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Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts

Sunday, January 15, 2012

INVISIBLE CITIES XXXVIII -- Cities & Eyes: BAUCIS

Jupiter and Mercury in the house of Philemon and Baucis
We've spent the last two cities talking about spiderwebs and how the metaphor may or may not apply to the Khan's far-reaching, and perhaps tenuously maintained, empire.  It took me a few minutes (and certainly well after the first read nearly ten months ago now) to see what's going on in Baucis.  More than just the subject of the imagery is the scale of it all.  Before we get to punch line, then, let's look at the city's description in reverse:

The 3 hypotheses:
  • "that they hate the earth";
  • "that they respect it so much they avoid all contact"; and
  • "that they love it as it was before they existed and with spyglasses and telescopes aimed downward they never tire of examining it...."
The description:
  • A number of great stilts like flamingos' legs supporting the city, which, on a sunny day, casts and angular shadow;
  • and perhaps this one is stretching it, but check out how long it takes to get to the city: not seven days does it take, but only after seven days do you arrive there, and what, of course, comes after seven?  And then immediately the mention and description of the long slender stilts reaching up into the heavens?
A spider, right?  And not just any spider, but a spider so lofty as to dwell in the heavens, where only the gods and, perhaps, at least one of the greatest of emperors reside, right?

Interesting that the citizens of the city never descend, as they have everything they need with them, yet they leave ladders out for those who may desire an ascent a means of access.  

As far as the name is concerned, Baucis, I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XXV -- Cities and Eyes: VALDRADA

  1. The fundamental idea behind Valdrada is fascinating to me: how would life be different if your actions were always before you, and how is this question different from the similar question (for those who are religious), "How would life be different if God weren't always watching?"  As far as I'm concerned, actions always before self and peers is very different from actions always before God.  Thoughts?
  2. How do the two halves of Valdrada differ; why is it not a parallel city?
  3. Can you think of examples when the reflection will increase the value of an action and examples of when it will diminish because of the reflection?
one more Escher; why not?

Sunday, July 31, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XXI -- Cities and Desire: ZOBEIDE

(Zobeide -- perhaps from the Arabic "Zubaida," a female name for "elite" or "prime")
  1. Smacks a bit of Christopher Nolan's Inception, doesn't it--this dream sharing?
  2. What is Calvino getting at when he describes the city as having forgotten the dream of its ... err ... inception?
  3. The later men who had shared the dream of the running woman: did they have the dream and seek out the city, or did they stumble upon the city coincidentally?
  4. Why is the city so ugly?

M.C. Escher -- again

INVISIBLE CITIES XX -- Chapter 3, ..... 1

  1. Kublai Khan notices that all of the cities are similar.  Really?  They all seem remarkably different to me--at least superficially.  How are they (here we go) perhaps even all the same city?  What evidence is there here at the opening of chapter 3 that this is so?
  2. What then is the difference--if different at all--between Marco's various accounts (of the same or different city/ies) and what Kublai does when giving details and asking if there is such a city?
  3. Now tie this into dreams.

M.C. Escher

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XIX -- Chapter 2, ..... 2

  1. Considering what "an hourglass could mean," what are your thoughts on everything we've read to this point?  Has your interpretation changed?
  2. Similarly, we've discussed a few times how getting to the root of an author's motives or the source of his creativity or his biography can assist the interpretation of a text, so here is Marco Polo an author.  Is it possible for his audience, Kublai Kahn, to get behind the stories?
  3. How might Polo's stories, despite their general incomprehensibility yet provide a new avenue for Kublai to understand his own cities?
  4. "The foreigner had learned to speak the emperor's language or the emperor to understand the language of the foreigner."  Is there a difference?
  5. This exposition was an "aha" moment for me the first time I read it.  What is the great benefit of the charades over the "precise words"?  How do the verbal descriptions given by Calvino perhaps fit better the charades than whatever Polo may have actually spoken?

Monday, July 25, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XVII -- Thin Cities: ZENOBIA

source here
Not much in the way of questions with Zenobia, but a couple thoughts, especially as they apply to what I said in the last post about the important I lay upon an author's creative source for a particular work: is it as pointless for me to do that as it is for a traveler to determine whether Zenobia is a happy or unhappy city?  While I can't full define it at the moment, these two questions, as well as the alternative Calvino offers on the second, seem strangely parallel.

So what do you think of Zenobia?  There are, of course, the typical questions I could ask.  Answer a question I haven't asked--whatever you think that might be?  I don't see everything--not by any stretch of the imagination; and my one limited viewpoint is in a bit of a rut.  What am I not touching upon, and what is the answer?
Why is Zenobia a Thin City rather than a City [of] Desire (and is my "of" rather than the given "and" significantly altering the meaning?)?

INVISIBLE CITIES XVI -- Cities and Signs: ZOE

source here
"Zoe" is Greek for "life," and is a name sometimes used by Greeks to refer to our Eve, whose name, by the way, means "breath."

In my own writing, names are very important, and I really enjoy reading a work where names and etymology are similarly significant and certainly far better and more poetically employed.  I wonder--and encourage your thoughts and hypotheses--how Calvino built up this book.  Did he start with a list of feminine names and searched out their meanings and connected these to the metaphoric constructs of his cities?  The point from where an author's work germinates is a target at which I'm constantly pitching guesses.  This, perhaps more than anything else save the words and narration themselves, for me contributes to the life of a text.
  1. Interesting the unacknowledged assumption of the traveler here: that all cities have, unquestioningly, these certain features.  It's just the organization and situation of these in relation to these others that vary.
  2. How does the "city of differences" that abides within every man connect, in counterpoint, as it happens, to the name, Zoe?  Along this line, what do you think about the sentence, particularly the second half: "This--some say--confirms the hypothesis that each man bears in his mind a city made only of differences, a city without figures and without form, and the individual cities fill it up"?
  3. Perhaps the hardest question: What is then Zoe, the city?  This city is, for me, the hardest to grasp city so far, and I think it may indicate a turning point in the "story."  Thoughts?

Saturday, June 4, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XIII -- chapter 2, ..... 1

Kublai Khan
  1. Pattern would hold that the opening sequence of the chapter two holds a question to which the final lines of the chapters pose an answer.  What is/are the question/s?
  2. When I first read this, I didn't get it very well.  The possibility that Kublai Khan and Marco Polo weren't even talking, but only imagining to talk made me wonder if they were both present at all.  Was Marco Polo, alone on some journey of his, imagining what it might be like to be explorer and official reporter to someone like The Great Khan?  From your perspective, what do you think?  I believe this makes sense on my second pass, but only maybe.  Considering the issues of nostalgia and memory, and past, present, and future, what is, at the very least, affecting, and at the most heavily tinting or obscuring, all of Polo's reports?
  3. "You advance always with your head turned back?" and "Is what you see always behind you?" thus "He must go to another city, where another of his pasts awaits him": Is it possible to begin to gain access to a new culture--or a new anything--without using as initial framework/schema what you already know?  So no matter how far you travel, you ... what?  Experience the new only in context of the old?  And is this a reiteration of the same issue regarding two people of different languages and cultures talking to each other?
  4. And what does the final line mean: "The traveler recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have"?  This echoes, I think (thoughts?), the last exchange between the men from the close of chapter one.  What's the connection?
  5. Finally, back to the first paragraph here, what is the value Kublai Khan places on Polo's reports?  He doesn't want from him the information on taxes and politics and trade and treasure.

Friday, June 3, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES XII -- Chapter 1, ..... 2

Marco Polo
This is end of the first chapter.  (Duh.)  How have your thoughts/opinions of the book changed since the opening scene and the first city or sp?  For me, the timing of this exchange and its revelation was perfect.  While I was very much enjoying the city-to-city descriptions and the poetry of Calvino's assemblages up to this point, I needed either something to happen or a substance-changing revelation, and I got it.  Also, I really appreciate Calvino's use of form here, as this final bit is very much like the last sentence or two of each vignette and the framework those sentences offer for the rest of that city.  This final ..... gives context for the preceding cities, all the way back to first.  But poetry is such a personal thing.  I could easily be seeing this in a way that you don't.  Thoughts?
  1. "The emperor is he who is a foreigner to each of his subjects."
  2. All the cities have a mythic/fairytale grandeur and vagueness.  How is this explained or justified by the situation of the Khan and Polo's difficulty in language?  How does this news--the language differences--turn on its head everything we've read so far?  From whom are we getting the stories of the cities: the firsthand of Polo, or the secondhand of Kublai Khan?
  3. "Everything Marco displayed had the power of emblems, which, once seen, cannot be forgotten or confused."  Hmm.  Sounds a little bit like Zora and Zirma.
  4. "Perhaps ... the empire is nothing but a zodiac of the mind's phantasms."
  5. And what of having to know something before being able to possess it, as the Khan asks in the final enigmatic exchange?  This, too, sounds very much like some of issues we've been dealing with.
  6. So Polo eventually masters the Khan's language.  Does this mean the rest of the cities we encounter throughout the book will not be subject to the same misinterpretation?  (And about "misinterpretation": are the Khan's interpretations of Polo's descriptions wrong or inaccurate?)

Thursday, June 2, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES X -- Cities and Signs: ZIRMA

"Zirma," courtesy
cittainvisibili.com
Zirma: I don't know.  There's nothing on it as a name.  I can find a couple sources that claim it as a city in Turkey, but Google Earth doesn't seem to know anything about; it suggest Szirma, Hungary.  Did Calvino make it up?
  1. According to the last line, a thing only exists once it exists in the mind.  I guess that might be true, but it smacks of the whole "If a tree falls in the forest" thing.  Speaking of the last line, consistently it is the final words of a city's description that brings all the pieces together.
  2. Couldn't the description of Zirma be used to describe anything, or at least any place?  I have the same problem with certain songs--can't ever get them out of my head without replacing them with something else.
  3. How does Zirma work with or against Tamara, the other signs city?
This is such a different book from the others we've read.  I spend considerably more time researching and writing than reading.  It's refreshing!

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES V -- Cities and Memory: ZAIRA

"Zaira, City of High Bastions," courtesy
behance.net (click this!)
Zaira is related, and fairly obviously so, to our Sarah and happens to mean "lady" or "princess" in both (and I wish I knew more of the linking history ... McWhorter? ... or is it coincidence?) Hebrew and "Irish" (Gaelic, that is), and "Rose" in Arabic.  That's all fine and dandy, of course, but it marks a difference in theme--if not gender--from the first three cities.  Thoughts?
  1. This first sentence, I think, captures the whole reason behind the Great Khan's fascination with Polo's descriptions.  However, do such subjective descriptions do him any good?
  2. According to the rest of this first paragraph, what then is the relationship between the "measurements of its space" (physical locations or landmarks (?)) and the "events of its past" (memory)?
  3. What do you make of "...the usurper, who some say was the queen's illegitimate son, abandoned in his swaddling clothes there on the dock."  Does this offer a window into either Calvino (or is he too shrewd to so expose himself) or at least one of the two characters?
  4. "...but contains [memory] like the lines of a hand."  Palmistry?  Forget divination for a minute; what's the connection here, and can the memories therefor be "read" at all?  Or is there an issue of magic at hand here after all?  Is memory and its ties to things a mysticism or conjure?
  5. Moving, relocating, is an engagement that sparks the memory.  Packing up items, sorting through boxes for treasure and trash, reorganization, etcetera bring past the hands and eyes items--landmarks--that hold in their essence, that trigger, memories.  Those memories are written like so many scars into the collections of junk we accumulate.  Do we throw away those memories, as certainly the runes of their recording are gone, when we throw away the landmarks?  I haven't thought about my Boy Scout days in ten years, but sorting through that old box because we've got to trim the fat down to naught, I encountered stacks and stacks of long-hidden memories.  But as Zaira absorbs like a sponge the waves of memory that happen within it, are those memories ever available to any of those who walk past the chink in a wall or who were not present when the hole appeared in the net?  Or does each citizen have access to an adequate number of memorial artifacts that those of others don't matter?  What do you make of the very physical, earthy, and private nature of the memories of Zaira?  Or do I have it wrong and all is shared by all?
  6. So, the "high bastions."  If the city is swollen with memories--even built entirely of memory--it stands to reason that the bastions would be so tall.  But a "bastion" is a defense.  Thoughts?
castle bastion at Copertino, Italy

Monday, May 30, 2011

INVISIBLE CITIES II -- Cities and Memory 1: DIOMIRA

courtesy bonacho-portuguessave.blogspot.com
  1. Many (all, actually, if I'm not mistaken) of Calvino's cities are girls' names.  Diomira is no exception.  My go-to site for name etymology is behindthename.com, which I've used here before.  Today, it failed me.  I found information instead here, and by extension here, which gives the meaning as the "important woman in the village."  The name is allegedly Spanish, but if we look at it from the Italian perspective (admittedly not all that different, particularly in this case), then we can break it into its constituent parts: Dio and mira.  Dio is, of course, God, and Mira (in nominal form) aim, sight, target, butt, end, goal, design (from my well-worn, i.e. beat-to-ribbons, Dizionario Inglese E Italiano by Loescher) and (verbal, "mirare") to take aim, to admire, to gaze, or in its reflexive, to look at oneself.  Thoughts?
  2. Notice the motion of the first sentence?  From where are we leaving?  Why begin thus if, without context, we cannot know the starting point, in which case the direction and distance are useless, geographically speaking?
  3. What is the poetical power (that is to say dripping rhetoric) of this line, "...is that he feels envy toward those who now believe they have once before lived an evening identical to this and who think they were happy, that time"?
  4. Compare that line above to the general theme of entropy from the introductory ......
  5. There's a dreamlike quality to Diomira--idyllic and distant.  Does it regard the name, Diomira, as discussed above?  How does it regard the type, Cities of Memory?
  6. Notice also the sense of fairytale to the description: the 60 of this, the golden and crystal that, the idealized season.  How does this correlate back to Marco Polo and begin build his character (this is a longterm as well as an immediate question)?

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

DON'T MISS THIS ONE!

WE START OUR NEW BOOK ON MONDAY, MAY 30

In case you haven't heard, our next book, starting this coming Monday, is brilliant.  If you love poetry and/or so-called "experimental" writing, and if you love the best that either of these--or better, both together--has to offer, then this (have I overdone it yet?) will wow you.  It wowed me.  (And hopefully I'm not presuming too much assuming that since I've loved it, so you will love it.  See, not only am I really excited about the new book, I'm really excited to be done with Kim, which I think may very well be slowly killing me--even, dare I say, crushing my very soul.)  I will stop now.  Here's a picture.  Get a copy--GET A FREAKING COPY! --and join us on Monday.

"Interpretation of Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities,"
courtesy of maryannpark.com


"The Castle of the Pyrenees," by Rene' Magritte,
courtesy internetculturale.it

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON and PRESTON/CHILD

"The Carolina Parrot,"
by John James Audubon
I just now noticed, flitting over to Google.com for a moment to look something up, that today is the birthday of John James Audubon.  Normally, I don't take more than passing note of whoever's birthday it is that Google happens to be celebrating on any given day, however, this time, it happens to coincidentally coincide with the popcorn novel I'm currently reading, Fever Dream, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, who are, as it happens, my favorite popcorn novelists.

(I've been reading the Preston/Child books for so long--sheesh, something like fifteen years now--that opening their newest Pendergast novel is a little like a reunion with old friends, my two personal favorites of which are, of course, Special Agent A.X.L. Pendergast, FBI, and Lieutenant Vinnie D'Agosta, NYPD.  As far as the books themselves are concerned, and with the slight exception of a very few missteps on the authors' parts, the stories are fast, fun, gripping, and surprisingly literary.)

The plot of this particular contribution to the series is bent around the late, great John James Audubon and his treatment of the Carolina Parrot, as well as a lost painting of his called "The Black Frame," so-called because no one knows it's actual subject and, which, if you're interested, is an invention of the authors.  As you read this very post (anyone, anyone?) I'm nearing the end of the book (trying to slow down and savor it, for it will be another year or more before their next effort is released in paperback), which happens to be their best in quite a few years.  And as before (I'm thinking particularly of one piano composer and savant, Charles-Valentin Alkan), the authors have sparked in me interest in an area, albeit highly specialized, where I'd previously only spent little time.

Regardless of plot and the "literariness" of this particularly esoteric popcorn, the birds and wildlife of Mr. Audubon are fascinating, and, nostalgically speaking, have always held company in my memory and imagination with Norman Rockwell, as  both painters were on regular display via gigantic coffee table books at my grandparents' homes.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Wednesday's for Kids XXII -- KIPLING and an "A IS FOR ALPHABET"

Since we're reading a novel by Rudyard Kipling right now (Kim, which, by the way, is surprisingly more difficult than I thought it would be), I figured it not inappropriate, particularly as Kipling was so otherwise skilled at stuff so pointedly for kids, to feature a story from his so well-known Just So Stories.  If you're not familiar with these tales of origin (and Tolkien, by the way, was not the first Briton to invent a mythology, though Kipling's takes place "abroad" rather than in Britain, as Tolkien so intended his tales), they include answers to such life questions as "How Leopard Got His Spots" (the most famous of them, really, as this story is read and modeled to the point of "hackney-fication" by grade- and middle-schoolers across the English-speaking world), "The Beginning of the Armadillos," and "How the Whale Got His Throat."  While these stories are all so just fine, there are two that are perhaps so much more appropriate to the blog, here: "How the First Letter Was Written" and "How the Alphabet Was Made."


the alphabet necklace
All of these stories are brilliant, wonderfully simplistic little tales, and particularly perfect for narration (and so I think more appropriately so through oral retellings, fairytale-style, rather than straight readings) to kids.  Considering "How the Alphabet Was Made," I expect that an ambitious (more accurately read perhaps as "desperate" or "creative," depending) parent would even be able to generate such a discussion with his/her kid[s] and create their own alphabet, illustrations and all, just like the father/daughter duo of the story's Neolithic cave.

My favorite part of this particular story is Kipling's acrostic (sort of) poem (less sort of) and illustration:

ONE of the first things that Tegumai Bopsulai did after Taffy and he had made the Alphabet was to make a magic Alphabet-necklace of all the letters, so that it could be put in the Temple of Tegumai and kept for ever and ever. All the Tribe of Tegumai brought their most precious beads and beautiful things, and Taffy and Tegumai spent five whole years getting the necklace in order. This is a picture of the magic Alphabet-necklace. The string was made of the finest and strongest reindeer-sinew, bound round with thin copper wire.
Beginning at the top, the first bead is an old silver one that belonged to the Head Priest of the Tribe of Tegumai; then came three black mussel-pearls; next is a clay bead (blue and gray); next a nubbly gold bead sent as a present by a tribe who got it from Africa (but it must have been Indian really); the next is a long flat-sided glass bead from Africa (the Tribe of Tegumai took it in a fight); then come two clay beads (white and green), with dots on one, and dots and bands on the other; next are three rather chipped amber beads; then three clay beads (red and white), two with dots, and the big one in the middle with a toothed pattern. Then the letters begin, and between each letter is a little whitish clay bead with the letter repeated small. Here are the letters—

A is scratched an a tooth—an elk-tusk I think.

B is the Sacred Beaver of Tegumai on a bit of old glory.

C is a pearly oyster-shell—inside front.

D must be a sort of mussel shell—outside front.

E is a twist of silver wire.

F is broken, but what remains of it is a bit of stag's horn.

G is painted black on a piece of wood. (The bead after G is a small shell, and not a clay bead. I don't know why they did that.)

H is a kind of a big brown cowie-shell.

I is the inside part of a long shell ground down by hand. (It took Tegumai three months to grind it down.)

J is a fish hook in mother-of-pearl.

L is the broken spear in silver. (K aught to follow J of course, but the necklace was broken once and they mended it wrong.)

K is a thin slice of bone scratched and rubbed in black.

M is on a pale gray shell.

N is a piece of what is called porphyry with a nose scratched on it. (Tegumai spent five months polishing this stone.)

O is a piece of oyster-shell with a hole in the middle.

P and Q are missing. They were lost, a long time ago, in a great war, and the tribe mended the necklace with the dried rattles of a rattlesnake, but no one ever found P and Q. That is how the saying began, 'You must mind your P's. and Q's.'

R is, of course, just a shark's tooth.

S is a little silver snake.

T is the end of a small bone, polished brown and shiny.

U is another piece of oyster-shell.

W is a twisty piece of mother-of-pearl that they found inside a big mother-of-pearl shell, and sawed off with a wire dipped in sand and water. It took Taffy a month and a half to polish it and drill the holes.

X is silver wire joined in the middle with a raw garnet. (Taffy found the garnet.)

Y is the carp's tail in ivory.

Z is a bell-shaped piece of agate marked with Z-shaped stripes. They made the Z-snake out of one of the stripes by picking out the soft stone and rubbing in red sand and bee's-wax. Just in the mouth of the bell you see the clay bead repeating the Z-letter.

These are all the letters.
The next bead is a small round greeny lump of copper ore; the next is a lump of rough turquoise; the next is a rough gold nuggct (what they call water-gold); the next is a melon-shaped clay bead (white with green spots). Then come four flat ivory pieces, with dots on them rather like dominoes; then come three stone beads, very badly worn; then two soft iron beads with rust-holes at the edges (they must have been magic, because they look very common); and last is a very very old African bead, like glass--blue, red, white, black, and yellow. Then comes the loop to slip over the big silver button at the other end, and that is all.
I have copied the necklace very carefully. It weighs one pound seven and a half ounces. The black squiggle behind is only put in to make the beads and things look better.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Sunday Poetry XXV -- ART CHIROGRAPHY II

http://littleartmonkeys.com/Projects/Drawings/
Art chirography is all over the place (though not so easy to find via Google-image search; it's the kind of thing you stumble upon when you're not really looking for it), and a lot more common than I thought back when I posted about it some time ago (which post, by the way, is the most popular post on The Wall by a thousand percent, literally ).  A little different from concrete poetry, the chirographic side, perhaps less poetic, and in a way, more onomatopoeic, is more the word done-up to look like what the word is, like the word "car" shaped like a car (often called "word art," and more than what MS Word means by it).  A really pretty stunning example I saw recently was at my son's grade school, where there is a series of prints, artfully framed, on the walls of one hallway depicting each of the seven continents, each continent's name spelled out and shaped (like that "car" car) like the continent itself.  Of course, I think we've all done this in grade school, and even high school, art classes, but it's also a not-so-uncommon trope of graphic artists and advertisers.  While this is perhaps a stretch--more a blend of the concrete poetry and chirography--the website wordle.net is a blast to play around with, and I highly recommend it (here's what I did just a few minutes ago), if less for the artistic/literary benefit then more for just the simple addictive fun of it.

Then there's the stuff that some people call picture puzzles, my favorite of which is simply:

HOrobOD 

--or the "rebus."

***

http://callepompon.blogspot.com/2009/07/word.html
as well as some brilliant samples posted by my sister,
who's much more skilled than I am at finding stuff
like this

http://stacyloo.blogspot.com/2011/04/word-art.html

Finally, two more sources of a sort of art chirography or (ew) graphically representational words are the classic Magnetic Poetry kits and my personal preference among thesauri, of all things: Visual Thesaurus.



Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Wednesday's for Kids XVI -- THE LITTLE PRINCE

The last time I read The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, was in my high school French class.  I can't say that I particularly appreciated it then; I hated French class, and, if I'm being honest, I hated English class more.  Worse, I considered myself an elite artist at the time--was a bit of a snob, in fact (which self judgment is likely generous) --and snubbed the pathetic attempts at "art" by the self-deprecating author/illustrator.


Thankfully, I've matured a bit since then, in both literary taste and humility.  Over the last two days, I've finally re-read most of it and look forward to finishing it this afternoon.  It is absolutely splendid--fun, light, philosophical, perfect for kids, perfect for adults--well, perfect for adults who "get it."  While not in the least the same book (except for the similarity of a general denouncing of "adults"), if you like the Alice books, you will like The Little Prince.


You can read it in its entirety, illustrations and all, right here.  I highly recommend that you give up an hour or two of your day or night and get just that much more well-read.


Highlights from this fantastic piece of classic literature--quotable quotes and illustrations:
  • "Children should always show great forbearance toward grown-up people."
  • "When you've finished getting yourself ready in the morning, you must go get the planet ready."
  • "One should never listen to the flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe their fragrance."
  • "It is truly useful since it is beautiful."
  • "'Where are the people?' resumed the little prince at last. 'It's a little lonely in the desert...' / 'It is lonely when you're among people, too,' said the snake."
  • "You're beautiful, but you're empty.... No one could die for you."
  • "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."
  • "What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well."
(click to enlarge)


Special thanks to my old high school friend, Veronica, for reminding me of the existence of The Little Prince when she saw the enigmatic picture (current "brick") drawn by my daughter.  I hope I will never be so grown up that I miss the elephant.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Through the Looking Glass V -- chapter 3: NAMES and NO NAMES

  1. Curiously, there are no bishops in the book, except here, however, this very subtle mention: bishops were once calls elephants, and in Russian still are.
  2. "'Oh, I liked it well enough--' (here came the favourite little toss of the head)...."
  3. The chorus on the train--like a musical or a Greek play--interests me (not the "pounds a ____," but its very presence).  What do you make of it in the Alice context?
  4. (The passengers in the train coach are full of puns and suggestions of once-famous puns and rhymes.)
  5. An interesting combination: the gnat sighs, much like the lamenting wasp in the retracted "Wasp in a Wig" episode; there is a "shadow of a sigh" mentioned in the prefatory poem; trains are classic symbols of choice, change, and the relentless passage of time, and this train is also "traveling the wrong way" (a reversal, of course, but also a metaphor for Alice's growth away from Carroll); finally, remember that Alice, according to the conductor, has forgotten her name, which may correlate to the Red Queen's advice at the end of chapter 2.  The gnat: "I know you are a friend, a dear friend, and an old friend.  And you wo'n't hurt me, though I am an insect."
  6. If Carroll is the Gnat (which, considering the conversation, is, I think, inevitable), and we extend the characteristic adult-ishness of Wonderland to Looking-Glass House, then perhaps the fact the insects' silence where Alice comes from works on a level beyond the simple fact that, duh, bugs don't talk, at least not to children; and this then emphasizes Carroll's grief, where Carroll is so fundamentally different than the rest of his caste.
  7. The fantastic thing, at least for Carroll, of a secret place without names or labels is its utter anonymity.  Here, nothing would prevent him from approaching Alice, especially in such form as an innocent fawn.  Only on leaving would the fawn and the girl remember who they were and, as it happens and by necessary skittishness of the former, have to part (or is it not Carroll, but merely an analogue of the otherwise inevitable distance between human/wild animal and the impossibility of their continued relationship?).  Note also that in its very beginning Eden must not have had names either.  (This is another scene, so much like that of Alice's moment thinking favorably of the snow forever beyond the window, that touches my soul.)  From Martin Gardner:  The wood in which things have no name is in fact the universe itself, as it is apart from symbol-manipulating creatures who label portions of it because--as Alice earlier remarked with pragmatic wisdom-- "it's useful to the people that name them."  The realization that the world by itself contains no signs--that there is no connection whatever between things and their names except by way of the mind that finds the tags useful--is by no means a trivial philosophic insight.
  8. All the issues with names, and Carroll's own split between writer Carroll and professor Dodgson!
"My First Sermon," by John Everett Millais


Monday, February 14, 2011

Alice in Wonderland VIV -- chapter 6: THE GREAT UGLY

"The Ugly Duchess," by Quentin Matsys
Perhaps because this chapter is so rife with dissectable material, perhaps because I've worked on it in three sessions, two of which were scattered with questions from confused and working students, these questions are not entirely in order of their book-ed correlates, but in the order they occurred to me.  My apologies; may the beauty (and that beauty so grounded in its Ugly) make up for my shortcomings.
  1. The general lampooning of adults is targeted more specifically in this chapter at the upper class: from the treatment, by Carroll, of the invitation (how pretentious is a letter this big, at least compared to the size of those who handle it, and especially if size is ever an indicator import, or at least self-righteousness, and regarding a game a croquet, no matter whom it's with?) to the wigs getting tangled (what the heck is the importance of such things and such clothes except to boast of the owner's--the owner of the servants whose clothes the servants wear--money, to the fact that the footmen, so lowly!, are mere animals, compared to their "human" owners.  Of course, if Carroll esteems animals generally more highly than human adults, this cants it all left--or right ... or off-center.  Oh, and then once the message is delivered, the poor remaining footman is good for absolutely nothing but sitting around looking stupid!
  2. However, and despite his stupid sitting, the Frog isn't stupid: "There's no sort of use in knocking, and that for two reasons.  First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are: secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possible hear you."  However, if this Frog is so bent on appearance, which all formalities are pretty much all about in the first place, why did he bow regally to the fish, but not introduce Alice to its master?  Is this a slight against Alice, or indication of "needing to maintain appearances" bound to be reported to Queen, or something else?
  3. The frog footman: "For instance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know."  Another symptom of "automatic writing?"
  4. What is meant by the footman's off-hand remark, "Are you to get in at all?  That's the first question, you know."  It's answer, I think, is also telling of Carroll's position here, and, to a degree, an interesting and potential point on an issue predestination (all kinds of ramifications there, especially considering the time and space of the setting!).
  5. We will spend more time with the Cheshire Cat later.  A couple notes in the interim: with the exception of the court scene at the end where many characters temporarily return, the Cheshire Cat is alone in its repeated appearances; consider elements of the moon, and the cat's resemblance to the moon, and the moon's supposed influence on the sanity of those under it.
  6. The treatment of the baby seems entirely contrary to anything Carroll would have believed in regarding children.  Thoughts?
  7. The treatment and change of the baby is the most grotesque of the events in Wonderland (at least on this first of Alice's two trips here).  What would have happened to the baby had it staying with the Duchess?  Would it have still changed into a pig?  Why all the pepper?  Why all the hurling of every potential implement in the kitchen?  How do--if they do--all fit together?
  8. In Sylvie and Bruno, Carroll evinces a distaste for boys (a distaste he did not bury in life) and compared one particularly fat, ugly boy, Uggug by name, to a prize pig.  Consider Alice's statement (and, as we're in Wonderland, Alice is of course channeling, at least to a degree, Carroll himself): "...if one only knew how to change them--" speaking of children who "might do very well as pigs."  
  9. I can't quite articulate it yet, and I know there's a risk in writing before I've organized my still nascent thoughts on it:  There seems a potential connection between the letter and the pig.  Thoughts?
  10. Further, what of the Ugly in this chapter?
  11. "You must be [mad]," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."  More importantly: "And how do you know that you're mad?"
  12. Two final, fun observations (neither of them my own):  First, I've always wondered about--and been annoyed by--the format of Tenniel's illustration of Alice looking up at the Cat in this chapter.  The missing rectangle seems so out of standard when held up to all the rest of the illustration--he doesn't accommodate text with picture shape; however, when held up against, or immediately atop of, the illustration of the cat mid-appearance on the next page it makes perfect sense. I've finally learned the intent: Carroll enjoyed the opportunity to fold the paper of the prior back to reveal the drawing of the latter (the cat, despite Alice's walking ahead, is in the same tree) to the children around him and observe Alice's complete lack of fear.  Second, "a smile without a cat" is perhaps the most subtle of Carroll's mathematical allusions, as it is an altogether apt description of pure mathematics.  (Thanks Selwyn Goodacre for the first, and Martin Gardner and Bertrand Russell for the second.)


Speak Gently
by David Bates

Speak gently! -- It is better far
To rule by love, than fear --
Speak gently -- let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here!

Speak gently! -- Love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind;
And gently Friendship's accents flow;
Affection's voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child!
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild: --
It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear --
Pass through this life as best they may,
'T is full of anxious care!

Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart!

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor;
Let no harsh tone be heard;
They have enough they must endure,
Without an unkind word!

Speak gently to the erring -- know,
They may have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again!

Speak gently! -- He who gave his life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were in fierce strife,
Said to them, 'Peace, be still.'

Speak gently! -- 't is a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, which it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.
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