In the novella Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter creates a very formal, almost 19th century version of her setting and characters before demolishing them and submerging the reader and the story in a modern, metaphysical journey through pain, despair, illness, and death. Similar to Melancholy Whores, the writer is able to both prove a universal truth while questioning it at the same time. After all, as the main character seems to embody, both before and after her illness, that being alive is a wonderful thing. And it is. However, while Porter does seem to prove this true, the beauty of the story is how she questions the point of being alive, and further, questions the motives of the human race to ruin the life we all have to live.
One consistent theme throughout the story is the war, which, although happening elsewhere, is a looming symbol of death, regardless of the different arguments for or against its existence. Miranda consistently views those who are going to fight the war as “sacrifices” or “sacrificial lambs,” suggesting that this war is not one that requires skilled soldiers to win it through strategy, but rather blood and bodies, that the war simply requires a certain number of lives before it can end, and this means that Adam will certainly die, at least to Miranda. When she is at the show with Adam and the man on stage is ranting about the war, she even thinks, “Did you mention Adam? If you didn’t, I’m not interested. What about Adam, you little pig?” (175). This is the ultimate mistake in viewing war in its natural place, because once it hits home, once its personal, can the sacrifice really be justified? Perhaps, but it makes life difficult to justify at the same time. At the end of the story, when Miranda discovers Adam has died from influenza, she presents this concept as she is having a discussion with the ghost of Adam. She asks him, “what do you think I came back for, Adam, to be deceived like this?” (208). Shortly after, Miranda realizes that she has only returned from death to continue on the path directly back to death. Perhaps Porter intentionally has Adam die from influenza to further complicate the feelings on the doomed relationship; that for all the war, all the death and destruction, all the young men maimed or crippled or killed, there will always be death, both fair and unfair. That although Miranda seemed to know that Adam would perish in the war, and therefore their entire relationship was inevitably pointless, he died even sooner, leaving her there attempting to be grateful for her second chance.
I enjoyed this collection of short novels immensely, but my appreciation of the title novella was much greater than the previous two. I think the reason for this is primarily based in the duality of the story that I discussed at the beginning. I think the way Porter is able to dismantle this world she has so carefully and deliberately created is what gives the story such a masterful stroke. The pacing of it is perfect, involving the reader in wartime America, the workplace for women at the time, the strange contradiction between the proud young men who are going to fight (and die, in many cases) and the older, prideful men who have trouble reconciling their inability to do their duty, and so on. It is extensive and complicated, and Porter handles it all so deftly that it is not a 600 page Henry James epic, but a quick, modern look that takes the reader as deep as possible. Perhaps that is easy to do, jump on the praise-for-Porter bandwagon, but it is truly so well deserved.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Memories of My Melancholy Whores
This novel(la) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is a fictional autobiographical account of a man’s first love at the age of 90. The elderly, scholarly narrator has lived a life where he’s made a point to only sleep with whores, or at least, pay for any woman he’s bedded. He describes his life, frequently in brothels when not writing for the newspaper or teaching, as it was; that is, when he discusses his personal history, there is very little negative or positive applied, but rather, he speaks about how he has responded to aging. In that sense, it is very much a story about aging, about how an elderly person sees himself and how those around him see him differently. As usual, Marquez proves adept at presenting a sexual theme in a respectable and even ethereal light, even when that sexual relationship is presented in the first line as, “the year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin” (1). The fact that the setup and execution of this affair works is not necessarily expected, similar to the effect Lolita had, but I want to discuss two main points that allow Marquez to create such a beautiful and emotional story.
First, the more puritanical element is the lack of consummation. Although he is seeing a young girl naked, lying with her, touching her, there is never an actual sexual act. What makes this interesting is that our narrator gives us his sexual history, which could be considered at least prolific, if not sordid; however, against the advice of madams and other prostitutes, he never does wake her up each night as he sleeps with her. And because of this, he experiences love, true love, and I believe it is this first physical fact, the continuation of her virginity that allows the reader to accept the relationship as real and beautiful.
Another choice Marquez makes in the narrative that I found very interesting is a somewhat reversal of another Puritan belief, that sex is a byproduct of love. And perhaps that’s not even fair; while it’s unusual in our contemporary time to be a virgin at marriage (or at least not as commonplace as it has been historically), it’s not an entirely conservative view that love produces a better relationship, both physically and overall. However, this is a man who has known a lifetime of sexual exploits without ever experiencing love. And ultimately, although it’s a story about aging, it’s also a celebration of love, as a man is transformed by it, and even transforms others’ lives through his column in the newspaper. He even goes to the button factory, looking for his love, which is presented as almost a wasteland for youth, where the beauty of women risk being lost. At the factory, a young girl asks if he is “the man who writes love letters in the paper” (89). It’s almost a surreal moment, where this old, notoriously ugly man is recognized for something that has never been a part of his life for 90 years.
It’s tough to say the story is not about love, although aging is discussed so much by the narrator, especially in light of the ending. What is love without a blow-up, a moment where the passion of love threatens to destroy it? However, though this is arguably the first time the girl has ever seen the scholar, the story ends with the affirmation of her love for him, and the lengths to which he will go to ensure that love for the rest of his days. The use of a brothel, a notorious madame, and a child prostitute is perhaps a bit of arrogance on Marquez’s part, taking on the challenge and succeeding in showing his reader that love can conquer all, whether it be age, station, or even social constructs that are seemingly unbreakable. And, in the novel(la), love does conquer all, and, in the most pure sense of the phrase, shows that it is never too late.
First, the more puritanical element is the lack of consummation. Although he is seeing a young girl naked, lying with her, touching her, there is never an actual sexual act. What makes this interesting is that our narrator gives us his sexual history, which could be considered at least prolific, if not sordid; however, against the advice of madams and other prostitutes, he never does wake her up each night as he sleeps with her. And because of this, he experiences love, true love, and I believe it is this first physical fact, the continuation of her virginity that allows the reader to accept the relationship as real and beautiful.
Another choice Marquez makes in the narrative that I found very interesting is a somewhat reversal of another Puritan belief, that sex is a byproduct of love. And perhaps that’s not even fair; while it’s unusual in our contemporary time to be a virgin at marriage (or at least not as commonplace as it has been historically), it’s not an entirely conservative view that love produces a better relationship, both physically and overall. However, this is a man who has known a lifetime of sexual exploits without ever experiencing love. And ultimately, although it’s a story about aging, it’s also a celebration of love, as a man is transformed by it, and even transforms others’ lives through his column in the newspaper. He even goes to the button factory, looking for his love, which is presented as almost a wasteland for youth, where the beauty of women risk being lost. At the factory, a young girl asks if he is “the man who writes love letters in the paper” (89). It’s almost a surreal moment, where this old, notoriously ugly man is recognized for something that has never been a part of his life for 90 years.
It’s tough to say the story is not about love, although aging is discussed so much by the narrator, especially in light of the ending. What is love without a blow-up, a moment where the passion of love threatens to destroy it? However, though this is arguably the first time the girl has ever seen the scholar, the story ends with the affirmation of her love for him, and the lengths to which he will go to ensure that love for the rest of his days. The use of a brothel, a notorious madame, and a child prostitute is perhaps a bit of arrogance on Marquez’s part, taking on the challenge and succeeding in showing his reader that love can conquer all, whether it be age, station, or even social constructs that are seemingly unbreakable. And, in the novel(la), love does conquer all, and, in the most pure sense of the phrase, shows that it is never too late.
Lunar Park
I've been a hot and cold fan of Bret Easton Ellis for a while. I've found issues with his work and his subsequent success, but I've also gained a lot of insight from him as a young writer. However, I only intended to read Lunar Park as entertainment on my travels back from Vermont. This novel really surprised me. It played with the idea of artist and distance from artistic endeavors so well and in such a fresh way. It is written as, at least at first, a seemingly accurate autobiography. Ellis uses a first-person narrator, which is actually himself, and discusses his past success, mentioning books such as American Psycho, Rules of Attraction, and Less Than Zero. What is interesting in this beginning section of the book is the author is writing a fictionalized autobiography which satirizes the "reality" an audience tries to place on fiction. Eventually, these books, particularly the father in Less Than Zero and Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, both characters based on Ellis' own real life father, begin to haunt the narrator (Ellis) literally. The novel turns into an almost sci-fi suspense story, where the author is attempting to deal with the "monsters" he has created rather than dealing with the problems in his life. I think part of what made such an impression on me in reading this book is that I had somewhat low expectations, and I say that without any disrespect. While Ellis might be a bit of a one-trick pony, he really did write in a style that was completely appropriate to his generation and more or less invented a new style. However, this was the first book of his that broke that mold, and it was such a creative approach, it surprised me quite a bit. The reason the novel works as well as it does is because it is a pseudo-autobiography that is established as extremely believable. In fact, the first 30 pages or so are almost actually autobiographical, talking about real people, real events, real books, real success. Throughout the novel, he discusses his agent "Binky," who is actually his literary agent at ICM. These facts thrown in amongst fiction make it almost believable when the house shifts to his childhood home, the bird doll he bought for his daughter comes alive and turns evil, Patrick Bateman exists and is murdering people, and the ghost of his dead father comes back to life. I'm not much of a science-fiction fan, but this (quite literally) literary sci-fi is a genre I could grow quite accustomed to reading.
Resuscitation of a Hanged Man Pts. 1 and 2
Pt. 1
I enjoyed Resuscitation of a Hanged Man immensely and have all sorts of margin notes that I have thought of applying in my own creative work. I had only read Jesus' Son of all Denis Johnson's work prior to this, and although I enjoyed reading a (somewhat) fresh take on the world of drug addiction, I was able to appreciate this novel much more as I think he is definitively a novel writer. I'm sure someone might disagree with me on that, but the sparseness of Jesus' Son, however fitting and effective it may be, pales in comparison with what Johnson does with the prose, dialogue, and mental landscapes and degradation in the amount of space that a novel likes this grants him. It was a great recommendation and I look forward to reading more of his work in the future.
I enjoyed Resuscitation of a Hanged Man immensely and have all sorts of margin notes that I have thought of applying in my own creative work. I had only read Jesus' Son of all Denis Johnson's work prior to this, and although I enjoyed reading a (somewhat) fresh take on the world of drug addiction, I was able to appreciate this novel much more as I think he is definitively a novel writer. I'm sure someone might disagree with me on that, but the sparseness of Jesus' Son, however fitting and effective it may be, pales in comparison with what Johnson does with the prose, dialogue, and mental landscapes and degradation in the amount of space that a novel likes this grants him. It was a great recommendation and I look forward to reading more of his work in the future.
In the beginning of my reading Resuscitation of a Dead Man, I was first drawn to the strength, the awkwardness, and the inherent characterization present in the dialogue. I think that it's a very modern (more accurately, contemporary or post-modern) approach to provide character's with quirky dialogue, and this can do great things for a piece when done well, but is often not. Since fiction has always been, and is still very much used to examine the actual world around us, it is interesting to see how dialogue has changed. In older literature, dialogue most commonly fit a character's class level as well as level of education. While that may still be true, Denis Johnson's piece is a great example of how that has disappeared as the primary focus in writing dialogue. A character can be extremely well-educated, but if the author's intent is to satirize or even mock that formal education, the character can be used to make silly generalities or masturbatory attempts at self-aggrandizing. Likewise, a character with no formal education can often provide great insight or prophetic observations. These are the sorts of paradoxes I thought of when reading Resusciation.
In the novel, Johnson presents an extremely paradoxical, although consistent, protagonist in English. His dialogue, especially in the conversations he has with Leanna, who has been placed in his life serendipitously multiple times, shows him to be an honest, strong, but confused man. Rather than establish his social class or his level of education, his dialogue and thoughts are used together to create a portrait of a man on the brink, who is searching for something to keep him from ending up on the end of a rope again, though he couldn't offer a single guess about what brought his search to Provincetown. Ostensibly, he has come for a job and, perhaps, a simple change of scenery. However, in his speech and his thoughts (told through a close third-person), he is obviously searching for much more. This is not a completely novel idea; many authors create this exact type of character with, literally, the exact same life experience and crossroads. However, quite often, this type of character and the subsequent uncertainty is overwritten. Their fear and insecurity is so blatant that they become a caricature, and the reader has no interest in connecting to the character.
Some early notes, but I'm looking forward to continuing on. Interesting and enjoyable read so far. More to come.
Pt. 2
Although introduced early on and leaned on somewhat in the first half of the book, the use of religion, conflict in faith, and all things related to such was extremely witty and engaging. So often I read authors like Denis Johnson, mostly contemporary authors, who deal with faith negatively or critically by making their character(s) or narrator "not a spiritual person," or someone who somehow drives this point home. I don't mind this. Personally, I am not a religious person, and I respond to people who express their issues with religion intelligently as well as religious people who counter those things intelligently. It is always engaging to hear motivated and interesting debate. However, the seemingly recent requirement in "edgy" or "underground" types of fiction to completely discredit religion and do it through stereotypes, be they religious or anti, has become tiresome. What I loved about Resuscitation is that faith is presented as something not black and white, not something good or bad depending on the perspective, but as something so total and powerful that the man who attempts to wield it goes insane. I'll talk more about the way Johnson did this through a third-close narrator, but the multiple conflicting manifestations of God shows how easily one can be consumed by the awesome task of trying to understand faith, destiny, and the one being that is meant to control all those things as well as the things that have come before them. By the end of the novel, I was slipping into that frame of mind with English, where events and coincidences can't be brushed off as just that, but rather, through the lens of providence and fate, they all mean or lead to something else.
Part of what made this novel so interesting was the voice used by the author to grant an insight to English's perspective, while maintaining the ability to see outside of his own paranoia and loss of reason when necessary. I love how seamlessly the narrator's voice slips back and forth between an honest, straightforward view of the world and the view that English has daily, a perspective that is constantly slipping deeper into a distorted one. One reason this is done so well is because the author trusts his audience to follow, to know the difference when a street is being described as it is and when a beach is being described as English sees it; and Johnson is right to trust us, because the steps English continues to make towards what we are meant to see as insanity are paced perfectly, and up until the end, we still think he might be able to hold on, and we're not quite sure he's going to pull the trigger until he does. The use of close-third also provides an interesting correlation to the fact that English is a private investigator, and actually comes to know the woman he ends up loving much as we come to know him, by spying, looking in from the outside, although in a very intimate and close way. I also think the relationship he establishes with Leanna is very well presented in this voice, as we see both her reasonable, though a bit erratic, behavior and discussions, as well as the way English sees them, as malicious and intentionally deceptive, which we are somewhat sympathetic to at first, but slowly grow to see it as another delusion created by his deteriorating mind.
So much of the way in which I am discussing English as a character may seem disrespectful or one-sided, but I do feel some understanding and, in a way, respect for him. He is intelligent, and the ideas he has and conclusions he comes to are complex, almost genius in a way, and it is difficult to entirely discredit them in a world that maintains a bit of surreality throughout. It also makes the leaps and brashness in his dialogue, whether in a discussion or in a "rant" or thought or other solo expression, more believable and not just the author placing his voice in his main character.
New Blog
OK, so I decided it was time to switch things up when I realized that the other blog had apparently deleted entries. Unfortunately, all my entries will carry the same date now, but hopefully this works better. Sorry for the technical difficulties, Jess.
Walker
Walker
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)