This book was not written by Stephen King under a pen name. Stephen King didn't even know this guy, or bear a suspicious resemblance to him. Not related at all.
LOL JK SAME GUY. Stephen King wrote four or five books 'as' Bachman, I own Thinner, which was actually a pretty good book, and now The Regulators. This book, unlike my copy of Thinner however, was published before Stephen King revealed the pseudonym apparently. (Looking back on it, it's cute how Stephen King name-drops himself in both books...) But, anyway, the book was written to be a companion to a book published under Stephen King's true name and persona, Desperation, which happens to be my favorite Stephen King book. Characters are reused, some situations are reused, even the covers of the jackets of the hardcover editions connect (too bad I tossed my jacket from Desperation out; this I'd like to get a closer look at). Also, if you look on the back of those jackets they have tiny versions of the partner's cover on it. (I think The Regulators's cover looks a little dorky.)
Anyway, the difference with this book is that... well, let me give you a brief summary of Desperation: Desperation is a small nothing town based off a mine in Nevada. In the 1800's, Chinese workers discovered a strange pit full of strange artifacts that made the men go mad--and a strange smoke that poured from the deepest recesses of the mine... The mine then was forced into collapse by two workers who saw the madness and knew they had to escape. No one ever attempted to reopen it until over 100 years later, when technology had improved and economic reasons made it kind of necessary. Of course, they reopen this chamber, and the smoke--really Tak, not quite a god or devil but some evil spirit comes out and begins possessing victims, eventually massacring most of the town. He, in the body of Collie Entragian, also pulls people off the road on false charges and imprisons them (to use as hosts later on) but this proves to be his downfall, as he picks up David Carver, who is guided by God and thus eventually destroys Tak, or at the very least sends him back to the ini (the pit originally found by the Chinese workers).
Okay, now The Regulators--the events in the other book never happened (not even the bit with the trapped workers, I don't think) and characters are assigned different positions and ages, but Tak, the ini, the mine and the actual town of Desperation still exist. This book, however, is set in Ohio, where young Seth lives. He is an autistic boy who on vacation happened to wander to close to Tak's home and Tak entered into him, though unlike in Desperation he did not increase Seth's size (in Desperation Tak entering into the body made it grow up and out to accommodate the powerful thing) and also unlike said book his existence in the body did not destroy Seth's personality or wring it out, or kill him after a short period of time (Tak in a body is similar to a cancer in the body.) Seth, obsessed with cowboys and an eighties cartoon inspires Tak to turn the Ohio town into an old Western town whose birth is announced in bloodshed by characters of the eighties cartoon killing several of the town before the transformation begins.
Okay, well, here we go--just a warning, this probably won't be more than a catalogue of similar people/events/et cetera between the two. But, here...
One of the first few characters we meet is Cary Ripton, the local paperboy--also the first to die, which is kind of ironic because in Desperation he is Tak's first host and thus first to die at Tak's hand when he reappears. (Cary's first dialogue in the book is a short back-and-forth to Brad Josephson, who was Tak's second host.) In that first introduction we also meet Marinville, who in Desperation was jaded and hateful, though he redeems himself at the very end--in this, he had a bad period, but has since recovered and is still a pretty happy guy. (And in this, his bad period is delved into a little more deeply--it is mentioned that he came at his ex-wife with a knife at one point, albeit a butter knife... while I'm thinking of it, his children are never mentioned either, though they are older.)
David and Kirsten Carver are no longer brother and sister, but husband and wife (though David still calls Kirsten 'Pie') and their children are Ralph and Ellen, his parents in Desperation. Might I mention that in the first, Ralph and Ellen are both killed by Tak's doing, and in this book they both live, while David, the most important character of Desperation is killed. (A somewhat loose rule seems to be, if they died in Desperation they live in this one and vice versa. Again, Peter is the first death you actually see in Desperation, but in this he lives while his wife dies.)
In Desperation, Marinville says or thinks that God died for him--or he died inside--during Vietnam while 'Purple Haze' was playing over the radio. During this book, after the initial carnage while he's watching Peter freak out over his wife's corpse he thinks: "All we need... is Hendrix on the soundtrack, playing 'Purple Haze'" (101). Later on--a page I don't believe I marked--he thinks about how people die hard and briefly mentions 'Nam--but in Desperation almost a whole page is dedicated to it, and a much gorier page it is--he actually goes into detail of men sitting up with their intestines falling out and in their laps, and so on.
Audrey Wyler redeems herself in this book (in the first she, sullied by the can tahs attempts to kill David Carver) by being the protector of young Seth, and remains unaffected by Tak's complete control--he can force her to do things for short periods of time, but he cannot possess her or change her will as in Desperation. Anyway, she mentions an invisible friend Melissa Sweetheart--Pie's beloved doll that's left by the side of the road in Desperation.
Steve Ames appears as a stranger to the town when all goes to hell, in Desperation he is Marinville's protector and enters the town to save him. On the way he picks up a hitchhiker, Cynthia. In this, he meets her in the convenience store she works at--they share almost the same exchange, though: "'No problem cookie'... 'Don't call me cookie and I won't call you cake,' she said in a prim little no-nonsense voice" (153). I got all excited, like yayyyy! Because... because it was the same... though there wasn't really an implied relationship of any sort between them, as it kind of did at the end of Desperation (well, I though it did).
In Desperation, when Collie first meets Marinville, coyotes all around howl, and Collie (possessed by Tak, remember) quotes Bela Lugosi from the original Dracula movie--"Children of the night, what music they make"... In The Regulators Steve hears them howl and thinks of "My children of the night... Bela Lugosi, a spook in black and white, spreading his cloak" (274).
One of the twins--Dave, not David Carver--attempts to strangle Marinville. He is thwarted by Marinville himself, who hits him in his unguarded stomach, and then a mountain lion created by Tak/Seth attacks Steve. The lion has her paws up on his shoulders--it describes them as having "tangoed drunkenly" (324). This scene is a flipflopped parody of that in Desperation--in that, I believe it is the mountain lion who attacks first, and she attacks a retired alcoholic (what he used to be was a veterinarian), and in the same fashion--though her attack then was fatal. This attack is not fatal; Steve lives to the end. While everyone is distracted by the lion, Audrey goes to strangle David, her mind already destroyed by the can tahs.
I think one of the most interesting things about this book is that Tak kind of merges with Seth--or at least adopts a childlike personality. He gets distracted by the TV for hours on end, the way you'd expect an eight-year-old child to get--not an eons old demon spirit thing. He is looking at Seth's toy cars and starts wishing it belonged to a cowboy from Seth's--and Tak's--favorite movie instead of the character of the TV show (MotoKops 2200) who owns it and starts imagining how it would be if they lived in town and all became friends--like a child's fantasy, no? In the first, Tak absorbs parts of the people--this person's love of The Tractors, one person's memory of Marinville's books, someone's knowledge of pop culture--but his personality never seems to really merge with them. Through and through he's the same cunning cruel madman. In this, his mind is clearly affected and influenced by Seth's workings. (And, before I forget about it, in Desperation Pie is wearing a MotoKops shirt when she is killed.)
"Because time is short, and the time is now" (424).
Each part is ended with old diary entries or letters--the conclusion before the final of these is after (spoilers!) Seth is killed, because Tak in this could not take another host--Seth is shot by the insane by this point Cammie. (Cammie is killed moments after by Tak himself.) Anyway, Marinville, deeply shaken, starts singing softly the ballad of Jesse James--as to say, who was the real hero or not (Well, I believe that's what he was driving at, in regards to Seth possibly). Because--history lesson--Jesse James was a notorious robber in his day, and for a while a fellow named Robert Ford travelled with him, for a few years I believe. Anyway, Ford just wanted the bounty and when he saw his chance he killed Jesse in a really really cowardly way (Jesse James was polishing a mirror or a photograph hanging upon the wall), but I mean, they were like brothers, so surely he felt guilty afterwards. I guess that could kind of work for Seth, because he loved his family but he killed them via Tak? Or, he killed Tak in the end but what about the aftermath...? But Seth dies, so... So no, I'm not sure if I understand the point of it. Well.
In the final letter portion, Stephen King name drops himself and The Shining (bad book; I'd stick to the movie if I were you). He is so adorable.
It was a pretty okay book, I guess. It felt kind of like a first draft manuscript, kind of bare, but the concept was interesting enough and it was kind of cool to see the characters from Desperation reused, especially Steve and Cynthia, and then Marinville--I'm glad things went better for him in this book at least. I'd read Desperation and then The Regulators if you do think of reading either, not only because you'll actually be able to find copies of Desperation in existence (I had to go to New York to get this!) but because The Regulators may seem a little disappointing if you read it on its own, first. Tak is also much more chilling in Desperation, too, so if you want to be creeped out I'd rely on that moreso as well.
Note on my copy: there's the receipt for a Miss Felicia Robin Herman from the Ramada hotel of Ontario stuffed in the back. The bill, too. Gee, I hope she didn't get into any trouble for not signing that...
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Shiksa (Girlfriend) by Say Anything
This post's cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Well, I might look like Robert Ford but I feel just like Jesse James
Current events: I found Holes--it was in my Stephen King/Michael Crichton shelf? Oh, of course. And, I bought a copy of Kavalier and Clay! And what I believe to be a complete collection of Oscar Wilde's poetry. Yeeeeeeees.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon
Michael Chabon, author of my beloved Kavalier and Clay, the book which was totally on sale at a huge book fair this weekend and was taken right from beneath my nose so I STILL DON'T OWN A COPY OF IT GURGGHHH. Anyway, I happened to see this book at the local library and I was all, oh hey, loved your other book, hook me up.
(This what we do on Friday nights.) Anyway, let's get right down to it, shall we?
Well, it's set in Sitka (Shiksa?), Alaska which was apparently colonized by Jews as a safe haven after/during the Holocaust and after Israel's collapse... but Alaska wants to reclaim it... and also it's a whodunit, because this guy was murdered, this supposed prodigy of the generation (I can't remember the Yiddish phrase, sorry) but got overcome by the pressure and also did heroin. And the main character is of course Landsman, the inspector on the case and his ex-wife is his overseer and there's so much tension between them you could cut it the way you would cut a watermelon with a katana:
(This what we do on Friday nights.) Anyway, let's get right down to it, shall we? "'You know the expression 'a broken man'?... Most people it gets applied to don't really deserve it... Most men, in my opinion, they have nothing there to break in the first place. But this Lasker. He was like one of those sticks you snap, it lights up. You know? For a few hours. And you can hear broken glass rattling inside of it'" (3). Lasker was the murdered man. This... Well, I've been wracking my brain to think of how this would describe someone, and in Lasker's case it works--he was this child prodigy. Supposedly, of every generation, a possible Messiah is born. This was the kid. He had performed miracles (supposedly), he had an IQ of about 200, he was really good at chess (which is apparently pivotal for the book's existence, but I could have cared less)--that would be when he glowed. But the pressure got to him and he kind of disappeared, became estranged, got addicted to heroin, and later got shot. So okay, at the end of the book, what was said makes sense. But at the beginning I didn't understand it.
"'Who died?' 'A yid in a predicament,' Berko tells him. 'Dog bites man'" (67). That is, it's run of the mill, the usual. Men are always biting dogs, yids are always getting killed? Oh. Was it even necessary for me to clarify? I felt it was, but that's probably just because of my journalism class with Heidi Awesome-Miller. We learned about Dog Bites Man/Man Bites Dog. (That is, report on the unusual, which would obviously be the second option.)
Oh, what I did learn from this book? Apparently the Greeks had a goddess of chess. Caissa. Oh, but actually she was invented during the Renaissance? What? You can't just make up goddesses and say they're Greek. That's cheating. And look at this picture! Zero percent of it makes sense. Zero. Mostly nude, gonna take a bath... oh, what's that strange thing, just chilling in the wilderness? I think I'll teach myself how to play it! Oh, okay. Sounds good.
"'You don't want to redeem the world?'... 'I guess I got over it,' she says, but Landsman doesn't buy that. Bina never stopped wanting to redeem the world. She just let the world she was trying to redeem get smaller and smaller until, at one point, it could be bounded in the hat of a hopeless policeman" (169).
"'My Saturday night is like a microwave burrito. Very tough to ruin something that starts out so bad to begin with" (189). Hehe.
One of the worst things in this book is Chabon's overuse of metaphors and similes. Some of them are very colorful and interesting, but after 400 some-odd pages, it really wears thin. Near the very end he compares crouching people to dwarves hammering away or something. Like, what? No, Chabon, just no. Stop stop stop.
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I honestly don't have much to say about this book. I enjoyed very little of it other than what I quoted (and let's face it, even the worst books are quotable, unless if Sarah Dessen or Stephanie Meyer wrote it) and the cover, which is very intricate and cool. The coolest part is the bottom left corner (so far as I know, only one cover exists for this book, whether the edition is hardcover or softcover) which has a gun with parenthesis encompassing the bullets atop where the bullets would go in, then parenthesis around the whole gun (these kind of parenthesis {, they're intended to be like, which are my favorite kinds of parenthesis) and a talking bubble coming from the gun's uh, muzzle? (the part the bullets come out of) with a skull on it. Then, that entire box is in another parenthesis, as all together, they are COD. But. The book itself. It was uninteresting, opaque, and tiresome. Disappointingly different from The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. Supposedly--according to my source of Robby D--Michael Chabon just churns this stuff out, that he's the Stephen King of his niche, so it's no real surprise that this one sucks, because well, he's just churning it out. Stephen King writes crappy books all the time. And I mean, maybe it's because I don't like chess or something. Chess sucks. I actually don't even know how to play. It's definitely a MENSA-person game, though. And seeing as I'm clearly not in MENSA...
_
Uh, yeah, that's it, I guess.
Answer to last post's cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Oscar Wilde by Company of Thieves
This post's cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Even if the cancer grows till we explode, I'm yours
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Also, current events: Can't find my copy of Holes by Louis Sachar. Seriously enraged. That book's only the mayor of Awesometown, no biggie.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Collected Oscar Wilde
Well, I decided I wouldn't do this because I try to shy away from writing about collections of shorts stories and poetry and stuff because it's mainly summary, it's really disjointed, it usually has about .0001% of the original work imbued into it, and really would only mean the most to someone who's read the stuff for sure instead of just a casual observer. (This is not meant as a shot against you, Emma.) But, then my brain said OSCAR WILDE. And I was all, yeah, I AM going to talk about him for forty megabytes. I am.
Anyway, this is a Barnes & Noble collection of his randomly selected works, possibly all of his short stories, possibly all of his poetry, and all of his essays/lectures (maybe), and the three-act version of The Importance of Being Earnest. It also has a brief history of his life, as these books are wont to do, and a brief history of the note-taker of the volume, which no one reads.
I have a pretty clear idea idea of Oscar Wilde's life, though not an intimate idea, as I have never read this introduction, nor a biography of any sort on the man (which may seem kind of surprising). I skimmed the introduction included with the Barnes & Noble edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and that was enough. His history is not a pleasant one, at the end, and it does quite well to upset me, right down to my marrow. For those of you who don't know, Oscar Wilde was put on trial for homosexuality charges, and supposedly they couldn't reach a clear verdict (depending on the source, some say it was very cut-and-dry for guilty)--so they sent him to two years in jail with hard labor anyway. Actually, I lie when I say I never read the introduction in this book; I have skimmed the very end. I got so upset--so stomach sick, I get stomach sick just thinking about it here--I had to put the book down. The jail was a grimy place, naturally, dank and damp, the only toilet a bucket, and Wilde's health suffered greatly because of that, he was constantly ill, he had to perform hard labor that tore up his hands and fingernails (I have a thing about fingernails). And more, and more. You can see the difference in 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' in him from his other works, and then compare it to his earlier works (I'll touch upon this later)... it's wrenching, for me at least. You remember how when I write about the Russian Revolution, specifically about the Romanovs, I get upset? This is one of those. It's just... so twisted, so wrong, and it strikes a painful note in me that there's no avoidance of at all or possibility of being fixed because it has passed, it has passed.
Well, on that depressing note, let's get started. My first note regards 'The Portrait of Mr WH', a story which seems to be more of an intention to get Wilde's theory of Shankspeare's sonnets being written for a male lover, or just a male in general, across. I don't think it's entirely Wilde's theory alone--he was just one of the first. (When I happened to bring this up to Heidi, she asked me, "Now what would Mr Wilde know about that sort of thing, hm?") I believe his theory was that they written for a handsome young actor, though in reality no historical basis exists for the boy. Anyway... the quote, very eloquent indeed: "To him... [the sonnets] were poems of serious and tragic import, wrung out of the bitterness of Shakespeare's heart, and made sweet by the honey of his lips" (13).
"'You forget that a thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it'" (20). "'After all, what do [the sonnets] tell us about Shakespeare? Simply that he was the slave of beauty.' 'Well, that is the condition of being an artist!'" (21). (These aren't related; this simply saves room.)
Another example of Wilde's brilliant eloquence: "Later on there came to Sidney's house in London, one--some day to be burned at Rome, for the sin of seeing God in all things--Giordana Bruno" (42).
"What does it matter? It is only acting, only a comedy in real life" (57). "Consciousness, indeed, is quite inadequate to explain the contents of personality. It is Art, and Art only, that reveals us to ourselves" (68). (This he fervently believes in and it will come up more frequently later on.)
"How curiously it had all been revealed to me! A book of Sonnets, published nearly three hundred years ago, written by a dead hand and in honour of a dead youth, had suddenly explained to me the whole story of my soul's romance... Strange, that we knew so little about ourselves, and that our most intimate personality was concealed from us!'" (70). This is beautiful, I love that phrase, "the whole story of my soul's romance". It's just... so lovely. This a fantastic passage, including that what the ellipses have hidden. But it was very touching, something about it touches me, it breaks my heart and makes me love it all the more fervently at the same time.
"Martyrdom was to me merely a tragic form of scepticism, an attempt to realise by fire what one had failed to do by faith. No man dies for what he knows to be true. Men die for what they want to be true, for what some terror in their heart tells them is not true" (77).
The next story is 'Lord Arthur Savile's Crime', a sort of comedy about murder, with an ending that always sort of surprises me and I understand, but kind of dislike because it is not where I would have taken it at all. (Though, with its humorous roots, my ending would have made it very awkward and much like Castor oil.) It's about Lord Arthur, a few months before his marriage, who gets his palm read at Lady Windmere's (I see what you did there!) home. The palm reader is quite frightened, and eventually tells Arthur he is destined to murder someone, so Arthur steels himself to kill before he gets married for his wife's sake. It's a comedy, because he just can't get it down--his attempt at exploding a relation falls flat, his attempt at poisoning an old family acquaintance falls flat... well, in humorous ways, I guess you kind of have to read it to see the humor really well.
"Actors are so fortunate. They can choose whether they will appear in tragedy or in comedy, whether they will suffer or make merry, laugh or shed tears. But real life is different. Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no qualifications... the world is a stage, but the play is badly cast" (88). "Life to him meant action, rather than thought. He had that rarest of all things, common sense" (94).
From 'The Model Millionaire': "Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed" (113).
One of my favorite stories if 'The Canterville Ghost', the story of a ghost who attempts to terrify an American family who has recently moved into his domain. It is, for the most part, a comedy (the end is not, and whether I enjoy the end when I read it depends on my mood) that mocks Americans. For example, there is a bloodstain on the floor--the father is not disturbed, he simply takes special cleaning fluid and blots it out. When the ghost rattles his chains, the father offers him oil for the chains. It is meant to be (in its more comedic portion) a "satire upon American materialism" (Fletcher's note, 119). What I have marked is in its more serious ending, however, mostly of the ghost's interaction with the American family's daughter Virginia.
"'Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace'" (138).
"'You can have your secret as long as I have your heart'" (147). So, Oscar, let me turn that one right back on you. Because I'm pretty sure this is the sweetest thing I've ever read.
'The Young King' is a very clear Jesus metaphor through and through. A young king, before his coronation, has several nightmares, all of them about the works who suffered to find him jewels and gold and to weave his glorious robes and all, and becomes quite disturbed. He decides to go to the coronation wearing a sheepskin coat and held his crook as a scepter and used a crown of briars. Oh, did I mention that he was, at one point, a shepherd? I believe a big point is to be made that he is accused of doing himself up like a beggar and said that he will shame them all, but in reality he is more kingly and unable to shame, since he is following the example of, well, Jesus. It's a pretty cool little package, a pretty concept to write about. I've never seen something quite in this exact vein before.
My other favorite story is 'The Remarkable Rocket'. It's a story about rockets to be set off for the wedding of the king's son. All the rockets are personified, and there is one dreadful rocket who won't shut up about himself and how--well--remarkable he is.
"'Any place you love is the world to you'" (216).
"'...Love is not fashionable any more, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers, and is silent'" (216). This kind of reminds me of the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are talking about poetry--Elizabeth says something like, how many loves have been destroyed poetry, Mr Darcy appears surprised, saying he always thought it to be the "food of love" (CH 9), but she responds with that it helps nourish a strong love, but will kill a fragile love (sonnets in particular).
"'Why, anybody can have common sense, provided that they have no imagination'" (218). "'It is a very dangerous thing to know one's friends'" (219).
There is a 'poem in prose' entitled 'The Master'. It is hardly half a page, it is about a beautiful young man who is starved and distraught and had wounded his body with thorns. He is weeping, presumably after Christ's death, and when comfort is attempted to be given to him, he says he is not crying for Christ, but for himself, because he has committed miracles the same as Jesus, but he was not crucified. I think it's interesting because of the quote I put up earlier, about martyrs, the one from page 77 (ctrl+f it.) He desperately wanted to believe, and wanted to die for it, but he wasn't tortured and so had to live with his disbelief? Or, from Bob Dylan's Tarantula: "you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing--you are afraid of being nothing--you are caught up in it--it's got you!' i am so Sick of Biblical people--they are like castor oil--like rabies & now i wish for Your eyes..." (84).
All of his poems are fairly interesting and very pleasant, but my favorite is the most disheartening, 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol', his poem written while imprisoned. (Reading is a place, and Gaol is another name for jail.) The poem is interesting, as much as it is depressing. I can't help but wonder--and most likely guess correctly--that it's sort of a slash at Lord Alfred Douglas as well, his alleged lover. I believe this for many reasons, the first being the fact that the refrain of the poem is "Each man kills the thing he loves" (249) and later he adds, "Yet each man does not die" (249). Perhaps a direct jab at Alfred? Obviously, Wilde was not hung, but many of the observations are directed at other inmates who were hung. And he could mean, die as in suffer in a way that is like death, or you deserve death because this is what you have brought upon me... And in the refrain, Wilde has "The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword!" (249). Of course, the kiss could be a reference to Judas's kiss, but again, it works for Lord Alfred Douglas as well. And then the sword--perhaps saying, it would have been better if you had just flat out killed me than to leave me to suffer this fate? And later, he cries out: "Alas! It is a fearful thing to feel another's guilt!" (257). Who knows, this speculation could be as foundless as the Willie Hughes theory ('The Portrait of Mr WH'.)
As for the rest of the poem, it is obviously very dark and depressing. Bitter, sad, fearful--it's upsetting--"Something was dead in each of us, and what was dead was Hope" (260), "What word of grace in such a place could help a brother's soul?" (255), "It eats the flesh and bone by turns, But it eats the heart away" (264), and yet--somewhat sort of optimistic towards the end, on the very last stanza on 268 that carries over to 269, it reads as follows: "Ah! happy they whose hearts can break And peace of pardon win! How else may man make straight his plan And cleanse his soul from Sin? How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?"
"...Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies fall away like sand, creeds follow one another, but what is beautiful is a joy for all seasons, a possession for eternity" (279). (From 'Where Morality is not in Question', a lecture.)
From his lecture, 'Decorative Art in America: "When I was at Leadville and reflected that all the shining silver I saw coming from the mines would be made into ugly dollars, it made me sad" (287). First of all, this sounded really cute. Very personal, but in a cute way.* If that makes sense? Second of all, the case he is making is that beautiful resources are being wasted on ugly things: he complains about gaudy golden jewelry earlier, and right after his statement about the silver being turned to dollars, he says it "should be made into something more permanent" (287), like a monument, say (his example), the golden gates at Florence, which have been around since Michael Angelo's time and are just as beautiful as they were then.
*He also complains a little while later of the cups he was served drinks in in a hotel. He complains that they are plain and non-delicate, an "inch and a quarter thick" (288), and that he cannot fathom that because the hotels spend so much on gaudy and ugly fixtures and details, why not spend some of that on a nice teacup? His final comment on that is, "I think I have deserved something nicer" (288). Very cute, again, in a pouty little boy way.
"Beauty is justified by all her children, and cares nothing for explanations" (318). "Where there is loveliness in dress, there is no dressing up" (319). (These both, and those following until I say so, come from 'The Relations of Dress to Art'.)
"For Art is not to be taught in Academies. It is what one looks at, not what one listens to, that makes the artist. The real schools should be the streets" (319). THIS IS WHY I'M NOT GOING TO ART SCHOOL! Thank you, Oscar, and remind me to quote this next time someone asks me that damned question.
From 'The Decay of Lying', an essay in the form of a dialogue that advocates lies, or, fiction. (In its very basest explanation. It's rather long, and you would do better just to read it yourself, as with any other thing quoted here.) "The only real people are the people who never existed" (367). Because they are more interesting, deeper, more has been put into them, they are certainly subjected to more curious, interesting, and exciting events. About facts, which he so hates, and our love and need for them in our more modern times (even then!): "Certainly we are a degraded race, and have sold our birthright for a mess of facts" (371).
"But you don't seriously believe that Life imitates Art, that Life in fact is the mirror, and Art the reality?" (378). I'm not so sure if Wilde seriously believed this (though considering how often and passionately he wrote about it, I think I'd have trouble believing he didn't) or just enjoyed thinking about it and toying with it; either way, he writes about it quite often.
"One does not see anything until one sees its beauty. Then, and then only, does it come into existence" (383). "When people talk to us about others they are usually dull. When they talk about themselves they are nearly always interesting, and if one could shut them up, when they become wearisome, as easily as one can shut up a book... they would be perfect absolutely" (395).
"...We used to canonize our heroes. The modern method is to vulgarize them" (395). Of course, this remains true today. One only has to look at a magazine rack... well, anywhere. And then, this line turns out to be eerily prophetic for Wilde himself, of course--as it was at the height of his popularity and his most productive stage (or damned near close) that he was accused and put through his trials. (Kind of along with this, from 'The Critic as an Artist': "By carefully chronicling the current events of contemporary life, it shows us of what very little importance such events really are" [449]. Again, prophetic in that sense that people today don't care for Wilde's trial and would not be alarmed--that the trial is even called the Most Useless Trial of the Century--though the author of that book apparently was never told that the 1800's and 1900's are two different centuries...)
"I can fancy a man who had led a perfectly commonplace life, hearing by some chance some curious piece of music, and suddenly discovering that his soul, without his being conscious of it, had passed through terrible experiences, and known fearful joys, or wild romantic loves, or great renunciations" (396). This reminds me of page 68 and 70, from 'The Portrait of Mr WH'. Shortly before this statement, Gilbert (one half of the dialogue) talks about how certain music makes him feel a certain way; Chopin makes him feel as if he is "weeping over sins I have never committed" (396). Well, of course, it's simple enough to imagine, it's harder to imagine a man that has never been struck in the same way by a piece of music or a section of written word or a piece of art. The way I think of it is--well--the way I feel it is an ache in my heart, painful and sweeter than a ripe peach, and I imagine something is pulling at it, maybe pulling the ghost of it from my body in a way that hurts, but with calming lavender-scented hands, or cool hands, soft as velvet. And your head and chest suddenly become full. You know?
"Why cannot the artist be left alone, to create a new world if he wishes it" (396).
"It is well for his peace that the saint goes to his martyrdom. He is spared the sight of the horror of his harvest" (414). This is an interesting concept too, I think. I mean, the first martyr that comes to mind is Jesus, and his doctrine has raised wars, racial troubles, religious scuffles--certainly what he was trying to avoid. And martyrs hung caused revolution, more deaths piled up, an explosion of violence and rage (the French revolution is at the forefront here). And, even though V for Vendetta isn't real, after he upends society (in the movie), how much do you want to bet that people will crawl around filthy like rodents and fight and burn and destroy until reverting to a government similar to before?
"[The record of one's soul] is more fascinating than history, as it is concerned simply with oneself. It is more delightful than philosophy... It is the only civilized form of autobiography, as it deals with not the events, but with the thoughts of one's life; not with life's physical accidents of deeds or circumstance, but with the spiritual moods and imaginative passions of the mind" (419). "Those who try to lead the people can only do so by following the mob" (441). "Our of ourselves we can never pass, nor can there be in creation what in the creator was not" (444).
"...The more objective a creation appears to be, the more subjective it really is" (444). This just reminds of a theory Marky Mark told us about, that history is really actually subjective completely even though it's meant to be objective--sounds strange, but here's my support for that: If you're American, of course you know about the American revolution. It's the most important war in our history! It made us who we are. However, British text books hardly dedicate more than a few paragraphs to it, and in one of his Horrible History books, Teary Deary refers to the revolution as a "little problem" with the colonies.
"What other people call one's past has... everything to do with them, but has absolutely nothing to do with oneself" (445). That is, people change, grow, the kid who pulled your hair and bullied you at age five won't do so at age fifteen, and probably doesn't even remember doing so, for example. The victim of the hair-pulling still remembers and remains weary, but the ex-bully is thinking, no, I'm different, that was me, but now I'm a new me, pay attention to this me, the real me. Oscar Wilde, stop describing my thoughts and issues that bother me now to the T. It's starting to weird me out.
"Fine expression for a joy, and you intensify its ecstacy. Do you wish to love? Use Love's Litany, and the words will create the yearning from which the world fancies that they spring" (454). This is another intriguing concept, and another one which makes Wilde to be uncomfortably in my brain. He's arguing that reading about or being told about certain emotions makes you feel them--or, yearn for them, that perhaps in this case the yearning is not for your own personal Juliet, but a yearning for that boundless insane love is what causes those intense words, that you're trying to pull them out of yourself and plaster them onto other people, trying to match it--whatever you think 'it' may be.
"People cry out against the sinner, yet it is not the sinful, but the stupid, who are our shame. There is no sin except stupidity" (461). Again, mildly prophetic. Also, got your back, W.
From 'The Soul of Man Under Socialism', in which Wilde advocates a form of it... "...The best among the poor are never grateful... Why should they be grateful for the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table?" (494).
"The true perfection lies, not in what a man has, but in what man is" (496). "What is outside of [man] should be a matter of no importance" (497). And, with socialism: "Nobody will waste his life in accumulating things, and the symbols for things. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all" (497). While most people see socialism as a surrendering of freedom, Wilde clearly sees it the other way--without the burden and desire of garnering things, you know, they can live, as I've quoted. They are actually set free to develop spiritually and mentally seems to be his argument.
Wilde also works into socialism as being what Jesus advocated for--which doesn't really interest me, not his argument at least, but the fact that CS Lewis may be calling out Wilde for this in The Screwtape Letters. At one point a letter is sent that the people's new interpretations of Christ help drive people away from Christianity, because those interpretations are influenced by current events instead of the historical landscape of the ancient times and thus are wrong. The example of this is saying that Jesus's words were forms of socialism or communism. Wilde's take on it is that Jesus wanted people to be completely self-realized because that's the most important thing in life, in existence, and when one has possessions they are too distracted by those to gain self-realization, and so on--"Your perfection is inside of you" (499).
A section I thought interesting: "After all, even in prison, a man can be quite free. His soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace" (500). What I believe is worth noting is the fact that this was written in 1891--before Wilde was imprisoned. This, compared to the harsh conditions described in 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'... The conditions which essentially ruined him, stuck him with depression and destroyed his health completely... Well, I guess that this would show the difference between his--naivete, perhaps?--and what it really was like. If I may, I'd daresay that these words most likely haunted him in jail and he cursed them and himself.
"There is nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour at all, and most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find pleasure, and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless activities... To sweep a slushy crossing for eight hours on a day when the east wind is blowing is a disgusting occupation. To sweep it with mental, moral, or physical dignity seems to me to be impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. Man is made for something better than disturbing dirt" (504).
Wilde goes on to talk about how machinery should be enlisted to do man's work, saying "on slavery of the machine, the world depends" (505), again, for self-actualization, because there will be nothing to worry about. And we wouldn't have to worry about the machinery stealing jobs, because drudging jobs wouldn't exist, money wouldn't exist, because it would all be simply communal. Because it's socialism!
"...The artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all" (506).
"In Art, the public accept what has been, because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it. They swallow their classics whole, and never taste them. They endure them as the inevitable, and, as they cannot mar them, they mouth about them... this acceptance of classics does a great deal of harm" (508). Oh hey, sounds like my English classes every year. He goes onto say--not only again to parade his fervent love of Shankspeare by comparing his works to the Bible--but to say that in this way, because they just accept it, they can't truly understand its beauty and meaning because they could really care less (Oh hi, sophomore British lit class). However, they do use it as a judge, or, as Wilde puts it, a bludgeon, of other works, or to beat things back into the mold--say, to ask an author "Why don't you write more like X?" or why doesn't Y painter paint more like Z painter? And then criticize those, even though if they did, they would not only "cease to be an artist" (508) but also would be criticized for fraud. (This second bit he did not say, but you know it's the truth.) He goes on to add that when a fresh model of beauty comes into fruition it bewilders those stuck to their misinterprated classics and they harangue it and decide it to be unintelligable and, overall, immoral. I find this interesting, and especially poignant, because the next book I have begun is James Joyce's Ulysses, a new form of writing which would be a perfect example of all Wilde has spoken. Had this essay been written later--had Wilde lived that long, of course, and waited, if many things were different--one would almost certainly guess at that to be the example, I'm sure. Maybe.
"In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press" (512). "The private lives of men and women should not be told to the public" (513).
From 'A Few Maxims for the Instruction of the Over-Educated': "Friendship is far more tragic than love. It lasts longer" (529).
"To be really mediaeval one should have no body. To be really modern one should have no soul. To be really Greek one should have no clothes" (530).
"Those whom the gods love grow young" (530).
From 'Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young': "The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible" (531). "What the second duty is no one has as yet discovered" (531).
"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others" (531).
"Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the record of dead religions" (531).
"Nothing that actually occurs is of the smallest importance" (531).
"If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out" (531).
"Time is a waste of money" (532).
"One should always be a little improbable" (532).
"Only the great masters of style ever succeed in being obsure" (533). I concur!
"To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance" (533).
And, from the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray--a book also available in Barnes and Noble's classics line but does not, in their edition, include the preface, nor the "artist's preface". Oh, okay. That makes sense.
"Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault" (534). I was going to say which characters of the book this could be a direct stab at--namely, Dorian himself, but then I realized how stupid that sounded. Oh, the preface would be about the book it's prefacing? Really?
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all" (534). This quote appears in another work--perhaps 'The Decay of Lying'--only 'books' is replaced with 'poems'.
What else? In this edition, there is the three-act version of 'The Importance of Being Earnest', but I'm not going to touch that--I am in posession of the actual five-act play, so when I reread it, well, there you go. So... yeah. There's not much more to say, other than this is probably the longest post I've ever written, beacuse I am in love with Oscar Wilde and, quite frankly, could have written lots more. The one thing that bothers me about this is that this isn't a complete other than his plays and novel work. Yes, there is a book of his plays, but between the three Barnes & Noble Classics books, his works aren't complete. There are still a few stories unpublished, and I believe an essay or two, of course his letters, and then his first play--which okay, was a commercial failure, but actually that's probably what inspired all his rants on the critics and the foolishness of the public. Okay, so maybe it looks like I'm being a little nitpicky, but it's a little obnoxious--it's like having every single Pokemon card and just needing that one Charizard. Is it worth buying all those booster packs of Pokemon cards you already have for the chance of getting the Charizard? Well... yes, if it's a Charizard we're talking about, I mean... No! No, I mean. It's a pain in the neck. So, dear Barnes & Noble publishers, would you be willing to publish a book of all his other works you didn't deem fit to publish with the 'Classics' editions? (Actually, he'd probably be happier about not being in that lump... maybe. Or honoured. I'd get a huge ego, to hell with what a wrote about bludgeoning and such.) But seriously, Barnes & Noble. Get to it. Or not. Give me more reasons to type your name; I don't have nearly enough oppurtunities to include ampersands in my life, and I love ampersands. And I just had to use a semicolon, too! Ah, life is good.
So, yeah, read Oscar Wilde because HE'S AWESOME.
Cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Episodes and parallels, and don’t you want the invitation? Big bright accent, catty smile... (I can imagine anyone who recognizes these lyrics doing a great big face palm right now. LOOK. The rule is, it has to relate.)
Anyway, this is a Barnes & Noble collection of his randomly selected works, possibly all of his short stories, possibly all of his poetry, and all of his essays/lectures (maybe), and the three-act version of The Importance of Being Earnest. It also has a brief history of his life, as these books are wont to do, and a brief history of the note-taker of the volume, which no one reads.
I have a pretty clear idea idea of Oscar Wilde's life, though not an intimate idea, as I have never read this introduction, nor a biography of any sort on the man (which may seem kind of surprising). I skimmed the introduction included with the Barnes & Noble edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and that was enough. His history is not a pleasant one, at the end, and it does quite well to upset me, right down to my marrow. For those of you who don't know, Oscar Wilde was put on trial for homosexuality charges, and supposedly they couldn't reach a clear verdict (depending on the source, some say it was very cut-and-dry for guilty)--so they sent him to two years in jail with hard labor anyway. Actually, I lie when I say I never read the introduction in this book; I have skimmed the very end. I got so upset--so stomach sick, I get stomach sick just thinking about it here--I had to put the book down. The jail was a grimy place, naturally, dank and damp, the only toilet a bucket, and Wilde's health suffered greatly because of that, he was constantly ill, he had to perform hard labor that tore up his hands and fingernails (I have a thing about fingernails). And more, and more. You can see the difference in 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' in him from his other works, and then compare it to his earlier works (I'll touch upon this later)... it's wrenching, for me at least. You remember how when I write about the Russian Revolution, specifically about the Romanovs, I get upset? This is one of those. It's just... so twisted, so wrong, and it strikes a painful note in me that there's no avoidance of at all or possibility of being fixed because it has passed, it has passed.
Well, on that depressing note, let's get started. My first note regards 'The Portrait of Mr WH', a story which seems to be more of an intention to get Wilde's theory of Shankspeare's sonnets being written for a male lover, or just a male in general, across. I don't think it's entirely Wilde's theory alone--he was just one of the first. (When I happened to bring this up to Heidi, she asked me, "Now what would Mr Wilde know about that sort of thing, hm?") I believe his theory was that they written for a handsome young actor, though in reality no historical basis exists for the boy. Anyway... the quote, very eloquent indeed: "To him... [the sonnets] were poems of serious and tragic import, wrung out of the bitterness of Shakespeare's heart, and made sweet by the honey of his lips" (13).
"'You forget that a thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it'" (20). "'After all, what do [the sonnets] tell us about Shakespeare? Simply that he was the slave of beauty.' 'Well, that is the condition of being an artist!'" (21). (These aren't related; this simply saves room.)
Another example of Wilde's brilliant eloquence: "Later on there came to Sidney's house in London, one--some day to be burned at Rome, for the sin of seeing God in all things--Giordana Bruno" (42).
"What does it matter? It is only acting, only a comedy in real life" (57). "Consciousness, indeed, is quite inadequate to explain the contents of personality. It is Art, and Art only, that reveals us to ourselves" (68). (This he fervently believes in and it will come up more frequently later on.)
"How curiously it had all been revealed to me! A book of Sonnets, published nearly three hundred years ago, written by a dead hand and in honour of a dead youth, had suddenly explained to me the whole story of my soul's romance... Strange, that we knew so little about ourselves, and that our most intimate personality was concealed from us!'" (70). This is beautiful, I love that phrase, "the whole story of my soul's romance". It's just... so lovely. This a fantastic passage, including that what the ellipses have hidden. But it was very touching, something about it touches me, it breaks my heart and makes me love it all the more fervently at the same time.
"Martyrdom was to me merely a tragic form of scepticism, an attempt to realise by fire what one had failed to do by faith. No man dies for what he knows to be true. Men die for what they want to be true, for what some terror in their heart tells them is not true" (77).
The next story is 'Lord Arthur Savile's Crime', a sort of comedy about murder, with an ending that always sort of surprises me and I understand, but kind of dislike because it is not where I would have taken it at all. (Though, with its humorous roots, my ending would have made it very awkward and much like Castor oil.) It's about Lord Arthur, a few months before his marriage, who gets his palm read at Lady Windmere's (I see what you did there!) home. The palm reader is quite frightened, and eventually tells Arthur he is destined to murder someone, so Arthur steels himself to kill before he gets married for his wife's sake. It's a comedy, because he just can't get it down--his attempt at exploding a relation falls flat, his attempt at poisoning an old family acquaintance falls flat... well, in humorous ways, I guess you kind of have to read it to see the humor really well.
"Actors are so fortunate. They can choose whether they will appear in tragedy or in comedy, whether they will suffer or make merry, laugh or shed tears. But real life is different. Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no qualifications... the world is a stage, but the play is badly cast" (88). "Life to him meant action, rather than thought. He had that rarest of all things, common sense" (94).
From 'The Model Millionaire': "Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed" (113).
One of my favorite stories if 'The Canterville Ghost', the story of a ghost who attempts to terrify an American family who has recently moved into his domain. It is, for the most part, a comedy (the end is not, and whether I enjoy the end when I read it depends on my mood) that mocks Americans. For example, there is a bloodstain on the floor--the father is not disturbed, he simply takes special cleaning fluid and blots it out. When the ghost rattles his chains, the father offers him oil for the chains. It is meant to be (in its more comedic portion) a "satire upon American materialism" (Fletcher's note, 119). What I have marked is in its more serious ending, however, mostly of the ghost's interaction with the American family's daughter Virginia.
"'Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace'" (138).
"'You can have your secret as long as I have your heart'" (147). So, Oscar, let me turn that one right back on you. Because I'm pretty sure this is the sweetest thing I've ever read.
'The Young King' is a very clear Jesus metaphor through and through. A young king, before his coronation, has several nightmares, all of them about the works who suffered to find him jewels and gold and to weave his glorious robes and all, and becomes quite disturbed. He decides to go to the coronation wearing a sheepskin coat and held his crook as a scepter and used a crown of briars. Oh, did I mention that he was, at one point, a shepherd? I believe a big point is to be made that he is accused of doing himself up like a beggar and said that he will shame them all, but in reality he is more kingly and unable to shame, since he is following the example of, well, Jesus. It's a pretty cool little package, a pretty concept to write about. I've never seen something quite in this exact vein before.
My other favorite story is 'The Remarkable Rocket'. It's a story about rockets to be set off for the wedding of the king's son. All the rockets are personified, and there is one dreadful rocket who won't shut up about himself and how--well--remarkable he is.
"'Any place you love is the world to you'" (216).
"'...Love is not fashionable any more, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers, and is silent'" (216). This kind of reminds me of the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are talking about poetry--Elizabeth says something like, how many loves have been destroyed poetry, Mr Darcy appears surprised, saying he always thought it to be the "food of love" (CH 9), but she responds with that it helps nourish a strong love, but will kill a fragile love (sonnets in particular).
"'Why, anybody can have common sense, provided that they have no imagination'" (218). "'It is a very dangerous thing to know one's friends'" (219).
There is a 'poem in prose' entitled 'The Master'. It is hardly half a page, it is about a beautiful young man who is starved and distraught and had wounded his body with thorns. He is weeping, presumably after Christ's death, and when comfort is attempted to be given to him, he says he is not crying for Christ, but for himself, because he has committed miracles the same as Jesus, but he was not crucified. I think it's interesting because of the quote I put up earlier, about martyrs, the one from page 77 (ctrl+f it.) He desperately wanted to believe, and wanted to die for it, but he wasn't tortured and so had to live with his disbelief? Or, from Bob Dylan's Tarantula: "you have no answers! you have just found a way to pass your time! without this thing, you would shrivel up & be nothing--you are afraid of being nothing--you are caught up in it--it's got you!' i am so Sick of Biblical people--they are like castor oil--like rabies & now i wish for Your eyes..." (84).
All of his poems are fairly interesting and very pleasant, but my favorite is the most disheartening, 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol', his poem written while imprisoned. (Reading is a place, and Gaol is another name for jail.) The poem is interesting, as much as it is depressing. I can't help but wonder--and most likely guess correctly--that it's sort of a slash at Lord Alfred Douglas as well, his alleged lover. I believe this for many reasons, the first being the fact that the refrain of the poem is "Each man kills the thing he loves" (249) and later he adds, "Yet each man does not die" (249). Perhaps a direct jab at Alfred? Obviously, Wilde was not hung, but many of the observations are directed at other inmates who were hung. And he could mean, die as in suffer in a way that is like death, or you deserve death because this is what you have brought upon me... And in the refrain, Wilde has "The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword!" (249). Of course, the kiss could be a reference to Judas's kiss, but again, it works for Lord Alfred Douglas as well. And then the sword--perhaps saying, it would have been better if you had just flat out killed me than to leave me to suffer this fate? And later, he cries out: "Alas! It is a fearful thing to feel another's guilt!" (257). Who knows, this speculation could be as foundless as the Willie Hughes theory ('The Portrait of Mr WH'.)
As for the rest of the poem, it is obviously very dark and depressing. Bitter, sad, fearful--it's upsetting--"Something was dead in each of us, and what was dead was Hope" (260), "What word of grace in such a place could help a brother's soul?" (255), "It eats the flesh and bone by turns, But it eats the heart away" (264), and yet--somewhat sort of optimistic towards the end, on the very last stanza on 268 that carries over to 269, it reads as follows: "Ah! happy they whose hearts can break And peace of pardon win! How else may man make straight his plan And cleanse his soul from Sin? How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?"
"...Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies fall away like sand, creeds follow one another, but what is beautiful is a joy for all seasons, a possession for eternity" (279). (From 'Where Morality is not in Question', a lecture.)
From his lecture, 'Decorative Art in America: "When I was at Leadville and reflected that all the shining silver I saw coming from the mines would be made into ugly dollars, it made me sad" (287). First of all, this sounded really cute. Very personal, but in a cute way.* If that makes sense? Second of all, the case he is making is that beautiful resources are being wasted on ugly things: he complains about gaudy golden jewelry earlier, and right after his statement about the silver being turned to dollars, he says it "should be made into something more permanent" (287), like a monument, say (his example), the golden gates at Florence, which have been around since Michael Angelo's time and are just as beautiful as they were then.
*He also complains a little while later of the cups he was served drinks in in a hotel. He complains that they are plain and non-delicate, an "inch and a quarter thick" (288), and that he cannot fathom that because the hotels spend so much on gaudy and ugly fixtures and details, why not spend some of that on a nice teacup? His final comment on that is, "I think I have deserved something nicer" (288). Very cute, again, in a pouty little boy way.
"Beauty is justified by all her children, and cares nothing for explanations" (318). "Where there is loveliness in dress, there is no dressing up" (319). (These both, and those following until I say so, come from 'The Relations of Dress to Art'.)
"For Art is not to be taught in Academies. It is what one looks at, not what one listens to, that makes the artist. The real schools should be the streets" (319). THIS IS WHY I'M NOT GOING TO ART SCHOOL! Thank you, Oscar, and remind me to quote this next time someone asks me that damned question.
From 'The Decay of Lying', an essay in the form of a dialogue that advocates lies, or, fiction. (In its very basest explanation. It's rather long, and you would do better just to read it yourself, as with any other thing quoted here.) "The only real people are the people who never existed" (367). Because they are more interesting, deeper, more has been put into them, they are certainly subjected to more curious, interesting, and exciting events. About facts, which he so hates, and our love and need for them in our more modern times (even then!): "Certainly we are a degraded race, and have sold our birthright for a mess of facts" (371).
"But you don't seriously believe that Life imitates Art, that Life in fact is the mirror, and Art the reality?" (378). I'm not so sure if Wilde seriously believed this (though considering how often and passionately he wrote about it, I think I'd have trouble believing he didn't) or just enjoyed thinking about it and toying with it; either way, he writes about it quite often.
"One does not see anything until one sees its beauty. Then, and then only, does it come into existence" (383). "When people talk to us about others they are usually dull. When they talk about themselves they are nearly always interesting, and if one could shut them up, when they become wearisome, as easily as one can shut up a book... they would be perfect absolutely" (395).
"...We used to canonize our heroes. The modern method is to vulgarize them" (395). Of course, this remains true today. One only has to look at a magazine rack... well, anywhere. And then, this line turns out to be eerily prophetic for Wilde himself, of course--as it was at the height of his popularity and his most productive stage (or damned near close) that he was accused and put through his trials. (Kind of along with this, from 'The Critic as an Artist': "By carefully chronicling the current events of contemporary life, it shows us of what very little importance such events really are" [449]. Again, prophetic in that sense that people today don't care for Wilde's trial and would not be alarmed--that the trial is even called the Most Useless Trial of the Century--though the author of that book apparently was never told that the 1800's and 1900's are two different centuries...)
"I can fancy a man who had led a perfectly commonplace life, hearing by some chance some curious piece of music, and suddenly discovering that his soul, without his being conscious of it, had passed through terrible experiences, and known fearful joys, or wild romantic loves, or great renunciations" (396). This reminds me of page 68 and 70, from 'The Portrait of Mr WH'. Shortly before this statement, Gilbert (one half of the dialogue) talks about how certain music makes him feel a certain way; Chopin makes him feel as if he is "weeping over sins I have never committed" (396). Well, of course, it's simple enough to imagine, it's harder to imagine a man that has never been struck in the same way by a piece of music or a section of written word or a piece of art. The way I think of it is--well--the way I feel it is an ache in my heart, painful and sweeter than a ripe peach, and I imagine something is pulling at it, maybe pulling the ghost of it from my body in a way that hurts, but with calming lavender-scented hands, or cool hands, soft as velvet. And your head and chest suddenly become full. You know?
"Why cannot the artist be left alone, to create a new world if he wishes it" (396).
"It is well for his peace that the saint goes to his martyrdom. He is spared the sight of the horror of his harvest" (414). This is an interesting concept too, I think. I mean, the first martyr that comes to mind is Jesus, and his doctrine has raised wars, racial troubles, religious scuffles--certainly what he was trying to avoid. And martyrs hung caused revolution, more deaths piled up, an explosion of violence and rage (the French revolution is at the forefront here). And, even though V for Vendetta isn't real, after he upends society (in the movie), how much do you want to bet that people will crawl around filthy like rodents and fight and burn and destroy until reverting to a government similar to before?
"[The record of one's soul] is more fascinating than history, as it is concerned simply with oneself. It is more delightful than philosophy... It is the only civilized form of autobiography, as it deals with not the events, but with the thoughts of one's life; not with life's physical accidents of deeds or circumstance, but with the spiritual moods and imaginative passions of the mind" (419). "Those who try to lead the people can only do so by following the mob" (441). "Our of ourselves we can never pass, nor can there be in creation what in the creator was not" (444).
"...The more objective a creation appears to be, the more subjective it really is" (444). This just reminds of a theory Marky Mark told us about, that history is really actually subjective completely even though it's meant to be objective--sounds strange, but here's my support for that: If you're American, of course you know about the American revolution. It's the most important war in our history! It made us who we are. However, British text books hardly dedicate more than a few paragraphs to it, and in one of his Horrible History books, Teary Deary refers to the revolution as a "little problem" with the colonies.
"What other people call one's past has... everything to do with them, but has absolutely nothing to do with oneself" (445). That is, people change, grow, the kid who pulled your hair and bullied you at age five won't do so at age fifteen, and probably doesn't even remember doing so, for example. The victim of the hair-pulling still remembers and remains weary, but the ex-bully is thinking, no, I'm different, that was me, but now I'm a new me, pay attention to this me, the real me. Oscar Wilde, stop describing my thoughts and issues that bother me now to the T. It's starting to weird me out.
"Fine expression for a joy, and you intensify its ecstacy. Do you wish to love? Use Love's Litany, and the words will create the yearning from which the world fancies that they spring" (454). This is another intriguing concept, and another one which makes Wilde to be uncomfortably in my brain. He's arguing that reading about or being told about certain emotions makes you feel them--or, yearn for them, that perhaps in this case the yearning is not for your own personal Juliet, but a yearning for that boundless insane love is what causes those intense words, that you're trying to pull them out of yourself and plaster them onto other people, trying to match it--whatever you think 'it' may be.
"People cry out against the sinner, yet it is not the sinful, but the stupid, who are our shame. There is no sin except stupidity" (461). Again, mildly prophetic. Also, got your back, W.
From 'The Soul of Man Under Socialism', in which Wilde advocates a form of it... "...The best among the poor are never grateful... Why should they be grateful for the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table?" (494).
"The true perfection lies, not in what a man has, but in what man is" (496). "What is outside of [man] should be a matter of no importance" (497). And, with socialism: "Nobody will waste his life in accumulating things, and the symbols for things. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all" (497). While most people see socialism as a surrendering of freedom, Wilde clearly sees it the other way--without the burden and desire of garnering things, you know, they can live, as I've quoted. They are actually set free to develop spiritually and mentally seems to be his argument.
Wilde also works into socialism as being what Jesus advocated for--which doesn't really interest me, not his argument at least, but the fact that CS Lewis may be calling out Wilde for this in The Screwtape Letters. At one point a letter is sent that the people's new interpretations of Christ help drive people away from Christianity, because those interpretations are influenced by current events instead of the historical landscape of the ancient times and thus are wrong. The example of this is saying that Jesus's words were forms of socialism or communism. Wilde's take on it is that Jesus wanted people to be completely self-realized because that's the most important thing in life, in existence, and when one has possessions they are too distracted by those to gain self-realization, and so on--"Your perfection is inside of you" (499).
A section I thought interesting: "After all, even in prison, a man can be quite free. His soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace" (500). What I believe is worth noting is the fact that this was written in 1891--before Wilde was imprisoned. This, compared to the harsh conditions described in 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'... The conditions which essentially ruined him, stuck him with depression and destroyed his health completely... Well, I guess that this would show the difference between his--naivete, perhaps?--and what it really was like. If I may, I'd daresay that these words most likely haunted him in jail and he cursed them and himself.
"There is nothing necessarily dignified about manual labour at all, and most of it is absolutely degrading. It is mentally and morally injurious to man to do anything in which he does not find pleasure, and many forms of labour are quite pleasureless activities... To sweep a slushy crossing for eight hours on a day when the east wind is blowing is a disgusting occupation. To sweep it with mental, moral, or physical dignity seems to me to be impossible. To sweep it with joy would be appalling. Man is made for something better than disturbing dirt" (504).
Wilde goes on to talk about how machinery should be enlisted to do man's work, saying "on slavery of the machine, the world depends" (505), again, for self-actualization, because there will be nothing to worry about. And we wouldn't have to worry about the machinery stealing jobs, because drudging jobs wouldn't exist, money wouldn't exist, because it would all be simply communal. Because it's socialism!
"...The artist can fashion a beautiful thing; and if he does not do it solely for his own pleasure, he is not an artist at all" (506).
"In Art, the public accept what has been, because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it. They swallow their classics whole, and never taste them. They endure them as the inevitable, and, as they cannot mar them, they mouth about them... this acceptance of classics does a great deal of harm" (508). Oh hey, sounds like my English classes every year. He goes onto say--not only again to parade his fervent love of Shankspeare by comparing his works to the Bible--but to say that in this way, because they just accept it, they can't truly understand its beauty and meaning because they could really care less (Oh hi, sophomore British lit class). However, they do use it as a judge, or, as Wilde puts it, a bludgeon, of other works, or to beat things back into the mold--say, to ask an author "Why don't you write more like X?" or why doesn't Y painter paint more like Z painter? And then criticize those, even though if they did, they would not only "cease to be an artist" (508) but also would be criticized for fraud. (This second bit he did not say, but you know it's the truth.) He goes on to add that when a fresh model of beauty comes into fruition it bewilders those stuck to their misinterprated classics and they harangue it and decide it to be unintelligable and, overall, immoral. I find this interesting, and especially poignant, because the next book I have begun is James Joyce's Ulysses, a new form of writing which would be a perfect example of all Wilde has spoken. Had this essay been written later--had Wilde lived that long, of course, and waited, if many things were different--one would almost certainly guess at that to be the example, I'm sure. Maybe.
"In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press" (512). "The private lives of men and women should not be told to the public" (513).
From 'A Few Maxims for the Instruction of the Over-Educated': "Friendship is far more tragic than love. It lasts longer" (529).
"To be really mediaeval one should have no body. To be really modern one should have no soul. To be really Greek one should have no clothes" (530).
"Those whom the gods love grow young" (530).
From 'Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young': "The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible" (531). "What the second duty is no one has as yet discovered" (531).
"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others" (531).
"Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the record of dead religions" (531).
"Nothing that actually occurs is of the smallest importance" (531).
"If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out" (531).
"Time is a waste of money" (532).
"One should always be a little improbable" (532).
"Only the great masters of style ever succeed in being obsure" (533). I concur!
"To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance" (533).
And, from the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray--a book also available in Barnes and Noble's classics line but does not, in their edition, include the preface, nor the "artist's preface". Oh, okay. That makes sense.
"Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault" (534). I was going to say which characters of the book this could be a direct stab at--namely, Dorian himself, but then I realized how stupid that sounded. Oh, the preface would be about the book it's prefacing? Really?
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all" (534). This quote appears in another work--perhaps 'The Decay of Lying'--only 'books' is replaced with 'poems'.
What else? In this edition, there is the three-act version of 'The Importance of Being Earnest', but I'm not going to touch that--I am in posession of the actual five-act play, so when I reread it, well, there you go. So... yeah. There's not much more to say, other than this is probably the longest post I've ever written, beacuse I am in love with Oscar Wilde and, quite frankly, could have written lots more. The one thing that bothers me about this is that this isn't a complete other than his plays and novel work. Yes, there is a book of his plays, but between the three Barnes & Noble Classics books, his works aren't complete. There are still a few stories unpublished, and I believe an essay or two, of course his letters, and then his first play--which okay, was a commercial failure, but actually that's probably what inspired all his rants on the critics and the foolishness of the public. Okay, so maybe it looks like I'm being a little nitpicky, but it's a little obnoxious--it's like having every single Pokemon card and just needing that one Charizard. Is it worth buying all those booster packs of Pokemon cards you already have for the chance of getting the Charizard? Well... yes, if it's a Charizard we're talking about, I mean... No! No, I mean. It's a pain in the neck. So, dear Barnes & Noble publishers, would you be willing to publish a book of all his other works you didn't deem fit to publish with the 'Classics' editions? (Actually, he'd probably be happier about not being in that lump... maybe. Or honoured. I'd get a huge ego, to hell with what a wrote about bludgeoning and such.) But seriously, Barnes & Noble. Get to it. Or not. Give me more reasons to type your name; I don't have nearly enough oppurtunities to include ampersands in my life, and I love ampersands. And I just had to use a semicolon, too! Ah, life is good.
So, yeah, read Oscar Wilde because HE'S AWESOME.
Cryptic song lyrics for Emma: Episodes and parallels, and don’t you want the invitation? Big bright accent, catty smile... (I can imagine anyone who recognizes these lyrics doing a great big face palm right now. LOOK. The rule is, it has to relate.)
Friday, June 4, 2010
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling
Well! This is going a little out of order, but I'm a little short of time and will be until Sunday afternoon (or more) and Harry Potter will be much easier to get through.
Obviously I've read the book before. I'm pretty sure everyone ever has read it, even people who died before the book was published. It just got so popular that these dead guys, uh, created worm holes, and took copies, and... well. You know the rest. Anyway, the reason why I'm writing about it is because we read the book in Wizards. And... is a summary necessary? An average little British boy finds out he is a wizard. And he's like the chosen kid or something yayyyy. Guys, it's Harry Potter!
This is the first time I've reread it ever--I never felt compelled to, not even the third one, which was my favorite book of the series. But anyway, that means I noticed a lot of foreshadowing and references and stuff I wouldn't have gotten.... my God, it's been nine years since I first read this book. Well. My first note is just that Hagrid's flying motorcycle was lent to him by "young Sirius Black" (18). My second note is also foreshadowing--Harry speaking to the snake at the zoo. (Did that even happen in the movie? It's been eight years since I've seen that in its completeness.) It's foreshadowing the discovery of his Parseltongue (the ability to speak to snakes) in the second book.
I like how Ron's mom tells Fred and George not to ask Harry about Voldemort for fear it may upset him and then Ron goes ahead and does just that.
One think that seems strange is when they first speak of Dean Thomas they say he's "a Black boy" (152). Why is black capitalized? Well, I guess they can't really say he's African American, but...
During one of the Quidditch matches Harry momentarily sees gold and thinks it's the Snitch, but realizes it's one of the Weasley twins' wristwatches. Isn't it funny that they have watches, like, normal watches? Maybe?
"'Hermione, the exams are ages away.' 'Ten weeks,' Hermione snapped. 'That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicholas Flamel'" (284). SHUT UP, HERMIONE. Starting to remember why exactly she was my least favorite character....
In the movie, there are two trials to get to the chamber where the stone is hidden that are taken out. One of them is Snape's trial, which is a logic problem and nothing more. As in, a critically-thinking eight-year-old could get through it. There are several potions laid out and to get past you must drink one... here are some sample clues: "Two of us will help you... one among us seven will let you move ahead, another will transport the drinker back instead... two among our number hold only nettle wine... three of us are killers... you will always find some on nettle wine's left side.... different are those at either end, but if you would move onward, neither is your friend... neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides... the second left and the second right are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight" (354-355). Good job, Snape. Thank you for giving us the answers. No, really, you're great. Though I do like the change they made in the movie that Hermione stays to help Ron instead of her staying being only because there's not enough potion for her and Harry. That kind of makes her look like a jerk...
It bothers me that the stone just appears in Harry's pocket. You had me, then you lost me. TOO FAR, ROWLING, TOO FAR!
Oh, and Dumbledore's point system at the end? I feel like the Slytherins would have revolted. I would have been hopping mad. Like... Oh, Slytherin wins! LOL JK, Gryffindor just got 170 more points and they win. YOU KIDS SUCK! I like Joe Dunn's strip about this. Actually, all of his Harry Potter strips are pretty hilarious.
Anyway. After rereading this--well, we dissected this in class. It's full of plot devices, cliches, et cetera--well, it kind of doesn't hold up to my enjoyment of it as a kid. I probably won't reread the whole series, though I will continue to watch the movies, since at this point most of my fond memories of the series are about the movies, or the LEGO sets. (I have Hogwarts Castle, The Dursleys'/Flying car set, Gringott's, Diagon Alley, the Quidditch set and the mini Buckbeak set, so there! ....Not that I can find the instructions to any of them other than Hogwarts and the Dursleys' ... or Snape... *sigh*.) Man, I would totally kill to get the whole LEGO series... time to hit Amazon up....
Obviously I've read the book before. I'm pretty sure everyone ever has read it, even people who died before the book was published. It just got so popular that these dead guys, uh, created worm holes, and took copies, and... well. You know the rest. Anyway, the reason why I'm writing about it is because we read the book in Wizards. And... is a summary necessary? An average little British boy finds out he is a wizard. And he's like the chosen kid or something yayyyy. Guys, it's Harry Potter!
This is the first time I've reread it ever--I never felt compelled to, not even the third one, which was my favorite book of the series. But anyway, that means I noticed a lot of foreshadowing and references and stuff I wouldn't have gotten.... my God, it's been nine years since I first read this book. Well. My first note is just that Hagrid's flying motorcycle was lent to him by "young Sirius Black" (18). My second note is also foreshadowing--Harry speaking to the snake at the zoo. (Did that even happen in the movie? It's been eight years since I've seen that in its completeness.) It's foreshadowing the discovery of his Parseltongue (the ability to speak to snakes) in the second book.
I like how Ron's mom tells Fred and George not to ask Harry about Voldemort for fear it may upset him and then Ron goes ahead and does just that.
One think that seems strange is when they first speak of Dean Thomas they say he's "a Black boy" (152). Why is black capitalized? Well, I guess they can't really say he's African American, but...
During one of the Quidditch matches Harry momentarily sees gold and thinks it's the Snitch, but realizes it's one of the Weasley twins' wristwatches. Isn't it funny that they have watches, like, normal watches? Maybe?
"'Hermione, the exams are ages away.' 'Ten weeks,' Hermione snapped. 'That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicholas Flamel'" (284). SHUT UP, HERMIONE. Starting to remember why exactly she was my least favorite character....
In the movie, there are two trials to get to the chamber where the stone is hidden that are taken out. One of them is Snape's trial, which is a logic problem and nothing more. As in, a critically-thinking eight-year-old could get through it. There are several potions laid out and to get past you must drink one... here are some sample clues: "Two of us will help you... one among us seven will let you move ahead, another will transport the drinker back instead... two among our number hold only nettle wine... three of us are killers... you will always find some on nettle wine's left side.... different are those at either end, but if you would move onward, neither is your friend... neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides... the second left and the second right are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight" (354-355). Good job, Snape. Thank you for giving us the answers. No, really, you're great. Though I do like the change they made in the movie that Hermione stays to help Ron instead of her staying being only because there's not enough potion for her and Harry. That kind of makes her look like a jerk...
It bothers me that the stone just appears in Harry's pocket. You had me, then you lost me. TOO FAR, ROWLING, TOO FAR!
Oh, and Dumbledore's point system at the end? I feel like the Slytherins would have revolted. I would have been hopping mad. Like... Oh, Slytherin wins! LOL JK, Gryffindor just got 170 more points and they win. YOU KIDS SUCK! I like Joe Dunn's strip about this. Actually, all of his Harry Potter strips are pretty hilarious.
Anyway. After rereading this--well, we dissected this in class. It's full of plot devices, cliches, et cetera--well, it kind of doesn't hold up to my enjoyment of it as a kid. I probably won't reread the whole series, though I will continue to watch the movies, since at this point most of my fond memories of the series are about the movies, or the LEGO sets. (I have Hogwarts Castle, The Dursleys'/Flying car set, Gringott's, Diagon Alley, the Quidditch set and the mini Buckbeak set, so there! ....Not that I can find the instructions to any of them other than Hogwarts and the Dursleys' ... or Snape... *sigh*.) Man, I would totally kill to get the whole LEGO series... time to hit Amazon up....
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