up.<br />
<br />
Over the years, I have honed a response to that absurd
question that people ask when they come in and eye the shelves, then turn to me
with an accusatory look and spit out “have you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">read </i>all these books?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
look right back and say, quite truthfully, “I’ve read some of them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">twice</i>.”<br />
<br />
I fully acknowledge that my collecting and reading are
likely manifestations of, or compensation for, some psychological defect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A realization I’ve acquired over the years is that we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> have some psychological defect, and
some of us have several of them. I at least do not suffer chronic alcoholism,
or have an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">idee fixe </i>that people from
the Highway Department are trying to steal my garden hose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<br />
I feel an unreasonable tinge of envy when I see a library larger than
mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A recent profile on Twitter showed
a library that turned me green, but I had a strange hunch and searched and
found what I suspected -the photo in question was one of Umberto Eco’s
library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If ever there was anyone on
earth who deserved a labyrinthine colossus of a library, it was the venerable Umberto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also provides a convenient excuse whenever
anyone expresses the absurd idea that I have too many books: how could that be,
when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i> collection numbered in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hundreds of thousands</i>! My meager
collection pales in comparison!<br />
<br />
Thank you, Signore Eco.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-79803825214196912832019-12-12T17:16:00.000-07:002019-12-12T17:16:28.393-07:00Some Thoughts on Bookshelves<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT8mb0vXrf8vpl7aapuPX9Y_YNdOL-rjF0AG6Z3J51DsbKZxnb2ADZY-0pHVXUAFsW5Fb-emUU-CZxA95dABIQ7AcOMKXTt91_gCuQ7Avpxx1-bZ21n66mWfjfVkk5XpxZY6j/s1600/bibliostyle.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT8mb0vXrf8vpl7aapuPX9Y_YNdOL-rjF0AG6Z3J51DsbKZxnb2ADZY-0pHVXUAFsW5Fb-emUU-CZxA95dABIQ7AcOMKXTt91_gCuQ7Avpxx1-bZ21n66mWfjfVkk5XpxZY6j/s1600/bibliostyle.png" /></a></div>
One of the things I've enjoyed about being on Twitter is being
able to see the bookshelves of other booklovers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the same voyeuristic thrill that I get
from visiting someone’s home and stealing a glance at their shelves (if they
have any - sometimes they don’t, and that’s a horror story in itself). I’ve
recently drooled over the book caves of Javier Marias and Alberto Manguel, the
latter of which formerly occupied a rustic, converted stone structure in the
Loire Valley (<i>sigh</i>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve searched in
vain for photos of the library of Jorge Luis Borges, with whom Manguel had an
early acquaintance, although one can find fascinating representations online
of Borges’ famously infinite “Library of Babel”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a few years now, when I’m feeling down
or bored, I’ll get online and seek out photos of Neil Gaiman’s magnificent and
well-stocked shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t read an
awful lot of Gaiman’s stuff, but I sense in him a kindred spirit when it comes
to the written word.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Beyond famous authors, it’s the shelves of ordinary booklovers
that I enjoy seeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While some are
rather sparse, with fresh, neat softcovers (and there’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing</i> wrong with softcovers) lined up, with ample room for photos
and tchotchkes, by far my favorites are the big, overcrowded ones, with books
crammed into every available space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is what I have at home, with books behind books, books stacked on top to the
ceiling, books horizontal on top of those vertically shelved, in a manner to
make an archivist or serious collector (as opposed to a bibliophile) cringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I’m biased, this to me is the home of a
true booklover, the kind of person who can rarely return home without a new
find in his or her satchel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The joys of
a bibliophile are generally twofold: the hunt and the reading, but I’d add a
third category – the sheer visual and tactile enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bookshelves are obviously essential for the
best enjoyment of this pastime.<br />
<br />
<br />
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For those just starting out and with limited budget,
shelving may be cinder block and lumber affairs, and, poised to disparage the latter a few weeks
ago, I remembered my own early days, and the cinder blocks of my own that I had
to lug from place to place whenever I changed address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheap shelving meant more money for books,
even if it meant sore muscles as well. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
later ditched the bricks and honed my meager carpentry skill by building and
staining my own shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to dream
of constructing my shelves in the manner of Thomas Jefferson, who ingeniously
designed his as sort of packing crates, so that lids could be screwed on if
they needed to be transported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this
point, most of my shelving is store-bought, and much more aesthetically
pleasing than my own handiwork.<br />
<br />
A project I’ve contemplated for some time is posting a
complete, annotated set of photos of my own shelves and their contents, because
I know that there are others out there just like me, who would enjoy seeing
them and who would try to zoom in to assess the titles and editions either out
of curiosity (an essential virtue of the bibliophile) or to add to their own
wishlists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re bibliomaniacs, and
that’s just what we do.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
It should come as no surprise that one of the subjects I collect are books about books. Most of these are descriptive; however, I do
have a few with an emphasis on photographing books on the shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A recent acquisition that I’ve been drooling
over is <b>BiblioStyle</b> by Nina Freudenberger, which is intensely packed with
exquisite photos of books and shelves, along with profiles of collectors, including
the late and lamented bookseller Michael Seidenberg, who ran Brazenhead Books, a “speakeasy”-type bookstore and literary salon, out of his apartment on the Upper
East Side until his recent <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/26/nyregion/brazenhead-michael-seidenberg-secret-bookstore.html?searchResultPosition=2" target="_blank">death</a> .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
In closing, some of my favorite books of biblioporn are:<br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">At Home with Books:
How Booklovers Live With and Care for Their Libraries</b> by Estelle Ellis
(Carrol<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Southern Books, 1994).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sentimental favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything from Nicholas Barker’s crowded
shelves to Keith Richards’ man cave.<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=0517595001&asins=0517595001&linkId=aa6f8d9c7b58f5c55bd7df3b93b79c9c&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Living with Books</b>
by Alan Powers (Soma, 1999). A nice design guide to different book environments
in the home.<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1579590241&asins=1579590241&linkId=d939dc8b6242cd78461d81476b8631d1&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Books Make a Home:
Elegant Ideas for Storing and Displaying Books</b> by Damien Thompson (Ryland
Peters and Small, 2017). Newish book, excellent photographs.<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1849758999&asins=1849758999&linkId=13115e8a3eaea1a1f41450c55f4df8d8&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Living with Books: 118 Designs for Homes and Offices </span></b><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by Rita Reif (Quadrangle/New York Times Book Co., 1973) – an
interesting look at New York bibliophilia in the early 70’s. Lots of chrome,
shag, and awkward hairstyles.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=081290365X&asins=081290365X&linkId=39263880baa663e3da4d5f9c3f3ac3b3&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">BiblioStyle </span></b><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by Nina Freudenberger (Clarkson Potter, 2019) – arguably the best
of the lot, 270 pages of shelves and profiles.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=0525575448&asins=0525575448&linkId=0cab65227a72317f8b65ce7d2e352e5f&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-16625892035829660792019-11-11T13:31:00.000-07:002019-11-11T13:31:40.286-07:00The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPaHJO6U_AUKDc-pMxqOsSdf9zT1b6nEOyvFtSyEro5rpZd7Iy5KQOsUSKsRD2pVQGCtErMzxrP0OEqSH3XYgqmowRSpOvrPH0JILVY6K7c6J7JzWk07EHmIOG3sjOCeQxuL7/s1600/il_570xN.1441099906_88gh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="343" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPaHJO6U_AUKDc-pMxqOsSdf9zT1b6nEOyvFtSyEro5rpZd7Iy5KQOsUSKsRD2pVQGCtErMzxrP0OEqSH3XYgqmowRSpOvrPH0JILVY6K7c6J7JzWk07EHmIOG3sjOCeQxuL7/s320/il_570xN.1441099906_88gh.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
<br />
The only novel of a scion of Sicilian aristocracy, published
posthumously because, famously, no one would publish it in his lifetime, ranks
among my all-time favorite works.<br />
<br />
Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa fully inhabits the world he describes
in <i>The Leopard</i>, a world of both change and timelessness, a world deep
with melancholy. I first read this in my late 20’s and thought it exquisitely
rich; now, at 58, I find it even more so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A common comment on this work is that the reader never wants it to end,
but, of course, the ending is the point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In Don Fabrizio, the Sicilian Prince of Salina, we witness the slow
decline from vigor and sensuality to helplessness and decrepitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a most sad elegy, brilliantly told
through the eyes of an aging Prince of a parched and dusty realm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To read this homage to patriarchy - published
in 1958 - in 2019 may seem hopelessly anachronistic, but read it for the
language, for the achingly beautiful descriptiveness, for the sense, on paper,
of time's inevitable passing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-57827717007262369462019-08-13T20:00:00.000-07:002019-08-13T20:00:11.085-07:00The Book of Contemplation by Usama ibn Munqidh
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguliLu3PosTomD1JHy5wsJrI_TJT91DR2mewrZiPqCumYDJA9mEChxTembG0LgOMD3yYciUG8vpAd9wH425-5Ty0vWeG7j4_56abjBJ7-sp6YtqaHSi-vTk0Ts8ReXFr1E7WiK/s1600/s4765120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguliLu3PosTomD1JHy5wsJrI_TJT91DR2mewrZiPqCumYDJA9mEChxTembG0LgOMD3yYciUG8vpAd9wH425-5Ty0vWeG7j4_56abjBJ7-sp6YtqaHSi-vTk0Ts8ReXFr1E7WiK/s320/s4765120.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Book
of Contemplation</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> was
published in 2008, around the same time as <b>Ibn Fadlan and the Land of
Darkness: Arab Travelers in the Far North</b> (the original of which was the
source of Michael Crichton’s fictionalized <b>Eaters of the Dead</b>) and a few
years before <b>The Ultimate Ambition in the Art of Erudition</b> (2016) and<b>
Tales of the Marvelous and News of the Strange</b> (2017).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like those texts, it is a terrific addition
to the Penguin Classics collection of Islamic/Arabic works in translation, and
I can only hope that others will follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Usama Ibn
Munqidh was a 12<sup>th</sup> century Syrian nobleman and man-of-letters who
was turned away from his family estate, by his uncle after his father’s
death, leading him into a life of intrigue and adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than a straightforward memoir, his
text is a series of incidences, mostly from the time of the Crusades, which by
Usama’s reckoning exemplify the mysteriousness of – and merit the contemplation
of - the ways of God. For us, their obvious value is the light these tales shed
on the Muslim experience of the Crusades and their attitudes towards the
“Franks” (i.e., western Europeans) who initiated them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The descriptions of military encounters,
often mere skirmishes, are vivid and come alive in Paul M. Cobb’s translation, which
conveys an intimate, conversational tone to the memoirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This translation supersedes that of Philip K.
Hitti, an eminent Arabist who published his version in 1929, and which is
incidentally available on Internet Archive <a href="https://archive.org/details/AnArab-SyrianGentlemanAndWarriorInThePeriodOfTheCrusadesMemoirsOfUsamaIbn-Munqidh-PhilipK.Hitti/page/n1" target="_blank">here</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cobb respectfully updates and corrects some of
his predecessor’s errors.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In addition
to acts of valor, there are descriptions of the inscrutable ways of the Franks,
glimpses of the lives of the nobility in medieval Syria, humorous vignettes, and
enough accounts of gruesome injuries to keep the text interesting. It is the
immediacy and vividness of these tales that fascinates, bringing to life the
thoughts and reflections of a person who died almost a millennium ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usama was apparently in his nineties when
much of this was written, and he laments in the closing pages (perhaps coyly)
that God has given him a long life descending into irrelevancy rather than an
earlier, glorious death on the field of battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Supplementing
the main text is a long digression on hunting, usually with reminiscences of
Usama’s father for whom hunting was a pastime that he pursued with apparently
fanatical enthusiasm, and a selection of anecdotes on holy men and healers as
well as selections of other works of Usama.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Cobb’s
introduction fills in the biographical blanks in Usama’s life, and fleshes out
some of the intrigues that Usama perhaps chose to downplay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A valuable edition.</span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-78940445501333857782019-07-22T17:44:00.001-07:002019-07-22T17:44:14.700-07:00With the Tibetans in Tent and Temple by Dr. Susie J. Rijnhart<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWY8HFIPf8QFA-DyR01Uuzifm6YsRFMkxsSAdAMCyBbzi4i1O5BukoGwT3O5_Z8tjWTEBtgj7nf2DHkAdagdHkP-8iWnaNGGGkq4RwB24hvJRfPwCpcG1ebrPqsWQeDPPOS5Gk/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_6863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dr. Susie J. Rijnhart, a spunky Victorian-era Canadian
missionary, spends a few years (1895-1899) in Tibet, being spectacularly
unsuccessful in converting the heathen and complaining about Tibetan
hygiene. Still, her notes on Central
Asian lifeways and record of political unrest make interesting reading. Her recollections of her baby boy, who is
born and dies in Tibet and is buried in an unmarked grave, are tender, as are
her memories of her husband, a displaced Dutch ne’er-do-well who was,
apparently unknown to her, on the run from a rape charge.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWY8HFIPf8QFA-DyR01Uuzifm6YsRFMkxsSAdAMCyBbzi4i1O5BukoGwT3O5_Z8tjWTEBtgj7nf2DHkAdagdHkP-8iWnaNGGGkq4RwB24hvJRfPwCpcG1ebrPqsWQeDPPOS5Gk/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_6863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="432" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWY8HFIPf8QFA-DyR01Uuzifm6YsRFMkxsSAdAMCyBbzi4i1O5BukoGwT3O5_Z8tjWTEBtgj7nf2DHkAdagdHkP-8iWnaNGGGkq4RwB24hvJRfPwCpcG1ebrPqsWQeDPPOS5Gk/s320/thumbnail_IMG_6863.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rijnhart’s frank notes on Tibetan culture are in decided
contrast to Blavatsky’s fanciful Theosophical view of the plateau as the abode
of floating lamas bathed in eternal celestial light. You can almost smell the rancid butter that
is generously offered to her by poor villagers at every turn and which she, to
her credit, graciously accepts. On an ill-fated attempt to reach Lhasa, her
small expedition is turned back and, abandoned by her guides, she and her
husband are beset by bandits. He goes
off to reconnoiter and is never seen again.
Whether he is killed by the bandits or simply decided that this was a
good opportunity to skedaddle is never established, but he was never heard from
again. Desperate, she puts her fate in
the hand of some decidedly unsavory characters and, in veiled Victorian
language, describes her stressful efforts to evade sexual assault (the pistol
comes in handy) as she attempts to reach some outpost of civilization.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She eventually did reach safety and, after a period of
recuperation, returned to China a few years later to continue her missionary
work. She remarried (another missionary) and bore another son: she died soon
after childbirth, in 1908. In this
adventurous memoir, she shows immense fortitude, bravery and compassion for the
people she encounters, despite her biases against Lamaism, the Tibetan
world-view, and disregard of basic hygiene.
My copy is the 1902 edition published by the Fleming H. Revel Company,
via the Bible School Library of the Congregational Church in Binghamton, New
York. My copy warns that “This book is on loan to you – it is not yours!” I
suppose that, in the broad scheme of things, this is quite true.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvE_pMmABqEkm-0FAsOEzLSATkraarLeg8_Bfnbp9-zlKBaO-sr8ZUwA1fuMhlf65FSwR0nu9IlNjA-yc7yrrSpH5NCccPG5z4XwuPNmm2hX-0TQ7ffh_pBERczfE6uWl4kkw/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_6864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvE_pMmABqEkm-0FAsOEzLSATkraarLeg8_Bfnbp9-zlKBaO-sr8ZUwA1fuMhlf65FSwR0nu9IlNjA-yc7yrrSpH5NCccPG5z4XwuPNmm2hX-0TQ7ffh_pBERczfE6uWl4kkw/s320/thumbnail_IMG_6864.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-45919553072957434862019-05-22T21:27:00.001-07:002022-11-06T21:04:39.178-07:00The World in a Book: Al-Nuwayri and the Islamic Encyclopedic Tradition by Elias Muhanna<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheiXcFawBxLNBkZf5jvjtoKqgepoGJSwgodjq0ARrDYMnDeEHkkf09Hn2zu03-GJw35uZ8hOSBhS6abEJQiyB82PL0jFyexeZu17YZhC_PsoXpA6i96ZVkqrzMHq6-fVIpVD5S/s1600/thHX5DDKWP.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheiXcFawBxLNBkZf5jvjtoKqgepoGJSwgodjq0ARrDYMnDeEHkkf09Hn2zu03-GJw35uZ8hOSBhS6abEJQiyB82PL0jFyexeZu17YZhC_PsoXpA6i96ZVkqrzMHq6-fVIpVD5S/s1600/thHX5DDKWP.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">If you are
a bookish-minded person with an interest in Middle Eastern history and culture,
you might likely find <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The World in a
Book: al-Nuwayri and the Islamic Encyclopedic Tradition </b>(Princeton, 2018),
to be a good introduction to the medieval concept of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adab</i> (i.e., wide ranging literary works reflective of the
author/compiler’s cultural cred).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We are
fortunate that <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shihab al-Din al-Nuwayri</b> the enormous work that is the subject of
this study, compiled in thirty-one volumes in the early 14th century, survived
intact so that a modern edition, published over many years (alas, seemingly
only in Arabic), could be prepared in the twentieth century.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Al-Nuwayri, an official of the Mamluk court,
whose duties largely had to do with financial and real estate management for
the sultan al-Nasir Muhammad<span style="color: red; margin: 0px;">, </span>decided at the end
of his career to embark on an enterprise not uncommon to cultured members of
high Islamic society, the preparation of a vast compendium of universal
knowledge encompassing natural history (zoology, astronomy and the like),
history (secular and religious, although the distinction was not likely made),
instructions for court officials (particularly scribes) and whatever else
piqued his interest.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">In
addition to preparing this study, Elias Muhanna is also the translator of the
only English edition of the original text, translated as <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Ultimate Ambition in the Arts of Erudition</b>, a volume in the
Penguin Classics series published in 2016.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I won’t go into that edition too much except to say that, for most, the
introduction to that work is quite adequate in introducing al-Nuwayri’s work,
without the scholarly apparatus.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m
delighted that this translation has been made, and the selection is interesting
enough (the other night I read several selections relating to the Islamic
version of the story of Adam and Eve), but when you consider that this is the
winnowing down of a thirty-one volume work, it seems quite inadequate, and I
believe that it would have benefitted from an enlargement with a taste of some
of the more esoteric selections.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
then, this is my issue with other works of this sort, such as the Pliny’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Natural History</b>, also published by
Penguin (among other editions). <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have a
personal animus towards abridgements (although there’s no way in hell I would
have ever gotten through al-Nuwayri’s work anyway, it would be comforting to
know that it’s there).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">For <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The World in a Book</b>, Muhanna has
prepared a study that seems to be aimed more towards the scholar than the
general reader, and<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>he seems
more often than not inclined to pass off to future scholars questions that
require a bit deeper consideration.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Still, for a committed biblio-enthusiast, this is an absorbing study
that digs into the origins and context of a fascinating and forgotten work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If you share my interest in Middle
Eastern/Islamic history and thought, I’d say this is well worth reading.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=069117556X&asins=069117556X&linkId=f188c3997e6dc1254d263699f663376b&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=0143107488&asins=0143107488&linkId=b6ec60b2b7973b327a5429091adae59f&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-50423836596367519092019-05-06T19:53:00.000-07:002019-05-06T19:56:27.822-07:00Robert Graves Interview<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNj4s1HfNUpBqcbuVOm8K0qKwz1sLrY17TnEN7cAFP_mYUt48OGMdNByO5OiU5aGcm6-R1jYEbIg4xpV6quc41I3BO1tXEE5DbrzBwHOCWyOZdrnjvojK10P50Z3i0WskH9c_/s1600/white+goddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNj4s1HfNUpBqcbuVOm8K0qKwz1sLrY17TnEN7cAFP_mYUt48OGMdNByO5OiU5aGcm6-R1jYEbIg4xpV6quc41I3BO1tXEE5DbrzBwHOCWyOZdrnjvojK10P50Z3i0WskH9c_/s1600/white+goddess.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I've been enjoying reading the last volume of Richard Perceval Graves's unnecessarily gentle biography of his uncle, the poet Robert Graves. Graves was certainly an eccentric, and rather manipulative to boot, which the younger Graves seeks to downplay. It occurred to me that I don't believe I've ever heard Robert Graves speak, so I went looking for an interview and found <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzLuG3tM84I" target="_blank">this piece</a> from 1965 with notable British prick Malcolm Muggeridge, whom Graves admirably tolerates.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><b></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>By the way, despite my near total lack of media savvy (I still <i>blog</i>, for God's sake) I now post to Twitter: just photos of my books and other curiosities, under the name Bibliophilia Obscura.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><b></b><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-2747360472886062482019-03-22T20:13:00.001-07:002019-03-22T20:13:18.793-07:00The Tibetan Book of the Dead (Penguin Classics)<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnz24SvCLTCU-X7LxEI2N9KVScU6gjhip1APiZlJbA0rL7hRsTpsqDHDSwMR-nr8dHgm2nT0V33nFI0umK1oCu80kUVuhGJ6el44Pcz8JIsXTpkaPbZLUic_N_Yz7ImnekQM_/s1600/tbod.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="203" data-original-width="145" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnz24SvCLTCU-X7LxEI2N9KVScU6gjhip1APiZlJbA0rL7hRsTpsqDHDSwMR-nr8dHgm2nT0V33nFI0umK1oCu80kUVuhGJ6el44Pcz8JIsXTpkaPbZLUic_N_Yz7ImnekQM_/s200/tbod.bmp" width="142" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">My presumption is that when he published a portion of these
key texts in 1927, W. Y. Evans-Wentz chose this title to mirror that of
Wallis-Budge’s 1895 translation of the Papyrus of Ani, now and forever known as
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Egyptian Book of the Dead</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It turns out that the document we know as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tibetan Book of the Dead</i> (a more
accurate title of which is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Great
Liberation by Hearing</i>) is but a portion of a larger corpus of materials
discussing Tibetan Buddhist concepts of death, and the passage from this plane
of existence into that intermediate state.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Penguin’s extraordinary volume, published in 2006 and available not only
as a trade paperback but also as a volume of their Penguin Classics series
(2008, reprinted with corrections in 2017), rectifies the omission with a new
and lucid translation.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ORdQsuuqDdrJ0wLEg6xiEL5HBlnII87rZCM8E8nbOabVxPsAu9PUCsDNOtle2hjmW-tJmKX4yPuJNgdoZquDtS8XHrfL-vDJlcfx8UKQkuc6aIGKf2h9cIAC2FjBGO9EAm1N/s1600/evans+wentz.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="180" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ORdQsuuqDdrJ0wLEg6xiEL5HBlnII87rZCM8E8nbOabVxPsAu9PUCsDNOtle2hjmW-tJmKX4yPuJNgdoZquDtS8XHrfL-vDJlcfx8UKQkuc6aIGKf2h9cIAC2FjBGO9EAm1N/s200/evans+wentz.bmp" width="130" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Counting the Evans-Wentz translation and others by Robert
Thurman (Quality Paperback Book Club, 1994) and Francesca Freemantle/Chogyam
Trumpa (Shambala, 1975), this is the fourth version of this work I have
acquired over the years, and, despite my fondness for Evans-Wentz’s weird and
wonderful translation and commentary, published as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tibetan Book of the Dead, or the After-Death Experiences on the
Bardo Plane</i> by Oxford University Press (with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation, or the Method of Realizing
Nirvana Through Knowing the Mind </i>as a companion volume), this is now my
favorite.*</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">An excellent feature of this volume is the introductory
essay by the Dalai Lama, which places this material in context of the Tibetan
Buddhist concept of the self and its relationship to existence.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This is a thoughtful piece of writing that
merits close attention in preparing the reader for the different texts included
in this publication.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As explained in the
general introduction, this translation was vetted and deeply informed by
consultation with masters of Highest Yoga Tantra, the preferred name of the tradition
to which these documents belong.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This
lends a value and credibility to this translation, which I’m sure will become
the standard one.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Now, having said that, get yourself ready for some strange,
sometimes difficult, sometimes enlightening reading (and be sure to read Book 5
out loud, for merely by saying the names of the deities listed within “one will
avoid rebirth in the lower existences, and Buddhahood will eventually be
attained”).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The perspective here is
clearly not of the West, and that may require some getting used to – but no
worries.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe the best approach is to
read each section through with an open mind, awake to the possibilities of the
esoteric perspectives being expounded.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A
return for a more close reading would then likely be in order.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The preliminary books consist of prayers, supplications, acknowledgement
of the peaceful and wrathful deities, acknowledgement of the power of those
deities, requests for forgiveness for having strayed from the path, prayers of
gratitude, enumeration of some of the omens of impending death, guidance on how
to know what form of existence one is likely to pass on to, the means of knowing
when death is imminent, and rituals which might assist in averting one’s
death.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The essence of the text, of
course, is the chapters on consciousness transference and the great liberation
by hearing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>By the guidance of one’s associates (which would
typically be other monks, because, due to their complexity and degree of personal
investment, these are essentially monastic rituals), one’s consciousness is
guided and comforted as it passes through the intermediate or transitional states
(usually translated as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bardo</i>
states, with the guidance text referred to as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bardo Thodol</i>, however that nomenclature is not used here).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>From here, one may pass into one of the
innumerable heavens (or hells), rebirth on one of the physical planes, or, much
more rarely, some version of nirvana.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>One seeks, through these rituals, to pass through to the highest state
of which one is capable of in this existence.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The texts are repetitive and trancelike, meant to be spoken
out loud and presumably, through their repetitiveness, inductive of a
trancelike and opened state of consciousness.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Bear in mind that some of these texts are meant to be repeated literally
tens of thousands of time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ultimately,
the teachings, through contemplation and repetition become internalized and one
acquires great merit through diligence and understanding. This is not a task
for the dilettante, and in the cultural context of Tibetan monasticism there is
significant preparation required before one is even exposed to these texts. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Still, by reading the texts, and giving oneself over to
them, a rewarding experience may be had – a change of awareness or a change of
perspective that is expansive. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
experience can be an immersive one if approached with the correct frame of
mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe, like me, you’ll find
yourself drawn back again and again for a taste of a different reality and a
means to gain a transformed perspective of the world.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">*You may be interested to know that Evans-Wentz also wrote a
volume entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Fairy Faith in Celtic
Countries</i>, which was recently republished by The Lost Library, Glastonbury
(n.d.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B010WESILG&asins=B010WESILG&linkId=b106f2e84c75d4efc28032aa16e0ea83&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-57778029993056509712018-11-27T21:23:00.001-07:002018-11-27T21:25:41.848-07:00Hex by Arthur H. Lewis<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2fGSYcKjb_AWfhFSQmYEi_jVp83Fur1sYCUCCEyDjKGdUzIOHp6bzSc_pDcKNr83-RXqbz0ID9X-T3V4VizdoSfCvRAOSVlTbrh7c0K8NQCIQrfTGES5-hpWRIdF_SqGb5hj/s1600/blymire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="345" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2fGSYcKjb_AWfhFSQmYEi_jVp83Fur1sYCUCCEyDjKGdUzIOHp6bzSc_pDcKNr83-RXqbz0ID9X-T3V4VizdoSfCvRAOSVlTbrh7c0K8NQCIQrfTGES5-hpWRIdF_SqGb5hj/s200/blymire.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">Hex</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"> (published 1969) tells a tale from
the old, weird America, circa 1928, in which three young men attack and kill a
self-professed “witch” in the backwaters of York County, Pennsylvania.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The eldest of the men, John Blymire, a
third-generation witch or “necromancer” had been under the belief for years
that he had been hexed by another practitioner in the Pennsylvania Dutch
country.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After years of consulting other
witches in attempts to break the spell or at least identify the person who had
hexed him, the trail led to an isolated farmhouse where Nelson Rehmeyer, an
eccentric personality in a county that was apparently rife with them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Blymire pays two nocturnal visits to Rehmeyer,
with the aim of either cutting a lock of his hair or stealing his hex-book, a
strange compendium entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Long Lost
Friend</i>, published first in 1819 by John George Homan (and still in print),
containing spells, hexes, occult warnings and spiritual advice.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Possession of a personal item, particularly a
highly personal item such as hair, clothing, etc., of the person one wishes to
hex is a common feature of sympathetic magic such as practiced in York County.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The second
visit does not go well.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The conspirators
(one of which was a 14 year old boy) clumsily fight with Rehmeyer, savagely
beating him to death and attempting to burn the body to conceal the
evidence.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Once the body is discovered by
a neighbor (led to the property by a hungry, braying mule), Blymire is picked
up and charged in short order, as it had been known in the region for years
that he had been hexed and was engaged in a never-ending pursuit of the person
who had enchanted him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Once arrested, Blymire,
relieved to have had the spell broken quite happily told the story in minute
detail, implicating his (equally loquacious) conspirators in the process.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The trial
is a bit of a farce, while gaining worldwide attention because of the
witchcraft angle, the local authorities, fearful that York will garner
attention as a illiterate backwater full of superstitious yokels, work hard to
keep the discussion of hexes and necromancy out of the trial, skewing the
motive for the killing as simple robbery.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>In the end, the conspirators are given harsh punishments (Blymire gets a
life sentence), which are commuted years later.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-RoFVBflBTKQX3EM8nkEQKrO05a8_c32T7ydkuniURiZkY7JZU4F6nyNJ4OlKw38snoS1lW-P7pxd6w0380gtjvpndFub5AhjMnjEmMKx2ArNONxvMghUvtImMtr85aZJMar/s1600/long-lost-friend-pow-wows-book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="366" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-RoFVBflBTKQX3EM8nkEQKrO05a8_c32T7ydkuniURiZkY7JZU4F6nyNJ4OlKw38snoS1lW-P7pxd6w0380gtjvpndFub5AhjMnjEmMKx2ArNONxvMghUvtImMtr85aZJMar/s320/long-lost-friend-pow-wows-book.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">While the
first portion of <i>Hex</i> is interesting in describing the belief system of the
rural Pennsylvania Dutch country and the events leading up to the murder, the
narrative starts to drag once it hits the courtroom. After the story of the
murder and its aftermath is finished, Lewis spends an additional 50-plus pages
on interviews with several witches and faith-healers circa 1969 in order to
illustrate that the superstitions were still prevalent 40 years later.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In large part, the activities of these
practitioners revolved mainly around bodily aches and pains, with an apparent
emphasis on wart removal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Rivalries
between the witches, however, still remained.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I had occasion to spend some time in York back in the 1990’s, but I was
unaware of the story of the area’s most famous trial, so I can’t tell you how
active the witching community was at that time.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-70591910179062662442018-11-27T21:16:00.000-07:002018-11-29T21:05:08.716-07:00Mephisto by Klaus Mann<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmwuHJ8joq3jnUJFNmjlt0RraamYJtd-JTAKyVP6XBPLylGcpm_mFEGlhQ_s4gVTC0FPKS1Z3OQgP3i_M3PzQf7yr-TjjrNssYuOrzkvMUGfA5hjjPg3tTvFKo2Uow9cMmDd6/s1600/mephisto.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="177" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmwuHJ8joq3jnUJFNmjlt0RraamYJtd-JTAKyVP6XBPLylGcpm_mFEGlhQ_s4gVTC0FPKS1Z3OQgP3i_M3PzQf7yr-TjjrNssYuOrzkvMUGfA5hjjPg3tTvFKo2Uow9cMmDd6/s200/mephisto.png" width="124" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mephisto</i>, written
in 1936, is Klaus Mann’s revealing, if fictional, portrait of his
brother-in-law’s ascendancy to the directorship of the State Theatre under the
Nazi regime.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In this novel, we see the
trajectory of Hendrick Hofgen (Gustaf Grundgens in real life), a talented if mercurial
actor, from relative obscurity to fame as a result of a Faustian bargain within
himself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">With early successes under his belt, Hofgen, a somewhat
left-leaning actor/director is at first fearful for his life as Nazi power
grows in Germany, given his earlier (albeit largely superficial) embrace of Communism,
and his poor treatment of a brown-shirted fellow actor.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Safely out of the country when Hitler is
elected Chancellor, he is lured back by his desire for fame when he is assured
protection by an old acquaintance, an actress who has become the paramour of a
powerful party member (clearly Hermann Goering, although Mann is careful not to
use names when referring to high-ranking Nazis).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He acquires fame and wealth, a mansion, and a
stable full of fine automobiles, and hosts fantastic parties with the
well-connected.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Still he finds himself
in precarious circumstances as the Minister of Propaganda, a rival to his
protector, learns more and more of his suspicious past, which includes not only
leftist activities but sexual deviances as well (disguised in the novel as a
masochistic relationship with a half-black dominatrix, it is generally
acknowledged that Mann was loathe to expose Grundgens’ true “deviance” –
homosexuality – as he was in fact homosexual himself).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ultimately, his protector wins out over the
propaganda minister, and Hofgen comes to feel secure in his bubble, distancing
himself from former loves and acquaintances (some very obviously representative
of the “old” Germany), desperately shuffling off those who could expose his
past, and shutting out the more unsavory events transpiring around him.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIkj8qCeV4rIH1gSEdsQIXWm3XXXGFJmg1nKH06Vh-dLhTFbjmO-yxvfTLNnd-HUDBXvxnkpJ9Ux-S1rPEpXHY-u-5wfUCzzZKXndPeJQpueid19CkSAXb_0-WeQ9hX7ONg28/s1600/grundgen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="787" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIkj8qCeV4rIH1gSEdsQIXWm3XXXGFJmg1nKH06Vh-dLhTFbjmO-yxvfTLNnd-HUDBXvxnkpJ9Ux-S1rPEpXHY-u-5wfUCzzZKXndPeJQpueid19CkSAXb_0-WeQ9hX7ONg28/s200/grundgen.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Growing used to his exalted position and emboldened by his
fame, Hofgen assuages his guilty conscience by securing the release of a former
leftist compatriot from torture and detention, but the release is short lived
as the man, Hans Ullrich - in clear contrast to our protagonist – is a man of
ideals and commitment who returns to his heroically doomed anti-Nazi activities.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In seeking further aid for his friend, Hofgen
is starkly put in his place by Goering, who coldly reveals that he knows everything
that Hofgen is, and that he is his to use or dispose of as he sees fit.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The bargain is complete, and Hofgen is in
Hell, placed there by himself, and himself alone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Klaus Mann was the son of the pre-eminent 20</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><sup>th</sup> century
German author, Thomas Mann (who himself confronted the degeneration of the
German soul in his 1947 novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Doctor
Faustus</i>). Although written in 1936, the book was not translated into
English until 1977.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A film version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mephiso</i>, directed by Istvan Szabo and
featuring Klaus Maria Brandauer received the Academy Award for Best Foreign
Language Film in 1981. I had hoped to re-watch it after finishing the novel,
but despite its former acclaim, it has proved difficult to find on streaming
services. After some wandering in exile from the Nazi regime, Klaus Mann became
a U. S. citizen in 1943 and served in the United States Army during World War
II.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He died of an overdose of sleeping
pills in 1949.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His novel was the posthumous
focus of a long-running lawsuit in West Germany brought by Grundgens’ adopted
son.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Recently read:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Silent Crossing</i>
by Pascal Quignard </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A series of thoughts, in chapters, on life, death and
existence, tending somewhat towards the gnomic and grotesque. Still, a poetic
and satisfying read that begs to be revisited often.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Trial of Socrates</i>
by I. F. Stone </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Towards the end of his life, the eminent liberal journalist
turned to classical studies, and in particular, an examination of the trial of
Socrates for “corrupting the youth of Athens” via the exercise of free
speech.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Stone makes it abundantly clear
that Socrates was a bit of a civic annoyance, no advocate for democracy, and
held some (to modern ears) peculiar ideas about ideal government.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite the corrosive effect of Socrates’
teachings (which might, indirectly, have justified some atrocious mass
political murders in 4<sup>th</sup> century B.C. Athens), Stone believes that
his execution was a betrayal of the ideals of the Athenian <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">polis</i>.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Souls</i> by
Javier Marais </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A satirical novel of academia, in which a visiting Spanish
professor maintains an affair with a female colleague (suspended for most of
the novel), and searches for rare books in the second-hand bookstores of Oxford
town. Points for passing references to two of my favorite authors, Borges and
Nabokov.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The narrative threads come
together nicely in the end.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hamlet in Purgatory</i>
by Stephen Greenblatt</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">More of a general study of European notions of Purgatory
(both Catholic and Protestant) as a background to Shakespeare. Interesting, but
not a lot of new ground covered.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Northern Crusades</i>
by Eric Christiansen</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This gets pretty deeply into the weeds quite quickly with
regards to the peoples of - and brutal colonization activities within - the
Baltic north, but a good general survey of a little-known aspect of European
history.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Phantastica</i> by Louis
Lewin, M. D.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I picked this up based on
references in the previously-reviewed Abrams book on opium use among the English Romantics.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This is a quaint review of hallucinogens
published by an eminent German ethnobotanist in 1924. Although I can’t imagine
this work retaining much value for students of neurology today, the exhaustive
and painstakingly collected anecdotal data from around the world is enjoyably
charming. Despite the hideous cover of my modern reprint (a colorized Gypsy(?)
woman with a pipe and a “come hither” gaze) and its limited scholarly value,
this is a good volume in which to browse. Dr. Lewin’s medicine cabinet must
have been something to behold.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><i></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-59918274222447968562018-08-07T17:51:00.000-07:002018-08-07T18:00:51.223-07:00The Milk of Paradise: The Effect of Opium Visions on the Works of DeQuincey, Crabbe, Francis Thompson, and Coleridge by M.H. Abrams<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEy4gPOUAnxfRkh49HApXXWQZOgOGEpqzUdNiCK9Gn-oin-yZxL4M13bL0F5tOvC1mPrAEKPwizS9Gyg3XL4ZnhjWklSynrS6nw-JYeOjD-QrSyNkn4cJXZCSUq0vW-uvTr9r/s1600/abrams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="544" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEy4gPOUAnxfRkh49HApXXWQZOgOGEpqzUdNiCK9Gn-oin-yZxL4M13bL0F5tOvC1mPrAEKPwizS9Gyg3XL4ZnhjWklSynrS6nw-JYeOjD-QrSyNkn4cJXZCSUq0vW-uvTr9r/s320/abrams.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">This short
work began as an undergraduate essay, expanded into a senior thesis by Abrams
before being published by Harvard University Press in 1934. My 1970 Harper
& Row Perennial edition paperback includes a new introduction by the author
as well a selection of three works referenced in the text.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>These consist of two opium-inspired poems by
George Crabbe (who was an otherwise decidedly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">un</i>inspired author) and a short story by Francis Thompson* entitled
“Finis Coronat Opus”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>While Abrams’
work is a pleasant curiosity regarding opium use among 19<sup>th</sup> century
British authors, most obviously Coleridge and DeQuincey, it’s the Thompson
story that’s the real attraction here.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This
is a tale of a vainglorious author of diabolical temperament who sacrifices his
true love to a demonic power for a transitory taste of fame.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The suitably opulent - and somewhat creepy -
prose is informed (it is Abrams’ contention) by Thompson’s opium-induced visions.
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">I don’t
recall seeing “Finis Coronat Opus” heavily anthologized in any of the abundant,
and often repetitive, collections of classic horror stories, of which David
Tibet’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Moons At Your Door</i> is the
most recent example.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Tibet has another
anthology on the way entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There Is a
Graveyard That Dwells in Man</i>; if it isn’t too late, perhaps he could
squeeze this little piece into it?</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">*Thompson,
whom I understand Chesterton enthused over, is considered a “Catholic” poet for
his major poem “The Hound of Heaven”, and is known to have spent a good portion
of his adult life on the streets as an opium fiend.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B0007DKWWQ&asins=B0007DKWWQ&linkId=1d819da4d1635edc80f63ae6842302b0&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br></font></font></p>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1907222421&asins=1907222421&linkId=2a80eb3df4f895eb6f15eb7904fba4ec&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></span></span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-24801976440289102952018-07-20T20:36:00.001-07:002018-07-20T20:41:59.775-07:00The King in the Golden Mask and Imaginary Lives by Marcel Schwob<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lLmbuG3_J9DSHxprwTaiGu6pwNmq2X80xnzVTk6czFXZJR4ePHbRvrfqplreXtiquX9hZDlwlUPz0BE6T9yqkEGHqmt9erbPer0R_CpRNw8rh0BfloZuvf6BwmuUnXlcZgrN/s1600/le+roi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="136" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lLmbuG3_J9DSHxprwTaiGu6pwNmq2X80xnzVTk6czFXZJR4ePHbRvrfqplreXtiquX9hZDlwlUPz0BE6T9yqkEGHqmt9erbPer0R_CpRNw8rh0BfloZuvf6BwmuUnXlcZgrN/s200/le+roi.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">With <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The King in the
Golden Mask</b>, Wakefield Press continues its endeavor to publish the works of
Marcel Schwob with a volume of fantastic and macabre tales. The author spins stories
of violence and mild sexual transgression that are divided between those
derived from actual historical places or events and others that are pure
fantasy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There’s enough leprosy and
mutilation to keep things interesting and, on the whole, the book is skewed
more towards the lurid than <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Book of
Monelle</b>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The stories have that
quaint poeticism that one finds in certain <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fin
de siècle</i> authors – they are nicely translated by Kit Schluter with an
appropriate dreamlike quality, and are quite enjoyable, if not particularly
memorable. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkAkE7UWT1W3-MESmLl1SUxiCkvAbOVz-mSTBYfz2HiXyxpatgFQ6uYbqnr9QOu5T9sq_YEZiNsP7aaNYuwLpjL1Kt3zVFx3Ho8jrirx0qWV4mQWqpoOTb9puopA0ejLLRGh_/s1600/vidas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="176" data-original-width="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBkAkE7UWT1W3-MESmLl1SUxiCkvAbOVz-mSTBYfz2HiXyxpatgFQ6uYbqnr9QOu5T9sq_YEZiNsP7aaNYuwLpjL1Kt3zVFx3Ho8jrirx0qWV4mQWqpoOTb9puopA0ejLLRGh_/s1600/vidas.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Also published by Wakefield, just this year, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Imaginary Lives</b> resembles – and was an
inspiration for – Borges’ wonderful <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Universal
History of Infamy</b>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not all
of the 24 personages* in Schwob’s fictionalized biographies are degenerates and
reprobates (Pocahontas, of all people, appears in the mix), but it’s not giving
anything away to say that sad, unfortunate ends are the norm here.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In a few pages each, Schwob tells the story
of a number of famous, infamous, and obscure characters from antiquity through the Renaissance and up into the 18th Century (he has a particular thing for pirates, it appears). This is
a worthy addition to Wakefield’s Schwob project.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Very much in the vein of the aforementioned cruel tales is
Pascal Quignard’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A Terrace in Rome</b>,
which I read some months ago but neglected to mention here.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It is the unfortunate tale of a 17th Century Italian engraver, who bears hideous facial scars as a result of
an ill-fated romantic encounter, excellently told by a modern master and
published by Wakefield in 2016.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Note: I’ve decided to revive my practice of providing Amazon
product links, as decent bookstores can be hard to find, and the few loose
cents dropped into my Amazon account every year or so is a good reminder to not
give up my day job.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If you are fortunate
enough to live in a place with a local bookstore brave enough to stock these
titles in the vain hope that some ne’er-do-well will wander in looking for an
intelligent, yet lurid, read (as Malvern Books in Austin does), then by all
means patronize <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">* Just for the hell of it, here is the list:</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Empedocles (<i>Supposed God</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Herostratus (<i>Incendiary</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Crates (<i>Cynic</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Septima (<i>Enchantress</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Lucretius (<i>Poet</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Clodia (<i>Licentious Matron</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Petronius (<i>Novelist</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Suffrah (<i>Geomancer</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Fra Dolcino (<i>Heretic</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Cecco Angiolieri (<i>Hateful Poet</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Paolo Uccello (<i>Painter</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Nicolas Loyseleur (<i>Judge</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Katherine the Lacemaker (<i>Lady of the Night</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Alain the Kind (<i>Soldier</i> )</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Gabriel Spenser (<i>Actor</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Pocahontas (<i>Princess</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Cyril Tourneur (<i>Tragic Poet</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">William Phips (<i>Treasure Hunter</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Captain Kidd (<i>Pirate</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Walter Kennedy (<i>Illiterate Pirate</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Major Stede Bonner (<i>Pirate by Temperament</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Messrs. Burke and Hare (<i>Murderers</i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1939663237&asins=1939663237&linkId=1cf8bc7552b0a2e9515b416faa4db85e&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe></span></div>
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1939663342&asins=1939663342&linkId=307ac7816ae8a6dcd5b93858648a7b16&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=biblioobscur-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1939663164&asins=1939663164&linkId=216d13293b074d78e0d328b0200e76c4&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true&price_color=333333&title_color=121314&bg_color=8a7b7b" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"><br> </iframe><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-67917197020598809642018-07-06T20:35:00.000-07:002018-07-06T20:35:06.019-07:00Les Nuits de Paris by Restif de la Bretonne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFCpZ5_4taFCo1VAlaQ5ZLg4k79XQwkIRVouDfLe_ZIvao5fiWXF108LZNhfs9Uxf3h92ayz9gLHAmZ7qC7ecgv0AoX8bcfyAeQdVKi-qEqArKSBbV4wE5Xfa3Y_Z-Mf7n55w/s1600/lesnuitsdeparis05bretgoog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFCpZ5_4taFCo1VAlaQ5ZLg4k79XQwkIRVouDfLe_ZIvao5fiWXF108LZNhfs9Uxf3h92ayz9gLHAmZ7qC7ecgv0AoX8bcfyAeQdVKi-qEqArKSBbV4wE5Xfa3Y_Z-Mf7n55w/s1600/lesnuitsdeparis05bretgoog.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;">One would suppose from Jacques Barzun’s introductory essay to this selection that this project,
which Restif originally imagined as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">1,001
Parisian Nights</i>, was conceived as a sort of documentary
experiment.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>An exhaustive catalogue of
the seamy nocturnal underworld of Paris in the late 18<sup>th</sup> century,
Restif’s extended rambles and the salacious tableaux he witnessed (and more
often than not inserted himself into as a sort of immaculate and irreproachable
moral authority – a pretty damn good joke in its own right) were allegedly duly
reported to “the Marquise”, a mysterious noblewoman with an apparently
bottomless desire to assist the poor, the disadvantaged, and the unavoidably
debauched.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Barely 30 pages into this
selection – itself a portion of a much larger work – we’ve already met con artists,
brothel keepers, grave robbers, pickpockets, juvenile delinquents, murderers,
pedophiles, gay-baiters, child prostitutes, and “effeminate men”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;">Restif (the
“de la Bretonne” was an affectation) was a tireless scribbler who, when he
wasn’t on the prowl for a suitable orifice, was consumed with writing about
what he found when he got there, and keeping precise records that, if we can
trust him as an erotic memoirist, rival those of his near contemporary, Giacomo
Casanova.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>On his own terms, this short,
fat, balding and swarthy fellow was a bit of a libertine, or as we might more
accurately describe his sort these days, a serial rapist. In these pages,
however, the idealized Monsieur Restif is much more interested in returning
seduced young maidens back into the arms of their worried parents than one
would suspect from what we know of his autobiographical portrayal in other
works.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;">The dust
jacket of my 1962 edition shows an amusingly clean drawing of Paris in broad
daylight that belies the dark and disturbing portrait of the nocturnal metropolis
that Restif is trying to convey. Reading the selections, I like to imagine what
a delightfully dark series of graphic storybooks this could make under the
pencil of a suitably talented illustrator (think of something akin to Dore’s
illustrations of London as a city of dreadful night). </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;">We must
assume that there is a kernel of reality in the vision that Restif is
attempting to portray, but I am less inclined than Mr. Barzun to see Restif as
a social reformer (although he did, in fairness, support reformation – although
certainly not elimination – of prostitution in Paris) than as an exploitative
storyteller trading on and embellishing to lurid effect the dangers and
degeneracies of the lost and hopeless <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">habitués
</i>of the dark city. This is neither Henry Mayhew’s London nor Jacob Riis’s
New York, but rather an entertainment based on the debased sufferings of the lower
depths, in which the Marquise is the conscious stand-in for the titillated reader.
It is, for all that, quite entertaining, particularly when taken in small
doses.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-37114745269985361832018-05-04T20:29:00.002-07:002018-05-04T20:29:52.562-07:00Recent Re-readings
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Light
in August </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">by William Faulkner</span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7eeBLwZWfX677_nWfKeLJGlWbEP-oBSM967ceCP6yP88hKRJd-yPFNZNc45s9EdyofOGdEf94We-mQDtU6ETOmBvIbRe4VTBvtBV06fSoBQEllZNsqBEaZ8eYhyphenhyphenTsFhMHRiF/s1600/faulkner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="199" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7eeBLwZWfX677_nWfKeLJGlWbEP-oBSM967ceCP6yP88hKRJd-yPFNZNc45s9EdyofOGdEf94We-mQDtU6ETOmBvIbRe4VTBvtBV06fSoBQEllZNsqBEaZ8eYhyphenhyphenTsFhMHRiF/s200/faulkner.jpg" width="139" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">I haven’t really read Faulkner since my college days,
but I recall this one as being a favorite, and I’d intended to reread it since
way back when Vintage reissued the Cormac McCarthy catalog (which I devoured)
in softcover prior to publication of his breakthrough “Border Trilogy”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For the past 25 years or so, we can safely
call McCarthy mainstream, but back in the days of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Child of God</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blood
Meridian</i>, the influence most cited for McCarthy was Faulkner.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">As a southern gothic masterpiece, there is enough
cruelty, menace, and just plain creepiness in<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Light in August </i>to justify the connection with early
McCarthy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Joe Christmas, who dominates
the novel, is one of the most remarkably drawn characters in American fiction,
a soul doomed from the start to a life of pain and darkness. As it builds,
the narrative pulls you along remarkably well, and it stays with you.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d forgotten many of the details over the
years, so a second read was definitely rewarding.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Bruges-la-Morte</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">
by Georges Rodenbach</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Any reader with an interest in the
degenerate/symbolist literature of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fin-de-siecle</i>
must hang their head in shame if they are not acquainted with this story of
degeneration and obsession.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hugues
Viane, a widower, has made a cult of his young, dead, wife.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He obsesses over her relics for hours in the
rooms he has dedicated to her in his gloomy house before he passes into the
twilight of the Bruges night.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He has
chosen this Belgian town for its pallor of death and stagnation, a congenial
atmosphere in which to pass the remainder of his mournful, empty life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Of course, it’s only a matter of time before he begins
to notice a phantasm of his wife working her way through the streets.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She is a doppelganger to whom his obsession
transfers: he establishes her in<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>a cozy
apartment in which he can spend the days and nights slobbering and fawning over
her, pawing her long blond tresses, the very image of those which he has
established in a glass reliquary in the shrine room of his own house.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She soon tires of this creepy attention, and,
with loathing, begins to bleed him dry. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">I won’t reveal any more, except to smack my lips at
the appropriately lurid denouement.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Keep
the Dedalus edition on your shelf, as it’s worth a great deal of decadent
street cred.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And reread it occasionally
for the delightful melodrama of it.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">The
Bhagavad Gita</span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"></span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Finally, I’ve probably mentioned the impact the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bhagavad Gita</i> had on my young mind - and
the rich worlds it opened - <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>when I found
the Penguin edition, translated by Juan Mascaro, many years ago at a Las Cruces,
New Mexico library sale.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mascaro was
well versed in the Spanish mystics, and he brought that sensibility to his
translation of this text (as well as to Penguin’s edition of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dhammapada</i>).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>While there was much lyricism and beauty in
his rendering, I became suspicious as I got older of just how faithful his
translations were. In his introduction to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gita</i>, Mascaro aims for universalism, approaching the text in light
of what Huxley used to call the Perennial Philosophy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gita</i> is
a philosophical/religious discourse forming a portion of the much larger epic,
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mahabharata</i>. In 2008, Penguin
finally released a new translation by Laurie L. Patton, and while the
unfamiliar format is at first jarring, the translation appears to be much more
faithful to the text, fixing the translation firmly in context without
Mascaro’s universalism, and providing a useful introduction to the work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">As I’ve been reading Patton’s translation, it has
begun to grow on me, and I’m not sure I’d go back to Mascaro’s edition for any
reason other than sweet nostalgia.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-57838950232758630242018-04-06T19:24:00.000-07:002018-04-06T19:24:13.442-07:00Sin and Fear: The Emergence of the Western Guilt Culture, 13th -18th Centuries by Jean Delumeau
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6OQXUAtvZk69eigcAFhTgRbr63rb3_ZbQecBxEJxmrG348_OfODBPKyEvqckht_d9mKpE-v2CqPsgmSAb3VDcaNzQ7QYZYYSOZSqn9K2vJx9lHkaIYqIc1j8v1vKtw2x-7iW/s1600/Michelangelo_Fall_and_Expulsion_from_Garden_of_Eden_01_810_500_55_s_c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="810" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6OQXUAtvZk69eigcAFhTgRbr63rb3_ZbQecBxEJxmrG348_OfODBPKyEvqckht_d9mKpE-v2CqPsgmSAb3VDcaNzQ7QYZYYSOZSqn9K2vJx9lHkaIYqIc1j8v1vKtw2x-7iW/s320/Michelangelo_Fall_and_Expulsion_from_Garden_of_Eden_01_810_500_55_s_c1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">As this work
reminds us, the Church, throughout much of its history didn’t go out of its way
to offer loving comfort to the poor and oppressed (or anyone else, for that
matter) as they made their way through this vale of tears, and what made
matters worse was that “opting out” wasn’t an option. Essentially, you were
born Catholic (or heathen, but that’s another story) and you were expected to
stay that way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Deviation on the smallest
point of doctrine might well earn you a visit from your friendly and enthusiastic
inquisitor.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">So what did
the Church do with this captive audience?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Bombard them fairly constantly with harangues about their own state of
deathly sin in this life and the promise of unceasing torment in the next,
that’s what! In <b>Sin and Fear</b> (1990), Jean Delumeau more than supports this thesis with anecdotes, sermons,
lyrics, and other writings from throughout Europe that ceaselessly dwell on
human unworthiness, the unavoidable punishment of sin (even the rules for
sexual relations within wedlock could be so convoluted as to require a tax
attorney to interpret them, let alone some poor illiterate peasant), the
general suckiness of life and the overwhelming stench of death. The words and
images emphasizing the morbidity of the flesh and the stink of corruption were
omnipresent, and all it took was a good outbreak of the plague to reinforce the
truth and hopelessness of it all as, to quote Lou Reed, “all the dead bodies
piled up in mounds”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">In short,
you pretty much had it drilled into you what a worthless bag of worm meat you
were, and your hopes for at least some comfort in the afterlife were pretty
much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nil</i>. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Delumeau at one point quotes a sermon wherein
the priest tells his congregation that there wasn’t a damn one of them that had
the remotest chance of escaping hell.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>This isn’t to say that maybe you lucked out and got a humane, kindly
village priest, but he was probably the anomaly, and anyway if word filtered up
that he was coddling his flock with some fool notions of God’s mercy and loving
kindness, he was likely to be shipped off for “re-education”, because, as everyone knew, God the Father* was a real son of a bitch.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Now, sadly,
I’d like to tell you that the Reformation (and the seemly endless cycle of
religious wars - how’s that for an oxymoron?) showed the Church the error of
its ways, but of course as we all know, Luther, Calvin, et al., fine products
of the guilt culture that they were, were just as merciless in their grim
accounting of the corruption of the human soul, and Jonathan Edwards’<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>key sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry
God” only proves to show that, far from being just an outgrown medieval
mindset, this madness was still alive and kicking well into the 18<sup>th</sup>
century and beyond.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In the psychological
dimension, the author makes a pretty good case that the relentless instillation
of fear and guilt over a period of centuries created a cultural psychosis that
we, at least in the west,<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>are still a
far ways from escaping.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">*</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">At one
point in this heavy tome, Delumeau reminds us that the original association of
the word “father” was not some gentle and forgiving Ozzie Nelson-type bumbling
around in a cardigan, but rather a violent, demanding autocrat with a short
fuse, so whether you’re thinking of the God of the Old or New Testaments, the
parish priest, the Bishop of Rome (whose informal title, after all, derives
from the Latin <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">papa</i>) or even dear old
Dad, the initial association in the early days of the church one was not
necessarily a positive one.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-65516025034188138562018-03-23T12:50:00.002-07:002018-03-23T12:50:52.003-07:00Miguel Serrano: A Record of Two Friendships (or, How I Ingratiated Myself to Two Old Men for My Own Sleazy Purposes)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxiGXI1KfBb0mOPPcdJyeRS4DPGgKXJzJwZ_EeoB7VFFZ0hr7uKlhiEKX3WtoYcdKDqW0jVWBJEM-A9sw3tysCpf_NMMHOuJbiwpIAn-5CCN_I1A7SUxdGsHr0JlkZg16csAg/s1600/51jTsIMoQRL._SY344_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="214" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxiGXI1KfBb0mOPPcdJyeRS4DPGgKXJzJwZ_EeoB7VFFZ0hr7uKlhiEKX3WtoYcdKDqW0jVWBJEM-A9sw3tysCpf_NMMHOuJbiwpIAn-5CCN_I1A7SUxdGsHr0JlkZg16csAg/s200/51jTsIMoQRL._SY344_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I have had this book on my shelf for a number of years, but
only glanced into it occasionally before deciding at the end of last year to
read it through.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A few pages into Miguel
Serrano’s memoir of his association with Hermann Hesse and Carl Jung, published
by Schocken Books in 1966, the author casually mentions a small deception he
made in conversation with Hesse by implying that he was going to India as a seeker,
a humble wanderer, rather than in a diplomatic capacity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I thought that this was a curious thing to
do, so I decided it was time to learn more about Mr. Serrano, Chilean diplomat
and (inconsequential to our discussion) alleged paramour of Indira Gandhi.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKQua2MLJyQRo8GNyz748PzaYAKsqmNgfp83M-ag0ikxDdS0pv8usHKv85FbDwNwLIJZtiq-7SXVUZ9Vb81XKj6u1XmE8sGnMNnxPQUqkaWz1bu7z72pMngUm_LdwfpqNSwry/s1600/serrano+hesse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="491" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKQua2MLJyQRo8GNyz748PzaYAKsqmNgfp83M-ag0ikxDdS0pv8usHKv85FbDwNwLIJZtiq-7SXVUZ9Vb81XKj6u1XmE8sGnMNnxPQUqkaWz1bu7z72pMngUm_LdwfpqNSwry/s200/serrano+hesse.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Well, I got an eyeful about Mr. Serrano.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In this book, he presents himself as a
metaphysical seeker, an introspective searcher who had learned much from the
esoteric writings of the elderly gents into whose orbit he so forcefully
inserted himself, fawning at their feet to eke out a few letters from them in
return.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Try as I might, in my reading of
this volume, I don’t seem to find any reference to Serrano’s true life passion
- as exposed by the easy access of information that the internet provides us -
the glorification and apotheosis of Adolf Hitler, known as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Esoteric Hitlerism</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Apparently his deep reading and thoughtful meditation had led him to
cobble together a bizarre amalgam of “Aryan” Vedic knowledge and Nazi cultism
to bring forth a strange and vile religion based on Hitler worship and
(surprise!) vilification of the Jews.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If
you care to have a gander at Google Images, you can see images of Senor Serrano
down through the years, done up nice in his crisp black uniform with its assorted
vile paraphernalia, waving a peculiarly stiff goodbye to someone apparently out
of the camera shot.</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_31OkxbU87YThWT2GIsSy7EE_H9tyPniecMkInlFvWgRK3nDtD1iMDtR8VmUSMaJDHsTfYi_EPETcpqyhUleFjALe_aHmVVPzoO6Wkp4neztu4-EW1lauvMrmZ7uJDJWLASG/s1600/serranook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="1200" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_31OkxbU87YThWT2GIsSy7EE_H9tyPniecMkInlFvWgRK3nDtD1iMDtR8VmUSMaJDHsTfYi_EPETcpqyhUleFjALe_aHmVVPzoO6Wkp4neztu4-EW1lauvMrmZ7uJDJWLASG/s200/serranook.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now the biggest, and most puke-inducing, kick regarding this
bullshit is that this loathsome creep somehow shanghai’d Schocken Press, a
pre-eminent publisher specializing in Judaica to publish it, in those glorious
pre-internet days before one could “google” a name and see what kind of
freakish dishonest bastard you were dealing with.</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I don’t know to what extent Hesse and Jung had any Nazi
sympathies (apparently there are suspicions and rumors regarding Jung that I’ve
never taken the time to look into), but they certainly weren’t on display
here.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What this tiresome memoir looks
like is some fast-talking sleaze pushing himself upon two semi-retired figures in their
dotage, and harvesting their acquaintance to facilitate publication of, as far
as I can tell, the only remotely respectable piece of work he ever presented to
the world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mr. Serrano left this world in
2009: I hope they buried him proudly in that lovely uniform - in a pile of
dung.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-74106981669089713962017-08-29T19:01:00.000-07:002017-09-14T15:18:31.291-07:00Reading List<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDr_3ZYg70mOvCOAqF9rD6fXBV6geEnqdWFoQN9HUcpa_uKYybA71Gytl4TOUYyNI0G-16Sg6VlbQTWehCUlh29Mm8bGaSu4cEQfsG7UorycUQ44nAP_7KLJOZcmnW2Kdp8oR4/s1600/skull.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="190" data-original-width="266" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDr_3ZYg70mOvCOAqF9rD6fXBV6geEnqdWFoQN9HUcpa_uKYybA71Gytl4TOUYyNI0G-16Sg6VlbQTWehCUlh29Mm8bGaSu4cEQfsG7UorycUQ44nAP_7KLJOZcmnW2Kdp8oR4/s200/skull.png" width="200" /></a></div>
For anyone who might think that the paucity of my posting is evidence of a slow reader, well, you’re not wrong. However, I do manage to get through quite a few more books than is evidenced on this lowly site. So, how do I choose what to write about? I have no idea: it usually depends on what else is going on in life, and my inclination to overcome a certain laziness towards non-essential tasks. I recently thought it might be interesting to me to think about what I’ve read in the past 12 months or so, which led to this list. I’ve relied on memory and on notes jotted down in my little, underutilized, reading journal to come up with this list, which only includes what I haven’t already discussed on this blog. <br />
<br />
<b>The House of Life</b> by Mario Praz<br />
<br />
<b>The Death of Lysanda</b> by Yitzhak Orpaz<br />
<br />
<b>D’Annunzio</b> by Philippe Jullian<br />
<br />
<b>Haunted Castles: Collected Gothic Stories</b> by Ray Russell<br />
<br />
A large portion of Thomas Ligotti’s <b>Songs of a Dead Dreamer and Grimscribe</b><br />
<br />
<b>Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind</b> by Yuval Noah Harari (interest waned about halfway through, but planning to get back to it…)<br />
<br />
<b>The Romantic Rebellion: Romantic Versus Classical Art</b> by Kenneth Clark<br />
<br />
Three essays on Goethe from Thomas Mann’s <b>Essays of Three Decades</b><br />
<br />
<b>The Restoration of Rome: Barbarian Popes and Imperial Pretenders</b> by Peter Heather<br />
<br />
<b>The Creator</b> by Mynona<br />
<br />
<b>The Cathedral of Mist</b> by Paul Willems<br />
<br />
<b>Life in the Folds</b> by Henri Michaux<br />
<br />
<b>Solomon’s Secret Arts: The Occult in the Age of Enlightenment</b> by Paul Monod<br />
<br />
<b>The All-Pervading Melodius Drumbeat: The Life of Ra Lotsawa</b> by Ra Yeshe Senge (about halfway through, to be honest)<br />
<br />
<b>The Raven King: Matthias Corvinus and the Fate of His Lost Library</b> by Marcus Tanner<br />
<br />
Deeply dabbling in <b>The Penguin Book of the Undead</b> <br />
<br />
<b>A Barbarian in Asia</b> by Henri Michaux<br />
<br />
<b>The Ransom of the Soul: Afterlife and Wealth in Early Western Christianity</b> by Peter Brown<br />
<br />
<b>Love & Sleep</b> by John Crowley <br />
<br />
Goodly portions of Brian Copenhaver’s anthology, <b>The Book of Magic: From Antiquity to the Enlightenment</b><br />
<br />
<b>A History of Gnosticism</b> by Giovanni Filoramo (an excellent scholarly study)<br />
<br />
<b>The Day of the Locust</b> by Nathaniel West<br />
<br />
ETA:<br />
<br />
<b>Memoirs of a Midget </b>by Walter de la Mare<br />
<br />
<b>The Time Regulation Institute</b> by Ahmet Hamdi TanpinarUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-39869666441378391672017-06-05T14:33:00.002-07:002017-08-29T19:12:57.591-07:00Morbid Curiosities: Collections of the Uncommon and the Bizarre by Paul Gambino<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />In the late 80’s I came across a reprint of an 1896 pseudo-medical text entitled Anomalies and Curiosities of Medicine. This was a clinically lurid compendium of unfortunate and horrendous tumors, abnormalities, birth defects, and injuries. Some of the stellar personages included poor Phineas Gage (who had a large iron rod shot through his skull as a result of an industrial accident, and lived – one assumes with associated cognitive difficulty – to tell the tale), and Edward Mordrake, the (literally) two- faced individual whose extra visage allegedly tormented him with threats of damnation. There was also the Civil War soldier who became a papa by having a testicle shot clean through, with the projectile coming to rest in the womb of a fortuitously placed virgin. My faulty memory tells me that the two became hitched, and presumably spent many happy hours telling Junior stories of his early accelerated motility. </div>
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As entertaining as all of this is, you have to understand that Anomalies was a thick and well-illustrated tome, and the images, page after page, of unfortunately deformed infants - not to mention the cases of elephantiasis of the scrotum – were heart rending and nauseating enough that the volume soon satiated my morbid curiosity and ended up being shoved in some dark corner, before it was banished by means of donation or sale to some thrift shop or second-hand bookseller.<br /><br />I’ll hazard a guess that most of the colorful characters in Morbid Curiosities have a copy of that esteemed treatise occupying pride of place in some enchanting tableau, amongst the fetal skeletons and serial killer ephemera. I don’t begrudge these collectors their enthusiasms, but as Nietzsche once remarked, if one stares too long into the abyss, the abyss begins to stare back at you. Let us not forget that behind every dead or deformed infant there is, one hopes, at least one broken heart. I’ll admit that I probably meditate upon these misfortunes somewhat more than my fellow-travellers in this vale of tears (and here’s a plug for a couple of my favorite emporia, Uncommon Objects in Austin and Obscura in New York), but I’d have to say that the folks profiled in this book - one of whom is an owner of the aforementioned Obscura - are invested.<br /><br />What this volume consists of, with ample illustrations, is biographies of various hipster collectors and photos of their treasures (the aforementioned infant skeletons must come cheap, ‘cause there are a hella lot of them). These folks holding court in their bone thrones share insights into their motivations and passions. All of this is fine as far as it goes: I can imagine this circle of enthusiasts passing and signing copies of this work among themselves like some demented high school yearbook. But I’d have to say that, as with Anomalies, a little of this one goes a long way.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-74002157494433682252017-05-02T16:09:00.000-07:002017-06-05T14:36:28.515-07:00Arabia Felix: The Danish Expedition of 1761-1767 by Thorkild Hansen<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Arabia Felix</span></b><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> is
an extraordinary story of endurance on an 18</span><sup><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> Century Danish
expedition to the Yemen, known in antiquity as “Arabia Felix”.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I noticed recently that New York Review Books
was reprinting this book, and was reminded that I had the 1964 Harper and Row
edition on my shelf.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I knew nothing of
this work, but NYRB has a good record of reissuing excellent older titles, so I
thought it would be worth a look.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m
glad I did, because from the beginning I was pulled into a masterfully told narrative
of exploration, rivalry, hardship and adventure.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Hansen tells the story so remarkably that I
hesitate to reveal too much, other than to say that he breathes real life into
the six men who set out to undertake the expedition under the aegis of the King
of Denmark for the purpose of describing the manuscripts, monuments, and
natural history of far southern Arabia.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The idea was that in this land, fabled in antiquity for its riches, an
uncorrupted way of life harkening back to biblical times persisted, and that
the discovery of those treasures would bring glory to the Danish kingdom and
important scientific and historical knowledge to Europe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The undertaking turned into a six year endeavor, the
challenges of which </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">most</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> members of
the expedition rose to heroically.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The
success of the endeavor turned doubtful when one of the members, the thoroughly
unlikable von Haven, purchases packages of arsenic in an Istanbul apothecary
shop.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This creates a tension that
underlies the expedition for quite some time, until the charms of their destination
(which would soon enough turn sour) envelope them.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This country, which contains both scorching
desert and idyllic mountain palaces, holds within it a sickness that will
overtake the expedition and imperil its success.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thorkild Hansen obviously did painstaking research for this
book, and the genuine feeling of compassion and humanity that runs through it
reveals that it must have been a labor of love.</span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">If you enjoy a captivating tale of true adventure, I hope you’ll take a
chance on this one.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-196118074584645942017-04-24T20:03:00.000-07:002017-04-24T20:03:07.374-07:00Hunger by Knut Hamsun
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Not an
obscure book at all, a consideration of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hunger</b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>within its late 19<sup>th</sup> century
context makes clear why it is considered an early modern classic, echoing
through the literature of the century that followed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Knut Hamsun’s novel stands in sharp contrast
to much that had come before: it is a plotless narrative of a destitute
writer’s mental state as he pits his personal vision against the harsh
realities of the outer world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hunger and
poverty weigh heavily upon him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We don’t
know exactly how he arrived at this state, although there are enough hints
dropped for us to know that it hasn’t been a perpetual situation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">We meet the
author (clearly Hamsun’s surrogate) in the midst of his troubles, but at least
with a roof over his head.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He is on the
street soon enough, but holds optimism that a turn of fortune is at hand.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He does have a tendency, if not a
determination, to subvert himself – no sooner does he come into a pittance than
he impulsively gives it away, or rejects offered assistance through a misplaced
pride.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He is prone to bouts of
self-aggrandizement, alternating with periods of hopeless despair.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He further swings between touching
sentimentality and fierce rancor.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In the
streets of 21<sup>st</sup> century America, he would simply be counted among
the homeless mentally ill, but the narrative is sustained by his internal
dialog, and clearly there is a degree of intelligence and self-awareness being
portrayed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">In narrative
terms, the arc of the story is a rather shallow one, and one can’t imagine too
many realistic scenarios (short of violence or death) by which Hamsun could bring the tale to an end, but
there is enough of a narrative to pull the reader forward.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s considered that this story is largely
autobiographical, with incidents from the author’s own years of desperation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Aside from some unsavory opinions and
associations during the years of Nazi occupation of Norway, I know little of
Hamsun’s life and work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suppose <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hunger</b> serves as a proper introduction,
and I’d be curious to investigate the perspectives of his other writings.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27793932.post-46263701978829724852017-04-03T15:36:00.001-07:002017-04-03T15:36:51.676-07:00The Ice Trilogy by Vladimir Sorokin
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Ice Trilogy</b> (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bro</b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">/</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ice</b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">/</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">23,000</b>), published by New York Review
Books in 2011, is by turns intriguing and exhausting.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The overarching story, of pure celestial essences,
the 23,000 creators of the physical universe, who have become trapped in their own
material creation is, of course, gnostic in its essence (as was Walter Tevis’ <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Man Who Fell to Earth</b>), but the
massive (694 pages) length of the combined trilogy and the numbing repetition
of essential actions – which, I suppose, are illustrative of life itself –
serve to dull both the mind and soul.</div>
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It is a conspiracy novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">par
excellence</i>, as the liberated essences search out and awaken their companions,
entrapped within impermanent human shells, by means of bone-crushing blows to the
sternum with heavy ice hammers. The origin of this curious practice goes back
to a scientific expedition to Siberia<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>to
investigate the site of the Tunguska event. Alexander Snegirev, born June 30,
1908, the son of a wealthy Russian sugar producer whose family had been
scattered and destroyed by the Revolution (the early pages, told as a first
person narrative, carry the dim echo of Nabokov’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Speak, Memory</b>) signs up for the expedition at the urging of a girl
he meets at university.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A lost, drifting
sort of youth, Alexander becomes mysteriously invigorated as he approaches the
site.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He discovers - or rather is led to
- a huge mass of ice embedded in the swampy permafrost, and undergoes a radical
change when he slams his naked chest into the ice and his true essence
surfaces.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As unremitting as any
biological impulse, the ice “speaks” to him, awakening his heart (in the words of the novel), and his humanity falls away.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The narrative grows more alien and
single-minded, as the human race becomes more and more inconsequential to the
young man, now known by his true (and unfortunate) name of “Bro”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He sets fire to the expedition encampment before
he sets out, still naked, across the tundra.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He eventually finds, out on the desolate steppe, a girl who will share his
mission.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After Bro liberates her, she is
known as “Fer” and together they embark on a widening scheme of seeking out, by
psychic means, and building a secret society of liberated beings. As the
society grows, human beings come to be known to them simply as meat machines, to be despised for their gross and perishable natures, hidden from, and manipulated
towards the higher end.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"></span>The Brotherhood, in a course of history intertwined with
that of 20<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century Russia, grows in numbers, harvests their
brethren (under cover of the Holocaust, at one point), and establish a shady
multinational corporation - again mirroring Tevis - by means of which they
manufacture and deploy the ice hammers, which must be assembled and used under
strictly proscribed procedures. The symbol of the hammer in relation to Soviet Russia cannot be mistaken.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"></span>As the
Second World War transitions to the Stalinist twilight, the Kruschev era, and
gradually on to post-Glasnost Russia, the Brotherhood becomes less
discriminating in their methods:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>blond
and blue-eyed humans, the apparently preferred host for the celestial entities,
are abducted and battered with the ice hammers in the hopes of liberating a few
more of the 23,000.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The narrative begins
to focus more on the stories of individual humans, with an emphasis on the
seedy and criminal, as they become awakened to their higher selves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The trappings of the Brotherhood become more
cultish, with expensive surroundings, evoking on one hand the higher echelons
of Scientology and on the other the sordidness of the Jonestown massacre.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There is also a growing group of former
victims, seeming paranoiacs who swap stories and piece together a picture of a
vast conspiracy.</div>
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As the final ascension, by necessity, must involve each and
every one of the 23,000, there is a frenzy of activity as the magic number is
approached.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There are secret Chinese
slave labor facilities manufacturing the hammers from the original Tunguska ice, emphasizing the divide
between the Brotherhood, their accomplices, and the downtrodden workers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One moves towards the end of the book
wondering if the great event will even take place, or if the comforts of power
and wealth, even in the material realm, will be too much of a temptation, but
the organization appears to remain steadfast in its determination to gain
escape velocity and leave the shackles of Earth, their most deficient creation,
behind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">In the end, there are perplexities
remaining.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One of the necessary
consequences of the ascension appears not to have occurred, casting doubt on
the reality and effectiveness of the enterprise as a whole.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d have to say the finale, while unexpected,
is a bit of a letdown after such a long and challenging read.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s up to the individual reader to determine
if it was worth the effort.</span></div>
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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0