Tuesday, October 31, 2017

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare (1600)

The Prince of Denmark ponders his relationship to his dysfunctional family.

Play Review: Hamlet is one of the contenders for the greatest literary work in the English language. Who am I, being bearly literate, to have anything worth saying about it? So, rather than flopping about coming up with a thesis, this review will be just a few of the light bulbs that occurred to me while reading (if I do a re-read, I might try to make something a little more coherent and cohesive). Herewith, a collection of random thoughts: (1) Hamlet, the melancholy Dane, seems less indecisive than he's often made out to be. When we first meet our hero he's in deep mourning for his father and royally irate that within a month of his father's death his beloved queen mother "incestuously" married his sleazy Uncle Claudius ("more than kin and less than kind"), who is now king. Soon, his father's ghost (or is it?) informs Hamlet that Claudius murdered him. Before Hamlet can take revenge as the ghost demands, he must first play detective. Through the well-accepted investigative technique of "play-within-a-play," we learn by Act 3. Sc. 2, that Claudius is the murderer and the ghost a reliable witness (and, Shakespeare is telling us, is Hamlet's father, not some hobgoblin). In Act 3. Sc. 4, Hamlet kills Claudius (or so he thinks). That seems quick and decisive work to me. And if so, would've been a much shorter play.

(2) Having failed to kill Claudius, it takes awhile for things to get going again. Not killing him while eavesdropping on Claudius at his prayers (and remorseful) seems reasonable to me, as Hamlet explains it. It's only right that he hesitate before becoming a vigilante; taking a life should not be done lightly. But when his hesitation is over, bodies drop like flies. Hamlet shows little regret over the death of Polonius, and I believe he suspected that Rosencrantz and Guilderstern were in on the plot for the King of England to murder him, and so is not too broken up when they die. Then poor Ophelia, and again, not as much regret as expected. But then the flood gates open and all hell breaks loose: Mom, Laertes, Claudius. A good day for the undertaker.

(3) Hamlet seems to hate women? He is so Oedipally (Sophocles and Freud would understand) and deeply wounded by his mother's "incestuous" marriage to his uncle ("He that hath killed my king and whored my mother"), that he loses all faith in women and in marriage ("frailty, thy name is woman"). Hamlet says "we will have no more marriage," and has difficulty trusting even his devoted Ophelia. He feigns madness to advance his revenge. Recognizing that Ophelia may become collateral damage in his plot, Hamlet encourages her to go to a nunnery for her own safety ("I must be cruel only to be kind"). But she stays.

(4) Ophelia and Laertes, sister and brother, are Hamlet's doubles in the play. Hamlet feigns madness, and when he kills her father, the frail Ophelia actually does go mad (there is some suggestion that Hamlet's actions too have caused her madness), and mad she dies. Both Hamlet and Laertes are out to revenge their fathers, and both kill the man responsible.

(5) Can we take a moment to look at just how evil is Claudius? He murders his own brother and then, perhaps to cement his rule, marries his murdered brother's wife (which was considered possibly incestuous at the time). He then sends his nephew to England (with R & G) to be murdered. That failing, he convinces the willing Laertes to treacherously murder Hamlet, while Claudius himself (Plan B) will prepare a poison cup for Hamlet to drink. When his wife goes to drink from the poisoned cup, Claudius puts precious little effort into stopping her, despite full opportunity. Evil, thy name is Claudius.

(6) There are two other threads woven throughout the play, the keeping of secrets and eavesdropping to learn those secrets. Many secrets, much eavesdropping. But as Polonius learns, eavesdropping can be a deadly habit.

(7) Can we also take a moment to a look at all there is in this play? Hamlet could've been called Four Funerals and a Wedding. We have three poorly arranged and incomplete funerals (the King, Polonious, Ophelia), and one that is hasty and oddly fancy (Hamlet's by Fortinbras). We also have (pre-play) the hasty wedding of Claudius and Gertrude. But wait, there's more! We have a ghost, many murders and deaths, madness, a play within a play, some great swashing and buckling (in that darn good sword fight), pirates, a Norwegian army, a suicide, cannons, and a penultimate scene in which four corpses litter the stage. Wow, if that's not entertainment I don't know what is.

Hamlet! Good on ya, Shakespeare!  [5★]

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders (2017)

In the midst of civil war, Abraham Lincoln's grief over the death of his child is witnessed by the dead who are still waiting to die.

Book Review: Lincoln in the Bardo in no ordinary book. Imaginative, it's told in different sections: the "factual" commentary of inconsistent historical quotes, which mix actual accounts of Lincoln and his son's death (e.g., Doris Kearns Goodwin) with Saunders' own similarly constructed fictional accounts; the commentary of the long and recently dead (ghosts) in the graveyard, caught between death and rebirth in the "bardo," a sort of Tibetan Buddhist limbo or purgatory; and the diary-like sections of those who observed Lincoln visiting the cemetery and describe his appearance, his actions, his grief. At times it's like history -- at times like a play. Each of the ghosts has an individual story to tell. Although complex at first, after some pages Lincoln in the Bardo becomes accessible; can't imagine listening to this on audio book, though, without at least following along on the page. This is a brilliant book, a tour-de-force, a worthy winner of the Man Booker Prize. It is a post-modern and intellectual take on loss, letting go, grief, acceptance of death, history, how we treat our fellow humans, and most of all, the denial of death. A book of deep empathy that allows both ambiguity and conflicting views. There is insight, intelligence, humor, irony, raunch, understanding, creativity, and even more creativity here. But as is so often the case for me in postmodern writing, there was too little emotional connection (I know many were in tears after reading this book). There were certainly moments: one would have to possess a heart of stone not to be touched by Lincoln's desolate grief for his son. The death of his son allows Lincoln to more fully understand the war and the needs of the nation, the morality of killing and the morality of letting others live their own lives. But I think I should have felt more, been made to feel more, the subject demanded I feel more (George, it's me, not you). Perhaps in trying to understand the intellectual, I forfeited some emotional understanding. Lincoln in the Bardo is certainly worth a revisit, and perhaps having grasped some of it intellectually, I'll be better able to absorb more of it emotionally on a second read. All in all, this was a mixed bag for me: recognizing its quality, the effort, the chance for me to learn and grow from this book, I was missing the feeling, the human sentiment, the connection I wanted.  [3½★]

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

FilmLit: Doctor Who - The Shakespeare Code (2007)

The Doctor and Martha Jones travel back to London and the Globe Theatre, circa 1599.

Television Review: "The Shakespeare Code" gives the 10th Doctor (David Tennant) and his companion, Martha Jones (in her second appearance) the opportunity to meet William Shakespeare, in all his genius and fame ("no autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me"). This episode from the BBC's Doctor Who Series Three reveals an alien race, the Carrionites, who appear as witches (broomsticks and all) attempting to use the brilliance, or magic, of Shakespeare's words in his famous play Love's Labour's Won, to resurrect their trapped race and take over the Earth. Magic being just another sort of science. Can the Doctor, Martha, and Will stop them? The whole show is too clever by half and way too much fun, while telling an exciting story at the same time! Back to the Future, Freedonia, groundlings, Harry Potter, Bedlam, Elizabeth I, the sonnets' dark lady, echoes of Shakespeare in Love (1998), all get a mention. Marty McFly is used to explain time travel. Allusions, puns, in-jokes abound. Writers have no more fun than bringing Shakespeare into their work; the chance to to put your own spin on the Bard: priceless! Irresistible. Here, Shakespeare is presented much as I see him myself, pure genius, seeing through and understanding all, the wordsmith, a mind for the ages, even immune to the Doctor's psychic ID. For Doctor Who and Shakespeare fans, "The Shakespeare Code" is all just a little bit of heaven here on Earth. All as funny and thought provoking as usual.  🐢

Monday, October 23, 2017

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (1866)

An examination of psychology, philosophy, poverty, and murder.

Book Review: Crime and Punishment reflects the age-old query: Why is it always the longest books that are most in need of a good re-reading? Crime and Punishment is a classic if there ever was one, with sufficient wealth to spoil any reader. I'm going to focus on just a few elements of that treasure. First, plot and structure: Raskolnikov commits the crime early in the novel, the state's punishment comes quite late; for six of the book's seven sections we're in a limbo between crime and punishment. It's easy to say that this long stretch is the perp's punishment, but while partly true it's also where we discuss philosophy at length and meet many other characters, from Raskolnikov's mother and sister to the angelic prostitute, Sonya, who is his (literal) salvation (if Sonya is his angel, Svidrigailov may be his devil). The most saintly character in the book, she too violates society's norms, but with the author's approval. Many characters are developed, including Raskolnikov's drinking buddy and his sister's three suitors, all of whom also do wrong or commit a "crime," three of which are punished (one, essentially good, reforms immediately). This alone is worth a thesis. Next, the philosophy. The author often refers to nihilism, but what he's talking about is closer to existentialism (as in the prescient Notes from Underground), at least regarding Raskolnikov. If we define "nihilism" as that life has no meaning and never will, and "existentialism" as that life has no meaning so we must strive to create our own meaning, clearly Raskolnikov is trying to develop his own meaning of life (as in his published article) and find whether the end justifies the means. His philosophy is practically Nietzschean (more of Dostoyevsky's prescience). Raskolnikov then goes from pillar to post looking at every aspect of morals, law, civilization, encountering myriad related issues with everyone he meets. The police interrogation also serves as an inquisition of our protagonist's inchoate beliefs. Although there is some serious monologuing, Dostoevsky mostly keeps it interesting through Raskolnikov's feverish desperation, paranoia, and disordered psyche. This is the author's examination of existentialism with all the characters putting in their two cents; in the end Dostoyevsky's chosen meaning of life is the Russian Orthodox Church, in his view open to elite and commoner alike. This multi-faceted discussion is the most interesting part of the novel, and the reader is free to inject her or his own thoughts into the mix. Ultimately, there is Raskolnikov himself, a poverty stricken intellectual and former student, a determined individualist, he investigates philosophies, but finds himself not acting on any of them. Until he does. He's angry, reclusive, too proud, short tempered, dismissive, arrogant, half-mad, it's a wonder anyone has any time or patience for him. Tremendously isolated, even from the family he loves, he must then deal with a wide range of citizenry. He is decidedly indecisive: "Only this! No! Only that!" He is his own worst enemy, often provoking the police and exposing his own guilt. Although perennially broke, whenever he does come into money he impulsively gives it away (much like a gambling addict) and is skint as ever (money in Crime and Punishment, another thesis?). But it is his ill-tempered passion that drives the story and carries the reader along with him. The murder mystery (and ambiguous, ever elusive motive) provides suspense. But how can such a character exist, or survive, as he travels his long road from humiliation to humility. I also want to note the translations (admittedly, I'm obsessive about translations). I started with the trendy Pevear / Volokhonsky, but found it too literal, difficult to read, as if a step of the translation process had been omitted. I moved on to Penguin's Oliver Ready version, which was much more readable, was written in British vernacular ("chalk and cheese" "twigged that" "gave a fright" "scot-free"), but its Dickensian nature and seeming informality lessened the weight of the book for me. Neither translation engaged me emotionally (perhaps mostly me, not them). I ended up with Penguin's David McDuff translation as the best version for me, but as I only discovered it late in my reading I want to  re-read it. Crime and Punishment is a storehouse of ideas, I could've picked many other points to discuss (dreams and nightmares, religions, other characters). On my next read I'm hoping for more of the deep emotional entanglement I had on my first read in my early teens (although having the flu at the time may have had an effect). A classic.  [4½★]

Monday, October 16, 2017

Thoughts About Reading ... #2

Random thoughts about books, reading, and anything else that comes to mind while I type. 

First, I've found that the New York Review of Books reprint series is brilliant! I now buy anything with their distinctive layout pattern and the oblong "nyrb" logo on the spine. This despite the fact that I've heard of almost none of the books they publish. This reprint series is largely dedicated to forgotten, out of print, cult, lost, little or never known books that are of fantastic quality. Often they're books considered "meaningful." Usually fairly short. So far they've not let me down. Most of them are books originally printed in English, but a goodly number have been newly translated from other languages. There are a few books by big names: Dante, Balzac, Chekhov, mostly their lesser known works, but there are many more by authors I've never even come close to reading. It's wonderful finding a publisher that I'm willing to take a chance on anything they print -- much like finding a Penguin title in a used-book shop. Maybe what I like best is the voyage into the unknown, entering the book (and author) blind, not knowing what may happen. I admit checking the copyright date before beginning, though. (No, this was not sponsored. Are you kidding?)

Next, I've started "reading" plays, and I'm not sure what I think about it. Plays are difficult to read and review. A play is intended to be performed and heard aloud, where the viewer is part of a group, experiencing both the play and the audience simultaneously. The actors and stage are part of the work, as is the crowd. In fact, most plays change significantly between the writing and the performance, as the logistics of presenting the play can have a dramatic (dyswIdt?) effect on the substance of the work. A play is not meant to be a silent, private experience, alone with only pages and a cup of coffee. As such, I think it's best to watch a production or two, even if only on YouTube, while reading a play. What is unpersuasive when cold on the page, can be contagious on the stage, as I've found out to my delight.

Finally, having read quite a bit of Austen and the Brontes lately, I must comment about commas. Commas were doubtless much less expensive in olden times, as they were thrown about quite carelessly in the 19th Century. Five commas in a phrase is nothing to these comma-thrifts; two semi-colons and half a dozen commas in a sentence is commonplace. This punctuation overload can endanger the reader's safety and sanity with clauses and parentheticals just bouncing everywhere. I'm reasonably sure that Mrs. Austen was wont to say: "Careful with those commas, Jane. You could put someone's eye out!" I figure this all must have changed during the world wars when everything was rationed: sugar, coffee, and, apparently, commas. Fortunately, today there is a much less danger of becoming stranded in a series of semi-related sentence fragments, or being winged by an errant piece of punctuation.

Well, I seem to have just about run out of thoughts now, so it's time to print a turtle and say farewell till next time.  🐢

Friday, October 13, 2017

The Tragedy of Richard II by William Shakespeare (1595)

The King of England discovers that divine right will not save his crown, or his head.

Play Review: Richard II had beautiful language and minimal plot. The plot wasn't bad, it just wasn't riveting, and most anything of substance happened off-stage. The writing was beautifully metaphorical and poetic, which is fitting for the history of a man more suited to be a poet than a king. Richard has such beautiful, long speeches, that he is the linchpin of the play (and I assume a challenge for any actor -- I'd love to see a woman play the role, though there are three interesting female roles). Given that this is Shakespeare, I'm sure that there are many complex theories by people with too much time on their hands. But Shakespeare was aiming for something simpler. Richard II is about a young man, wrestling with his identity, who simultaneously believes and doubts he is truly ruling by divine right: "The breath of worldly men cannot depose/ The deputy elected by the Lord." Raised as a king and surrounded by flattery, he believes he can do no wrong (in the mode of: well, if the king does it, that means it's not illegal). Being appointed by God, he can be as high-handed as he wants, cruel as he wants, to disagree is to blaspheme: the rebels "break their faith to God as well as us." When Richard wants John of Gaunt dead, he seems to speak directly to heaven: "Now put it, God, in the physician's mind/ To help him to his grave immediately!" But he's plagued by uncertainty: "I live with bread like you, feel want,/ Taste grief, need friends ... How can you say to me I am a king?" He is merciful at times, wants to do right at times, doesn't know what he wants to do at times. As the kids say, he's conflicted. In part, Shakespeare portrays Richard II as just an ordinary man, who became a king. A man with no special qualities to make him a king, certainly not a good king. Richard notes about the future Henry IV, that "[we] observed his courtship of the common people,/ How he did seem to dive into their hearts." This is a mystery to Richard, but he rarely uses his divine appointment to make himself act more nobly. Instead it's an excuse for ignoble conduct, he does not do justice but injustice. A mistake would be to conflate Shakespeare's Richard with the historical king -- so much is left out and discarded that it all the more shows what Shakespeare was trying to do here, paring away the irrelevant and only keeping what is central to the story he wants to tell: to go deep within Richard, to dig into his personality, to show his feelings. Perhaps not very masculine for the time. For such a seemingly too simple play, Richard II is enjoyable and invites closer reading. [4★]

Monday, October 9, 2017

FilmLit: A Quiet Passion (2017)

A creative approach to the short life of the great American poet, Emily Dickinson.

Film Review: A Quiet Passion is well done, surprisingly so since the life of a poet, especially Emily Dickinson's, is almost impossible to turn into a film. As such, the writer/director has freely imagined many elements of Dickinson's biography. This is Terence Davies' version of, interpretation of, vision of the great poet. Since he willingly deviates from telling the truth of her life, it makes me wonder whose life he was actually telling about. But in a larger sense we get in A Quiet Passion a film that may be true to the spirit, if not the letter, of Dickinson's life. His fabrication is only troubling because so many Americans get their history lessons from the movies. Davies' Dickinson lives for home, music, faith, family, and of course, poetry. She is strong willed, angry, proud, feminist, short tempered, sharp witted, and something of a smart-ass. There is conflict, rage, sorrow, hypocrisy, loneliness, and the immortal poems.

Dickinson the poet turned her gaze within, ever deeper, ever smaller, to the interior of the atom, and there she discovered a whole universe in the circumscribed realm of her life. Contrasted to her contemporary, Walt Whitman, who orating as an Old Testament prophet tried to envision the largest possible picture of America, and found small moments of the personal and private. A significant part of the film's success is Cynthia Nixon's nuanced, strong, and sensitive performance in the lead role (she makes the viewer forget there was ever a Sex and the City). Nixon reads the poems well, no easy task (having the words simultaneously on screen would be even better). One of the director's decisions has to be questioned. Davies largely invents a friend for Dickinson, a female Oscar Wilde whose recited epigrams and banter outshine Dickinson every moment they share the screen. Why? Presumably much of the film was inspired by Dickinson's letters, but no small part is fictionalized. A Quiet Passion is enjoyable, well worth watching, a strong contribution to the too little noted memory of Emily Dickinson.  🐢

Friday, October 6, 2017

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates (2015)

A memoir of what it means to be a black man in America, addressed to his teenage son.

Book Review: Between the World and Me is an individual book, an awkward book, a necessary book. Coates uses three unique phrases to define his argument (this is a memoir based on an argument in the form of guidance). The first is the "destruction of black bodies." By this Coates identifies and emphasizes the physicality of racial prejudice and discrimination in America. Those multi-syllabic words harbor the actual death of a body. Black people die, taken from their families. Their broken bodies break hearts and dreams. Not theoretical, not academic, not abstract. The second phrase is "Americans who believe they are white," which embodies the concept of an identified controlling class, which thinks they are above retribution, beyond law, and exempt from the simple human morality we expect of each other. "Whiteness" is a shield that permits the destruction of black bodies. The third phrase is "the Dreamers," identifying those white people who believe they are entitled to the American Dream and everyone else is proscribed from the American Dream (when I hear "Dreamer" I think DACA, but an interesting coincidence). Coates very much comes from his own unique point of view; an intellectual who writes for the Atlantic, knows and explains history, and grew up black in Baltimore. Between the World and Me is awkward and uncomfortable. Since few white nationalists will read this book, few people will think Coates goes too far, but there will be a number of people who think he doesn't go far enough; he's still discussing Malcolm v. Martin (this is a history). If his intended audience is liberals, primarily white liberals, this is an early and important, step in his discussion. Coates wants to make real the extant of human suffering caused by the racial divide. In part through his own powerful personal history, he shows the constant effect racial violence has on the minds and bodies and lives of black men, how the harm to black men is severe, persistent, and pervasive. He also makes clear the source of racial divide and racial violence. There are times when the reader will say "not all white people," "not all black people," and "what about other people?" Some may also say "where are the women (women aren't excluded, but aren't the book's focus)?" But all these comments miss the point. Coates is making a sweeping statement from his own life and lessons, overstatement, generalization, and glossing is the only way to accurately describe the situation we confront. Cold facts, qualifiers, caveats, exceptions create a false picture that avoids the reality of America. This may make some people uncomfortable, there are so many "what abouts?", but that's not the mission of this book. It should make people uncomfortable, it should be awkward. The current state of America, the white backlash against Obama, officially condoned racism, white supremacists filling front pages and news reports, is unacceptable. Between the World and Me is a valuable and necessary book. Ta-Nehisi Coates is an intelligent and insightful commentator, we need his input. We need his unique and powerful views. If nothing else, he wants to make clear that a post-racial America is a myth. Coates allows he has no solution: the problem is white people and they have to solve it themselves; black people can't do it for them. As such this book is only one step, one slice of the whole. Coates mentions a comment from Saul Bellow: "Who is the Tolstoy of the Zulus?" He later realizes that Tolstoy is the Tolstoy of the Zulus. But from that quip we realize we can have hundred more Tolstoys, a hundred more Einsteins, a hundred more Edward Jenners. We need them all. We also need the many other stories, many other views of the society we face, from many other people. From all people. And, yes, white people are going to need to solve their problem, which seems to be getting worse daily. Coates knows that white society is going to take everyone down with it: whites are not just destroying the bodies of humans, but the Earth itself. A necessary book. And then you need to read another book.  [4½★]

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Devotion by Patti Smith (2017)

An expanded version of Patti Smith's 2016 Windham-Campbell lecture, part of the Why I Write series.

Book Review: Devotion is a book written by an artist. Patti Smith exists as an artist. A musician, poet, photographer, memoirist, reviewer, Patti Smith is all of those, none of those, more than those; she's an artist. All is art to her, and as such, she is both more and less known than she might be. Devotion is made in three parts, but more than three parts. This tiny book holds so much: two brief memoirs, a short story, two short transitional pieces, two poems.

She begins with a brief poetic prologue on inspiration. The first section is memoir, called "How the Mind Works." Much as she did in M Train, Smith describes a trip to Paris and Ashford in England (where she visited the grave of Simone Weil; she includes a poem written there). But more than memoir, she is showing the reader what it is to be an artist. She shows how creativity works, how her short story "Devotion" (the next section of the book) came to be written. Smith shows herself open to experience, willing to be uncomfortable, lost, caught in the rain, cold, up too early, up too late. Exploring. She sees things when we're not used to looking at them, where we're not used to seeing them. Her mind is open to seeing things new, free of distractions (no cell phones here). She sees everything fresh, her senses are open, her mind uncluttered but ready to be filled with imagination and inspiration. Her emotions are open, but immature emotion is not enough. Emotion is insufficient without an awareness of art. Smith shows how she relates what she sees to what she knows: music, poetry, painting, sculpture, books, films ... artists. But the artist must have read enough poems, seen enough films, devoured enough books, viewed enough paintings and sculptures to be aware of, to make these connections. A seamless whole. There may be coincidences, there may be synchronicity: at the last minute she chose a book by Simone Weil for her trip; while there a journalist gifts her a book by Weil; her niece is named Simone. Food is intimately described.  She takes pictures, but very few, and each with a singular purpose. Smith sees the world as filled with emotion and dream, she relates her dreams and her dreams are not much different than how Smith views the world; I'm not sure how she keeps them straight (the last section of the book is titled "A Dream Is Not a Dream"). Everything she sees relates to something else, but is also filled with its own life that Smith sees and hears. She walks randomly, seeking out new experiences. She walks with purpose, seeking out a grave, a statue, a garden, a street. Paris is filled with memories of when she visited with her sister decades before. When the moment of inspiration hits, she writes feverishly, ecstatically, on the train all the way from Sete to Paris. Smith shows the reader all this, while just telling the story of her trip to Paris as you might tell your family when you get back home. She tells it simply, without cleverness or ego. Reading this first section I love Patti Smith all the more. The first section of this book blew me away. As good as all of M Train (saying that, I better re-read it).

The second section of Devotion is a short story. Not brilliant. Not great. She tries too hard to be clever. Perhaps it works better as parable, allegory, example, or as Smith says, "perhaps a metaphor." About creativity, inspiration, writing. What does work is seeing the elements of Smith's journey to Paris and Sete replicated in the story. In the first section of Devotion Smith demonstrated the meaning of "show don't tell." In the story, titled "Devotion," she demonstrates the meaning of "write what you know." The story reverberates with a dozen details from her trip, the reader recognizes how she's worked disparate pieces into her story, none of them as they happened, but all incidents she observed, that she now shares, in new clothes, with the reader. The author takes real elements, real pieces of life, and puts them where they need to be to make the story real, ring true, so the reader can see what the writer sees. The story "Devotion" is followed by a poem (as written by the protagonist in the story).

The final section, after another brief transition, is the point of the book. In less than six pages. Since Devotion is part of the "Why I Write" series, the Windham-Campbell Lectures, Smith begins by asking "Why is one compelled to write?" She then describes an invitation to visit the home of Albert Camus, and while there reading the original of Camus' final manuscript, that he was carrying when he died. While reading the manuscript of the old absurdist master, she answers her question, and appropriately, the existential question as well. The power of great art is to inspire art. It's a "call to action." Smith asks, "What is the task" for the artist? Smith answers, "To compose a work that communicates on several levels, as in a parable, devoid of cleverness." Then Smith asks and answers both the original and the existential question: "Why do we write? A chorus erupts. Because we cannot simply live."  [4½★]

Monday, October 2, 2017

Territorial Rights by Muriel Spark (1979)

A number of people from England and a few other countries congregate in Venice for blackmail, sex, and other entertainments.

Book Review: Territorial Rights was a puzzlement. The usual excellent Muriel Spark sentences, but put to no purpose. Funny in parts, occasionally interesting characters, some nice descriptions, Venice sounds great, but no narrative arc, no direction, no beginning and no end. It's as though Spark just kept typing hoping a plot would come along, a story would magically appear, she'd learn why she was typing. She tries to make it entertaining by placing a bunch of English eccentrics in Venice, with personal histories, secrets, and murder, but I couldn't see the reason for any of it. Territorial Rights is a book for Muriel Spark completists only. Don't make this your first Spark book, or probably even one of your first ten. Read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Drivers Seat, The Girls of Slender Means. After you're in double digits then you can take a chance on this one, because by then you'll have learned what you love about Spark (that is, if you do, of course). Then you can enjoy Territorial Rights for what it is, enjoy Spark's brilliant writing, without plot or meaning. If I ever thought, or Spark ever thought, that she could simply carry a book with her sentences, we've both been disabused. Not bad, not horrible, just not there.  [2½★]