He has a plain way of writing that I find avoids details and delves into broad generalities. I can see how it works in his fiction, gives everything aHe has a plain way of writing that I find avoids details and delves into broad generalities. I can see how it works in his fiction, gives everything a sort of sheen and keeps things on track and big picture, but didn't work for me in these essays....more
A short, vibes-based barfly novel. The characters and setting are well-observed. Halfway through I realized the dialogue was dated, but in the best seA short, vibes-based barfly novel. The characters and setting are well-observed. Halfway through I realized the dialogue was dated, but in the best sense, because it brought me back to that time and place.
Felt a weird reverie, because I was only a kid then, in the late 90s/early aughts, but this was the future I was preparing for, both looking forward to and dreading, but for better or worse it was robbed from us by the internet. On the one hand, there was possibility. You didn't know what the future was going to hold and what strange culture, art, or people you were going to meet. On the other hand, there was also a sort of staleness. An awareness that it was all too easy to fall into a rut and never meet likeminded people or find the ideas that would spark something inside of you. The internet (which is never even mentioned in this novel) kept getting faster and faster and took that away. Art is no longer connected to any material culture, and it's so easy to find online that it comes looking for you. With people it's still a little harder, there's still a great deal of loneliness, but it's easier than ever to find community by going online, and you don't even have to swear allegiance to some dumb countercultural tribe.
None of this has much to do with the novel, except that I think Riley inadvertently captured that era quite well. Looking forward to reading more of her novels....more
What a weird, strange book. Perfectly captures that feeling of the miscellany writer (miscellanist?), that ancient personality type who is interested What a weird, strange book. Perfectly captures that feeling of the miscellany writer (miscellanist?), that ancient personality type who is interested in everything but seems to know nothing. There's some weird stuff in here, like his father who drinks the blood of dead gladiators to improve his health. Also even the format is just weird, with quote from Pliny then being commented on by the Elder and the Younger.
Don't think I've laughed at anything lately so hard as I laughed at the commentary on stars: (view spoiler)[Quote, Naturalis Historia The stars are attached to the firmament but contrary to common belief we are not allotted one each — according to an arrangement where brightly shining stars are supposedly for the rich, less bright stars are for the poor, and the very dim for invalids, with the allotment of light dished out in accordance with each individual’s lot in life. The stars are not born coupled to humans either, and when a star shoots across the sky it is not a sign that a life has ended. No such great community exists between us and the heavens that would see starlight engage with our mortality.
Pliny the Younger A few exceptions deserve mention, though. A bright new star was born in the sky upon the death of Caesar, and upon the enthronement of our mighty emperor Trajan a new star was observed, heralding the immortal glory awaiting him.
Quote, Naturalis Historia Stars exist in the ocean and on land. I have seen stars form a halo around the javelins of soldiers who guard the camp at night, and I have seen stars descend on the yard and other parts of the ship and hop like birds from place to place with a sound reminiscent of voices.
Pliny the Younger He is confusing stars with fireflies or something.
Quote, Naturalis Historia Stars may be seen around people’s heads at nighttime. The reason behind all this is unclear and lies hidden in the majesty of Nature.
Short and fun, from Filthy Loot. A couple's relationship beaks down as the husband gets involved in a right wing werewolf cult. Some good body horror.Short and fun, from Filthy Loot. A couple's relationship beaks down as the husband gets involved in a right wing werewolf cult. Some good body horror. Would've liked to see a bit more of Ireland and the troubles in their relationship (his unemployment, the sick mother, etc) but the book is so short I guess there wasn't much room for that....more
Thought to myself ‘damn, there really is something to this distancing effect, this Brechtian alienation. I am completely alienated from this play. It'Thought to myself ‘damn, there really is something to this distancing effect, this Brechtian alienation. I am completely alienated from this play. It's actually very disorienting and confusing. What's the use of this?’ Then realized I had navigated to the wrong part of the ebook, skipping completely over the play itself to an appendix that consisted only of lines that had been significantly altered between productions of the play.
Didn't particularly care for the play but maybe it's one of those things that's better seen than read....more
A brief glimpse of a short, literary love affair and then it’s aftermath years later. The man misses out on a job opportunity to transcribe a famous wA brief glimpse of a short, literary love affair and then it’s aftermath years later. The man misses out on a job opportunity to transcribe a famous writer’s notes into a novel, and after bragging to his new lover decides to handwrite his own novel about that past affair so that he can appear to be transcribing the famous guy’s novel when she’s around. The plot and the insights into literature are really just there to justify all the little slice of life stuff, which I quite enjoyed but which would make the whole thing feel formless if not for that justification. Maybe. I don’t know....more
Yes okay, one of these stories is my own, but half the fun of this sort of thing is seeing what your story gets paired with, and these were all great.Yes okay, one of these stories is my own, but half the fun of this sort of thing is seeing what your story gets paired with, and these were all great. Loved it. Check Wyngraf out....more
A great book about different kinds of guys. Guys on the margins and guys getting by, but just barely. Not always guys you'd want to be friends with buA great book about different kinds of guys. Guys on the margins and guys getting by, but just barely. Not always guys you'd want to be friends with but guys you'd want to have seen. The guy from The Narrow Passage is the guy that's going to stick with me the most. I know that guy. Both of those guys, actually, now that I think of it. Richard and Gene. That sort of soul-deadening, menial work that creates its own sort of world around you because you don't want to share what you've learned of it and dealt with outside of actually doing that activity. But that's not the worst of it, it's that family that has it even worse, that's been completely forgotten by society, that they keep running into. That's going to stick with me.
Other highlights: Girl on Fire Escape, Bad Things Happen, Is Alive and Can Move, Everywhere Money
Reminded me of that great line from Charles Portis' The Dog of the South: The kind of people I know now don’t have barbecues, Mama. They stand up alone at nights in small rooms and eat cold weenies. My so-called friends are bums. Many of them are nothing but rats. They spread T.B. and use dirty language. They’re wife-beaters and window peepers and night crawlers and dope fiends. They have running sores on the backs of their hands that never heal. They peer up from cracks in the floor with their small red eyes and wait for chances....more
Damn, what a ride this was. An absolute masterpiece. Don't think I've ever read anything like this before.Damn, what a ride this was. An absolute masterpiece. Don't think I've ever read anything like this before....more
Think this might be my favourite entry in the series yet. I love the way Wolfe reveals and conceals things.
"Do you know what I brought up?"
She was sta Think this might be my favourite entry in the series yet. I love the way Wolfe reveals and conceals things.
"Do you know what I brought up?"
She was staring at the low ceiling, and I had the feeling that there was another Severian there, the kind and even noble Severian who existed only in Dorcas's mind. All of us, I suppose, when we think we are talking most intimately to someone else, are actually addressing an image we have of the person to whom we believe we speak. But this seemed more than that; I felt that Dorcas would go on talking if I left the room. "No," I answered. "Water, perhaps?"
"Sling-stones."
I thought she was speaking metaphorically, and only ventured, "That must have been very unpleasant."
Her head rolled on the pillow again, and now I could see her blue eyes with their wide pupils. In their emptiness they might have been two little ghosts. "Sling-stones, Severian my darling. Heavy little slugs of metal, each about as big around as a nut and not quite so long as my thumb and stamped with the word strike. They came rattling out of my throat into the bucket, and I reached down—put my hand down into the filth that came up with them and pulled them up to see. ... Do you remember, Severian, how it was when we left the Botanic Garden? You, Agia, and I came out of that great, glass vivarium, and you hired a boat to take us from the island to the shore, and the river was full of nenuphars with blue flowers and shining green leaves. Their seeds are like that, hard and heavy and dark, and I have heard that they sink to the bottom of Gyoll and remain there for whole ages of the world. But when chance brings them near the surface they sprout no matter how old they may be, so that the flowers of a chiliad past are seen to bloom again."
"I have heard that too," I said. "But it means nothing to you or me." Dorcas lay still, but her voice trembled. "What is the power that calls them back? Can you explain it?"
"The sunshine, I suppose—but no, I cannot explain it."
"And is there no source of sunlight except the sun?" I knew then what it was she meant, though something in me could not accept it.
"When that man—Hildegrin, the man we met a second time on top of the tomb in the ruined stone town—was ferrying us across the Lake of Birds, he talked of millions of dead people, people whose bodies had been sunk in that water. How were they made to sink, Severian? Bodies float. How do they weight them? I don't know. Do you?"
I did. "They force lead shot down the throats."
"I thought so." Her voice was so weak now that I could scarcely hear her, even in that silent little room. "No, I knew so. I knew it when I saw them."
Really interesting book about a really interesting life.
Agree with other criticisms here that it's not clear how the author decides what of Rhys' writReally interesting book about a really interesting life.
Agree with other criticisms here that it's not clear how the author decides what of Rhys' writing reflects her own life, but the author is to be commended for doing so much with so little and for conducting so much new research into Rhys' life. What really stands out to me is how big and influential a support network Rhys had, which is almost a paradox given that her best writing is about poverty and loneliness, although of course she had more than her fair share of both.
The first half is mostly about her island upbringing and her love affairs with the sons of the governor of the bank of england and Lenglet and Ford Madox Ford, which are more interesting than her later life, where she's taken care of but also in a sense held captive by influential women in England's publishing industry. Would've liked to see more on her interactions with the Lost Generation writers, but it seems like she didn't leave her biographers much to work with.
Well worth a read if you're interested in Jean Rhys.
I've only read her contemporary novels, but this convinced me it's time to check out her short stories and also Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea....more
The NYT review called it a light fiction, in Graham Greene's sense, and it's the best kind: where the author isn't too worried about plot or characterThe NYT review called it a light fiction, in Graham Greene's sense, and it's the best kind: where the author isn't too worried about plot or character, but mostly just wants to share a personality and show you all the neat stuff he loves. Kind of like late period Kim Stanley Robinson, in that sense. Lucky for me, my interests align with Norman's: Nova Scotia, old time radio and photography, hardboiled detective fiction, libraries, Hemingway and Robert Capa. Definitely looking forward to checking out more of Norman's novels, particularly the ones set in Nova Scotia....more
Feels like it was written in a rush. Too many characters to keep track of, and then the mysteries aren't really solved bLower tier Welsh novel, sadly.
Feels like it was written in a rush. Too many characters to keep track of, and then the mysteries aren't really solved by anything having to do with the plot. Even the obligatory Trainspotting cameo feels wasted.
What Welsh is really good at is taking cartoonish characters driven by pure id toward selfish motivations (Begbie = psychopathic violence, Juice Terry Lawson= sex, Sickboy = coercion, Renton and Spud and dozens of others = drugs, Ray Lennox = punish pedos), from there his characters enter situations meant to challenge conventional tabloid/broadsheet sociology and give us catharsis with a good punchline. There's some of that here, like when he tricks the internal affairs goons to busting up a pub he hates, but precious little overall. There's also an interesting cockney cop who starts to give us some real off-the-rails fun, but then disappears until the end of the novel.
As for the trans stuff... I guess I come from a similar boat to Welsh. I don't necessarily understand half of it, but I try to be supportive of trans people in general because I believe they have the same freedoms and the right to the same basic dignity that the rest of us have, and I'm sickened and resentful by the right's attempt to turn them into culture war scapegoats. Where Welsh differs is that he has a tendency to dwell on bad faith actors in the trans community, but you'll find bad faith actors in any community.
At the end of the novel, Welsh even tries to give up on understanding any of it, with one of the detectives having the revelation that all this trans stuff is 'a distraction, mate, a petty diversion from the real farking issues.' Really he would've been better off focusing on all the stuff about elite Tory abusers. He had some good lines about all of that, but it felt like his heart wasn't really in it, which is strange and sad because his previous work he was really able to dig into this kind of thing.
Picked up a John Fosse novel that was recommended to me but it was all one long sentence like that Mathias Enard novel I tried ages ago and couldn’t rPicked up a John Fosse novel that was recommended to me but it was all one long sentence like that Mathias Enard novel I tried ages ago and couldn’t read, my oafish brain needs periods, or full stops as the English call them, punctuation being the invention of monks who were trying to help Irish dullards learn Latin, so I just couldn’t read the book at all and stopped a few pages in I admit that kind of thing better imitates train-of-thought consciousness but my dumb oafish brain needs to be told when to stop and rest for a second before going on again or else I hyperventilate trying to read the whole thing in one go, so in the end I picked up this Dag Solstad book instead, the one about a high school teacher in Norway who finds himself in a crisis while teaching Henrik Ibsen. It’s also got those long Germanic paragraphs but at least he knows in theory what a sentence is. Also the bit about Hans Castorp was pretty funny even if I have no intention of ever reading Thomas Mann, as was the following bit where he imagines auditioning for all of his favourite 1920s novelists and considers that Mann would’ve been the only one to cast him in a role in a novel. Good midlife crisis book and the first section captured that feeling of being stuck somewhere, in this case a classroom, and watching a clock and having looping, repetitive thoughts in your head, kind of like Thomas Bernhard? Is that who I'm thinking of? but ultimately more readable....more
Nice short intro to the troubadours and their influence on European literature, something I've been looking for for a long time. Now to decide if I'm Nice short intro to the troubadours and their influence on European literature, something I've been looking for for a long time. Now to decide if I'm a partisan of "the trobar clus (also known as car, ric, oscur, sotil, cobert), the obscure, or close, subtle style of composition, or the trobar clar (leu, leugier, plan), the clear, light, easy, straightforward style."
Check out this guy: (view spoiler)[ Peire Vidal was the son of a Toulouse merchant. He began his troubadour wanderings early and at the outset of his career we find him in Catalonia, Aragon and Castile. He is then found in the service of Raimon Gaufridi Barral,24 Viscount of Marseilles, a bluff, genial tournament warrior and the husband of Azalais de Porcellet whose praises were sung by Folquet of Marseilles. It was Barral who was attracted by Peire's peculiar talents: his wife seems to have tolerated the troubadour from deference to her husband. Peire, however, says in one of his poems that husbands feared him more than fire or sword, and believing himself irresistible interpreted Azalais' favours as seriously meant. When he stole a kiss from her as she slept, she insisted upon Peire's departure, though her husband seems to have regarded the matter as a jest and the troubadour took refuge in Genoa. Eventually, Azalais pardoned him and he was able to return to Marseilles. Peire is said to have followed Richard Coeur de Lion on his crusade; it was in 1190 that Richard embarked at Marseilles for the Holy Land, and as a patron of troubadours, he was no doubt personally acquainted with Peire. The troubadour, however, is said to have gone no farther than Cyprus. There he married a Greek woman and was somehow persuaded that his wife was a daughter of the Emperor of Constantinople, and that he, therefore, had a claim to the throne of Greece. He assumed royal state, added a throne to his personal possessions and began to raise a fleet for the conquest of his kingdom. How long this farce continued is unknown. Barral died in 1192 and Peire transferred his affections to a lady of Carcassonne, Loba de Pennautier. The biography relates that her name Loba (wolf) induced the troubadour to approach her in a wolf's skin, which disguise was so successful that he was attacked by a pack of dogs and seriously mauled. Probably the story that an outraged husband had the troubadour's tongue cut out at an earlier period of his life contains an equal substratum of truth. The last period of his career was spent in Hungary and Lombardy. His political sirventes show an insight into the affairs of his age, which is in strong contrast to the whimsicality which seems to have misguided his own life. (hide spoiler)]
etymology hour: (view spoiler)[he few Provençal words which became English are interesting;38 colander or cullender (now a vegetable strainer; Prov. colador), funnel, puncheon, rack, spigot, league, noose are directly derived from Provençal and not through Northern French and are words connected with shipping and the wine trade, the port for which was Bordeaux. (hide spoiler)]...more
The Goliards are such a fascinating group, but there's so little known about them and, let's be honest, their poetry isn't great. Some of the drinkingThe Goliards are such a fascinating group, but there's so little known about them and, let's be honest, their poetry isn't great. Some of the drinking and wandering songs were okay but if you've read one poem about fair maidens in springtime, you've read them all. And it doesn't help that Symonds keeps mentioning that there's fun stuff elsewhere, but it's too vulgar for him to translate.
If anyone has a good book recommendation on the Goliards, I'm all ears....more
Feels like literary fiction slumming it in sword and sorcery territory. Critics are correct though that there's a lot of pointless cruelty and grotesqFeels like literary fiction slumming it in sword and sorcery territory. Critics are correct though that there's a lot of pointless cruelty and grotesquerie but one might say that's true of life as well? Anyway parts of it grossed me out more than the Hard to be a God film adaptation, which is really saying something....more
Reminded me of what I love about Ariosto. I'd say that alone is worth the price of admission, but of course this was free on Project Gutenberg. There'Reminded me of what I love about Ariosto. I'd say that alone is worth the price of admission, but of course this was free on Project Gutenberg. There's also interesting info on: the novellieri, Italian renaissance drama, Teofilo Folengo, Aretino, Machiavelli....more