In April, have been reading The Blue Flower by the page, and Remembrance of Things Past by the line. Proust is, I fear, too beautiful for me. After a few paragraphs I want a bit of Bukowski, say, and his drinking and vomiting.
In the meantime, the Flower is odd. Written by Penelope Fitzgerald, it’s the deeply unpromising story of the life of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772-1801), a German mystic, poet and philosopher, who became famous under the name Novalis.
Fitzgerald has a strange style. There’s some thing with the definite article — the youngest Hardenberg child is always The Bernhard — and the rhythm and emphases are never where you expect them. The effect is kind of tantalising and provoking and doesn’t inspire trust. I keep reading to see if it’s an accident.
In other departments, like irony, she’s slightly over-deliberate. This is the putative philosopher’s first day at university:
As a result he attended on his very first morning in Jena a lecture by Johann Gottlieb Fichte. Fichte was speaking of the philosophy of Kant, which, fortunately, he had been able to improve upon greatly.
*****
Also watched, just last night, a very moving documentary on ABC about the lives of four people with Asperger’s Syndrome. Called Alone in a Crowded Room, it features the stories of James, a young man of 20 who’s always wanted to drive buses and is on his way to doing so; Wendy, a woman in her 50s wearing bright rose-coloured glasses who writes books about Aspergers and goes on speaking tours; Jeanette, a woman in her 30s who, during the course of the film, obtains a job in the Commonwealth Public Service in Canberra; and Akash, a singer and composer, who coaches and manages The Four Divas.
If you’re feeling short on inspiration and hope, watch this film. You’ll feel entirely different afterwards. For parents, in particular — those who wonder if things are permanently broken — hearing Jeanette’s father speak about what his daughter has made of her life will restore you.
I can hardly believe where she is now, it’s astonishing … she was a smart little girl, and she’s personable, she’s funny and … that’s the picture that was in my mind all the time and I knew that it was possible for her to get through that and carry on because that to me was who she was and who she is, not what was in between …
The film was written and produced by Lucy Paplinska. To watch it, click here.
*****
Lastly, in April, a friend told me how she had lived in Aberdeen in Scotland with her parents-in-law about 40 years ago. Her father-in-law was a baker and very proud of his trade. He’d get up at the crack of dawn, go to the bakery and lavish on his loaves all the ingenuity and care of an artiste. His four sons, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about baking, and each had gone into other careers. When they’d talk about their work, the father would just shrug as if to say “why even bother talking about such a thing?” No matter the exploit he was regaled with, he’d announce with an air of immense self-satisfaction,
oh aye, but you cannae create a smell now …
*****
Image: Illiers-Combray (Flickr by Álvaro M)
Glad to hear that other people read books by the line and page. Sometimes even by the word!
Are you reading the entirety of Recherche?
Ask me again when I finish Vol 1 … around 2015 at this rate.
I you need a break, you might want to have a look at Stones From The River by Ursula Hegi. I read it a few years ago, gave it to a friend and after many handoffs, it found its way back to me. I’d forgotten about it, but it is a beautiful read by the line novel.
Never heard of it. I’ll check it out. Thanks :)
aye, but you have written about smells twice now…are you sure proust is not wafting into your posts?
its been 20 plus years since recherche and i was still fluent in french. i wonder did i actually read the whole thing?
its the involuntary memory that stuck with me all these years. to be transported, a bit magical, is this the beauty you meant or did you mean it was “flowery”?
may i have a reply to my last question – the spy novel, is it your first novel?
I replied to your question. There’s no novel, spy or otherwise. It was a joke about all the initials. Re proust and beauty, I meant that each line is packed with so much sensuousness it feels a bit rich for my blood. Like drowning in honey, or eating only a diet of chocolate.
weird, i had subscribed to comments, and never got your response.
what’s “November” by Flaubert? one of his premiere oeuvre… main character in first person, lots of ennui, sexually frustrated virgin, decay, implied “love of death”, lots of self-pity.
i know you love Flaubert, i’m not sure you would like this one. i like it because it is smelly and old. and can be read by the page. no real plot.
What a pithy book review. Like the “sexually frustrated virgin” next to “decay”. Funny, I’ve never heard of November. I always just hear references to Mme B, of course, and Salammbo and Sentimental Education. Imposs not to love Emma B, but here’s a blasphemy, I prefer his (mere) notes from his trip down the Nile. No restraint, startling observations, visits to “cathouses”, all-pervasive air of eroticism …
sounds like “November” may have been born from these notes. you may actually enjoy it.
“that to me was who she was and who she is, not what was in between …”
Only Gods look at humans that way.
Hello exuvia. Saw you back at Andreas’s blog. You’ve been away I think?
Yes, what the father said was profound, and his face as he said it …
“and his face as he said it …”
The phrase caught my mind but I still have to follow your link to the movie; to see…
Now and again academic pressure keeps my mind away from the pleasure and privilege of informal sharing with the aesthetic wit and wisdom of others.
First things first; though I am easily had and distracted with a good post.
You’re welcome anytime :)