The Eleven Thousand Rods by Guillaume Apollinaire was the first book I read in 2017. What a doozy of a book! Reading surrealist literature is like playing Russian Roulette. Some times your going to get fascinatingly weird books like Rene Daumal's A Night of Serious Drinking or Andre Breton's classic Nadja. Other times your going to get disgustingly weird books like this or Georges Bataille's Story of the Eye.
There is something admittedly admirable about Apollinaire's craftsmanship in this book. It is obviously well written. But, it isn't a fun read. It's not quite as gross as Bataille's Story of the Eye. But, I think that is only because it is so over the top and because Apollinaire obviously has a sense of humor. If there was any humor in the Story of the Eye I completely failed to see it. I wouldn't recommend this book to anyone I didn't wish to scar. (That is not some error of omission in that last word. I didn't accidentally leave off an 'e'.)
I won't quote much of this book here because I'm a bit embarrassed to admit to having read it. But, as a testament to the craftsmanship in Apollinaire's work and as a nod to his sense of humor (which is funny, but again embarrassing to admit I find it funny), I will note one thing. After engaging in a bit of murder and worse Mony (the main character) slips off the train. "The double murder not he Orient Express supplied the papers with news for six months. The murderers were not found and the crime was attributed to Jack the Ripper, whose back's broad enough" (Apollinaire, 53). I laughed an audible laugh at this line. There are a lot of little asides like this in this twisted novella. I'd write more about it; but, I must go shower...
Showing posts with label Breton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breton. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Notes on Les Chants De Maldoror
Well. What can I say about Les Chants De Maldoror by Comte de Lautreamont? It is a book. It is a good book. It is a difficult book to read. And honestly, I wouldn't have wanted to be caught in flagrante delicato reading it. It's about as beautiful as a chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table. Honestly, it's a rough read. It's a celebration of evil and besides that it's way out there. Much of it is incredibly dark. But, I can understand why the surrealists held it up as the godfather of their artistic movement.
While I'd probably need to read it more thoroughly to fully grasp everything that was said in it, there were some points in it that really stuck out to me. In talking about man he writes, "As for me, I presume that he believes in his beauty only from pride, but that he is not really beautiful and that he suspects this, for why does he contemplate the countenance of his fellow man with so much scorn?" (Lautreamont, 18). It's a damning indictment and one that sticks well.
"Legislators of stupid institutions, inventors of narrow morality, keep your distance from me, for I have an impartial mind" (Lautreamont, 231). He celebrates the pride he has, but it is a wicked pride. Although it is truly reprehensible, he does it is an amazing and captivating style. He may be bad but he's perfectly good at it... Again he celebrates his pride. "Human justice has not yet surprised me in flagrante delicatu, despite the incontestable skill of its agents" (Lautreamont, 234).
"The theatre of war is nothing but a vast field of carnage when night reveals her presence and the silent moon appears between the rags of a cloud" (Lautreamont, 236). A pretty, but sad sentence.
"It is possible that in this manner you will succeed in rejoicing extremely the soul of the dead person who is about to take refuge from life in a grave" (Lautreamont, 237). A very pretty way to describe death - a refuge from life in the grave.
There are also fairly funny sentences that are truly surreal in nature. For example, "I began the preceding sentence, I calculate mentally that it would not be useless here to construct the complete avowal of my basic impotence, when it is especially a matter, as at present, of this imposing and unapproachable question" (Lautreamont, 239). "But there will be no more anathemas, possessing the specialty of provoking laughter; fictitious personalities who would have done better to remain in the author's brain" (Lautreamont, 256). And then he made me laugh, in public, caught in the act (in flagrante delicatu). "I no longer recall what I was intending to say, for I do not remember the beginning of the sentence" (Lautreamont, 261).
On a personal note I understood a short tale he told within the story. "He had contracted the habit of getting drunk; during the moments when he returned to the house after having visited the cabaret bars, his madness would become almost immeasurable, and he would strike out indiscriminately at any object that came in sight. But soon, under the protests of his friends, he reformed completely, and sank into a taciturn frame of mind. No one could come near him, not even our mother. He nursed a secret resentment against the idea of duty, which prevented him from having his own way" (Lautreamont, 282). I understand that resentment better than I wish I did.
In the Poésies he writes, "Judgments on poetry have more value than poetry. They are the philosophy of poetry. Philosophy, thus understood, comprises poetry. Poetry cannot do without philosophy. Philosophy can do without poetry." (Lautreamont, 330).
"We must not believe that what Nature has made friendly should be vicious. There has not been a century or a people that has not established imaginary virtues and vices" (Lautreamont, 340).
I think I'd like to reread this, but with a commentary. Or a couple of commentaries. But, as for why the surrealists and why they held it up as a precursor for them, I understand. Breton was amazed when he found the sentence, "as beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table ". He held it up as the beginning of the surrealist aesthetic. Max Ernst used this imagery to define the structure of a surrealist painting. He said that it linked two realities that have nothing to link them in a setting that shouldn't be linked with either of them. That is the essence of surrealism.
While I'd probably need to read it more thoroughly to fully grasp everything that was said in it, there were some points in it that really stuck out to me. In talking about man he writes, "As for me, I presume that he believes in his beauty only from pride, but that he is not really beautiful and that he suspects this, for why does he contemplate the countenance of his fellow man with so much scorn?" (Lautreamont, 18). It's a damning indictment and one that sticks well.
"Legislators of stupid institutions, inventors of narrow morality, keep your distance from me, for I have an impartial mind" (Lautreamont, 231). He celebrates the pride he has, but it is a wicked pride. Although it is truly reprehensible, he does it is an amazing and captivating style. He may be bad but he's perfectly good at it... Again he celebrates his pride. "Human justice has not yet surprised me in flagrante delicatu, despite the incontestable skill of its agents" (Lautreamont, 234).
"The theatre of war is nothing but a vast field of carnage when night reveals her presence and the silent moon appears between the rags of a cloud" (Lautreamont, 236). A pretty, but sad sentence.
"It is possible that in this manner you will succeed in rejoicing extremely the soul of the dead person who is about to take refuge from life in a grave" (Lautreamont, 237). A very pretty way to describe death - a refuge from life in the grave.
There are also fairly funny sentences that are truly surreal in nature. For example, "I began the preceding sentence, I calculate mentally that it would not be useless here to construct the complete avowal of my basic impotence, when it is especially a matter, as at present, of this imposing and unapproachable question" (Lautreamont, 239). "But there will be no more anathemas, possessing the specialty of provoking laughter; fictitious personalities who would have done better to remain in the author's brain" (Lautreamont, 256). And then he made me laugh, in public, caught in the act (in flagrante delicatu). "I no longer recall what I was intending to say, for I do not remember the beginning of the sentence" (Lautreamont, 261).
On a personal note I understood a short tale he told within the story. "He had contracted the habit of getting drunk; during the moments when he returned to the house after having visited the cabaret bars, his madness would become almost immeasurable, and he would strike out indiscriminately at any object that came in sight. But soon, under the protests of his friends, he reformed completely, and sank into a taciturn frame of mind. No one could come near him, not even our mother. He nursed a secret resentment against the idea of duty, which prevented him from having his own way" (Lautreamont, 282). I understand that resentment better than I wish I did.
In the Poésies he writes, "Judgments on poetry have more value than poetry. They are the philosophy of poetry. Philosophy, thus understood, comprises poetry. Poetry cannot do without philosophy. Philosophy can do without poetry." (Lautreamont, 330).
"We must not believe that what Nature has made friendly should be vicious. There has not been a century or a people that has not established imaginary virtues and vices" (Lautreamont, 340).
I think I'd like to reread this, but with a commentary. Or a couple of commentaries. But, as for why the surrealists and why they held it up as a precursor for them, I understand. Breton was amazed when he found the sentence, "as beautiful as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table ". He held it up as the beginning of the surrealist aesthetic. Max Ernst used this imagery to define the structure of a surrealist painting. He said that it linked two realities that have nothing to link them in a setting that shouldn't be linked with either of them. That is the essence of surrealism.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Pedro Paramo
I read Juan Rulfo's Pedro Paramo for the first time last night. I kept starting and stopping as I needed to go to bed. But, in the end I wound up staying up til 3 am to finish it. I have to read it again, and soon.
It is a crazy book. The surrealist aspects are grotesque, but not in the way that Bataille's The Story of the Eye is grotesque. Rulfo focuses on death in this book, not unseemly sexual encounters involving copious amounts of piss.
Juan Preciado is instructed by his dying mother to return to her hometown and take some sort of revenge on his father. The town of Comala is a ghost town in a more literal sense of the word. It is a quasi-purgatory where the disembodied souls of the townsfolk live in shame and fear of the dead Pedro Paramo. As I said earlier I have to read it again to grasp the fullness (or lack thereof) of the book. But, a couple things really struck me on this initial reading.
First, when Juan dies, or when he realizes he is dead - I am not sure if he was ever alive in the story or not, he is buried into a grave with Dorotea and the two begin to speak. That first encounter was fascinating. Dorotea takes over the narrative from this point, but her description of her death was truly incredible. She talks about her soul demanding that her body continue working, but the body is speaking to Juan inside their shared grave. The body tells him that she simply opened up her mouth and released the soul.
Second, when Juan encounters the burro driver you have no idea he's dead. Then he doesn't play much of a part for the whole book except to bring about what ever semblance of conclusion you can get. That was interesting too.
Third, and this might have been my favorite story arch within this multi-tiered story is that of Father Renteria. Father Renteria is a priest (whom we find out was killed by one of Pedro's many sons) that has been condemned to purgatory for putting up with Pedro and his horrible ways. Father Renteria even goes over into another town and finds another priest who refuses him absolution. It is a very intriguing story.
I'm finding that I enjoy some of the surrealist stories much better than others. I loved Queneau's Flight of Icarus and Rulfo's Pedro Paramo. I liked Nadja by Andre Breton. I hated The Story of the Eye. I don't think I can say that enough. I guess it's the same with all genres, but while Nadja and Icarus eventually wrapped up somewhat, Pedro and The Story of the Eye really offered no real ending per se. Yet of the four I would (at this moment) rank them my top and bottom of surrealist literature read so far. I guess the surrealist must have been on to something as style tends to outweigh substance in their genre.
It is a crazy book. The surrealist aspects are grotesque, but not in the way that Bataille's The Story of the Eye is grotesque. Rulfo focuses on death in this book, not unseemly sexual encounters involving copious amounts of piss.
Juan Preciado is instructed by his dying mother to return to her hometown and take some sort of revenge on his father. The town of Comala is a ghost town in a more literal sense of the word. It is a quasi-purgatory where the disembodied souls of the townsfolk live in shame and fear of the dead Pedro Paramo. As I said earlier I have to read it again to grasp the fullness (or lack thereof) of the book. But, a couple things really struck me on this initial reading.
First, when Juan dies, or when he realizes he is dead - I am not sure if he was ever alive in the story or not, he is buried into a grave with Dorotea and the two begin to speak. That first encounter was fascinating. Dorotea takes over the narrative from this point, but her description of her death was truly incredible. She talks about her soul demanding that her body continue working, but the body is speaking to Juan inside their shared grave. The body tells him that she simply opened up her mouth and released the soul.
Second, when Juan encounters the burro driver you have no idea he's dead. Then he doesn't play much of a part for the whole book except to bring about what ever semblance of conclusion you can get. That was interesting too.
Third, and this might have been my favorite story arch within this multi-tiered story is that of Father Renteria. Father Renteria is a priest (whom we find out was killed by one of Pedro's many sons) that has been condemned to purgatory for putting up with Pedro and his horrible ways. Father Renteria even goes over into another town and finds another priest who refuses him absolution. It is a very intriguing story.
I'm finding that I enjoy some of the surrealist stories much better than others. I loved Queneau's Flight of Icarus and Rulfo's Pedro Paramo. I liked Nadja by Andre Breton. I hated The Story of the Eye. I don't think I can say that enough. I guess it's the same with all genres, but while Nadja and Icarus eventually wrapped up somewhat, Pedro and The Story of the Eye really offered no real ending per se. Yet of the four I would (at this moment) rank them my top and bottom of surrealist literature read so far. I guess the surrealist must have been on to something as style tends to outweigh substance in their genre.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Aesthetic Notes on Nadja
There is much about surrealist aesthetics that I don't understand. Here are some notes on Aesthetics from André Breton's Nadja.
Aesthetics:
"Chirico
acknowledged at the time that he could paint only when surprised (surprised
first of all) by certain arrangements of objects, and that the entire enigma of
revelation consisted for him in the word: surprise" (Breton, 15). Breton
goes on to note that the art that Chirico created certainly was linked with the
object that inspired it, but only in a way that two brothers resemble on
another or as a dream about a person resembles the actual person. Firstly, the
dream part is a part of the surrealist fascination with dreams. But, the
element of surprise seems to be essential to understanding the Surrealist
aesthetic desire as well. I was not familiar with De Chirico until I looked him
up, but after seeing some of his more famous paintings like Love Song,
The Red Tower and The
Disquieting Muses I realized I had at least seen some of his works. They encapsulate
(at least his work during his 'metaphysical' period) what I've always
considered surrealism's enjoyable aspects.
"I
insist on knowing the names, on being interested only in books left ajar, like
doors; I will not go looking for keys" (Breton, 18). This seems an
interesting aesthetic ideal for Breton considering the surrealist paintings. I
guess in some extent the door is left ajar in that a painting or drawing in
that style naturally opens itself to multiple vantage points and
interpretations. But, on the other hand the door seems firmly closed to getting
to the meaning behind the works.
There
is a long passage on Breton's concept of beauty after the dots on page 159
through the final page 160. But the final sentence of the book seems to
articulate Breton's view on beauty well enough. "Beauty will be convulsive
or will not be at all". If something therefore, doesn't cause an unconscious
reaction then it isn't beauty at all. Convulsions aren't usually something that
I incorporate into my ideas of pleasurable experiences, but there are of course
muscle convulsions that are. It's just an ugly word to associate with
beauty.
Literary Notes on Nadja
There are a number of ways of reading a book. But, the whole purpose of this blog was to hone my skills as a writer and glean literary technique to incorporate into my own style. Basically this is my fake book to steal other writers' style. I want to read as much and incorporate as much in such a subtle manner that nobody notices that I've stolen it. That said, the main reason to read a work of fiction is to enjoy the book and revel in its literary beauty. So, here are some of the literary qualities about Nadja by André Breton that I enjoyed the most.
Literary:
"I
insist on knowing the names, on being interested only in books left ajar, like
doors; I will not go looking for keys" (Breton, 18). I love the word
'ajar'. It just seems to make everything pop out from around it. But, the
imagery about not wanting to search for keys to unlock a book is just a good
image.
"I
cannot see, as I hurry along, what could constitute for me, even without my
knowing it, a magnetic pole in either space or time" (Breton, 32). In this
little passage of the book Breton notes that if you visit Paris you can't help
but see him because he always ends up in a single place. This struck me because
of my idea to write a story about the Maria Maggiore, a basilica in Rome that
no matter what happened on our vacation, Erin and I would inevitably end up in
its piazza when we were lost. This happened every day of our Rome vacation.
Perhaps, there was a magnetic pole in either space or time located somewhere
beneath it? Or it was itself a magnetic pole?
"A
faint smile may have been wandering across her face" (Breton, 64). This is
just a beautifully simple sentence that encapsulates the moment.
"Those
provisional moments of grace, real death-traps of the soul, an abyss, an abyss
into which the splendidly mournful bird of divination has vanished again"
(Breton, 91). It's a good juxtaposition of opposites and the unexpected.
Normally one would associate grace, even momentary grace as something to enjoy,
but Breton calls them death-traps and an abyss.
"Be
careful: everything fades, everything vanishes Something must remain of
us..." (Breton, 100). I think this might be the highlight of the love
Nadja has for Breton. At this point things are breaking down, both Nadja's
sanity and Breton's stomach for being with her. His fear is beginning to win
over his love, which is sad. Nadja holds on for the immortality of the love by
begging him to write a book about her (which she gains because he has). Nadja
achieves immortalization of their love, even as the love is breaking
down.
"The
well-known lack of frontiers between non-madness and madness does not induce me
to accord a different value to the perceptions and ideas which are the result
of one or the other" (Breton, 144). Once again Breton achieves an
excellent juxtaposition.
"For
fear of being fettered, never to be embraced at all" (Breton, 159). What a
profoundly sad notion.
Philosophical Notes on Nadja
I finished Nadja by André Breton yesterday and am somewhat still digesting it. It is pretty out there in literary style, but it was not nearly as difficult in reading Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar. But there were stylistic similarities - the most notable of which were the various asides that the main characters had when you weren't sure if they were speaking or using interior monologue. I wish I had read Nadja first because I think that it would have helped me read Hopscotch. But, I'll read a couple more Surrealist novels before I reread Hopscotch and hopefully that will make the hopscotching reading of Hopscotch a little easier. But, that is neither here nor there.
Philosophical Concepts:
"What I must have ceased to be in order to be who I am" (Breton, 11). This idea of renunciation or to put it in economic terms, the opportunity cost of becoming who you are by ceasing who you were was just a fascinating thought for me.
"I strive, in relation to other men, to discover the nature, if not the necessity, of my difference from them" (Breton, 13). In this we see Breton struggling to discover once again who he is, by comparing himself to others to see who he is by negation. He is not the other by necessity.
The slope facts and the cliff facts that Breton references on page 20 is interesting to think about. Here he has a hierarchy of facts, some of which only he can be the witness of and others he flatters himself that he possesses the full details. But, some of those facts deny a person rational acknowledgement and it is only by "our very instinct of self-preservation to enable us to do so" (Breton, 20). Breton seems to state that some facts are so inescapable, so brute and thus, so horrifying that we can only escape them through a matter of self-preservation.
Breton has some interesting views on the moral value of work. "I am forced to accept the notion of work as a material necessity, and in this regard I strongly favor its better, that is its fairer, division. I admit life's grim obligations make it a necessity, but never that I should believe in its value, revere my own or that of other men" (Breton, 59-60). To Breton, work is a means to an end, a necessary evil. The only good that can come from work is the material gains that come from it, not the character that it can provide.
"But it's so easy to return slowly toward the Rue Lafayette, the Rue du Faubourg Poissoniere - to begin by going back to the very spot where we were" (Breton, 74). Interestingly, after leaving Nadja at her door where he discovers that she is at the extreme limit of the surrealist aspiration, he questions what now? So he goes back to where he was; to begin again anew. I'm not sure if this is to repeat the cycle, or if it is an act of cowardice.
"Unless you have been inside a sanitarium you do not know that madmen are made there, just as criminals are made in our reformatories. Is there anything more detestable than these systems of so-called social conservation which, for a peccadillo, some initial and exterior rejection of respectability or common sense, hurl an individual among others whose association can only be harmful to him and, above all, systematically deprive him of relations with everyone whose moral or practical sense is more firmly established than his own?" (Breton, 139). This is such a scathing rebuke of Breton's societal surroundings about prisons and mental health professionals. Madmen are made in the madhouse. Criminals are made in the prison system. And, what's worse, its done systematically. It's not an accident. The system is tragically flawed and will always produce those results. In spite of Breton writing in 1928 France, the same still stands here in 21st century. The criminals are hardened in their reforming prisons. Criminals are made in the prison system.
"The most absolute sense of love or revolution...involved the negation of everything else" (Breton, 153). This is a very true thing. Love and revolution require total commitment to the cause. That said, I find the surrealist touch here a bit interesting. There seems to be an equating going on between love and revolution as if they are one in the same.
"But that is the way of the world, isn't it, the outer world, that is - a matter of sleep-walking" (154). Again the surrealist applies the opposite of reality. The outer world is the sleep-walking world. Does this mean that the inner world, the world of sleep and dreams is the world of awareness?
The Hegel quote in the end is interesting: "each man hopes and believes he is better than the world which is his, but the man who is better merely expresses this same world better than the others" (Breton, 159).
Philosophical Concepts:
"What I must have ceased to be in order to be who I am" (Breton, 11). This idea of renunciation or to put it in economic terms, the opportunity cost of becoming who you are by ceasing who you were was just a fascinating thought for me.
"I strive, in relation to other men, to discover the nature, if not the necessity, of my difference from them" (Breton, 13). In this we see Breton struggling to discover once again who he is, by comparing himself to others to see who he is by negation. He is not the other by necessity.
The slope facts and the cliff facts that Breton references on page 20 is interesting to think about. Here he has a hierarchy of facts, some of which only he can be the witness of and others he flatters himself that he possesses the full details. But, some of those facts deny a person rational acknowledgement and it is only by "our very instinct of self-preservation to enable us to do so" (Breton, 20). Breton seems to state that some facts are so inescapable, so brute and thus, so horrifying that we can only escape them through a matter of self-preservation.
Breton has some interesting views on the moral value of work. "I am forced to accept the notion of work as a material necessity, and in this regard I strongly favor its better, that is its fairer, division. I admit life's grim obligations make it a necessity, but never that I should believe in its value, revere my own or that of other men" (Breton, 59-60). To Breton, work is a means to an end, a necessary evil. The only good that can come from work is the material gains that come from it, not the character that it can provide.
"But it's so easy to return slowly toward the Rue Lafayette, the Rue du Faubourg Poissoniere - to begin by going back to the very spot where we were" (Breton, 74). Interestingly, after leaving Nadja at her door where he discovers that she is at the extreme limit of the surrealist aspiration, he questions what now? So he goes back to where he was; to begin again anew. I'm not sure if this is to repeat the cycle, or if it is an act of cowardice.
"Unless you have been inside a sanitarium you do not know that madmen are made there, just as criminals are made in our reformatories. Is there anything more detestable than these systems of so-called social conservation which, for a peccadillo, some initial and exterior rejection of respectability or common sense, hurl an individual among others whose association can only be harmful to him and, above all, systematically deprive him of relations with everyone whose moral or practical sense is more firmly established than his own?" (Breton, 139). This is such a scathing rebuke of Breton's societal surroundings about prisons and mental health professionals. Madmen are made in the madhouse. Criminals are made in the prison system. And, what's worse, its done systematically. It's not an accident. The system is tragically flawed and will always produce those results. In spite of Breton writing in 1928 France, the same still stands here in 21st century. The criminals are hardened in their reforming prisons. Criminals are made in the prison system.
"The most absolute sense of love or revolution...involved the negation of everything else" (Breton, 153). This is a very true thing. Love and revolution require total commitment to the cause. That said, I find the surrealist touch here a bit interesting. There seems to be an equating going on between love and revolution as if they are one in the same.
"But that is the way of the world, isn't it, the outer world, that is - a matter of sleep-walking" (154). Again the surrealist applies the opposite of reality. The outer world is the sleep-walking world. Does this mean that the inner world, the world of sleep and dreams is the world of awareness?
The Hegel quote in the end is interesting: "each man hopes and believes he is better than the world which is his, but the man who is better merely expresses this same world better than the others" (Breton, 159).
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