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bosox18d
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« Reply #405 on: August 24, 2007, 01:52:54 PM »

Dave, just a quick look at ABE and Amazon I don't see that title.Any links?
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« Reply #406 on: August 24, 2007, 04:07:36 PM »

Sorry, The Happy Warriors translation is prolly outtaprint. I'll have to borrow from next door myself ...
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« Reply #407 on: August 24, 2007, 04:52:09 PM »

Tell your neighbor to take care of it.I was spelling Halldor with only one L on ABE.When I did it right three copies show up.All from 1958 and it appears British.The first two are going for 258.00 and 275.00.The third one signed by Laxness is going for 1.750.00.
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« Reply #408 on: August 24, 2007, 10:09:19 PM »

Question: Which book would you prefer to read and discuss next on the Fiction board? 

Well, I'm sort of interested in Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom.

The first time I read it back in the early '60s at LSU it was so frustrating for me. I glanced thru the Cliff Notes version the other day just for the fun of it...and I doubt if it would have helped me back then.

Those long stream-of-consciousness Faulknerian italicized sentences that went on and on -- I had the same trouble with them in The Sound and the Fury. There was one sentence that went on & on for a mile or two...my ability to concentrate back then wasn't that good anyway. And Faulkner didn't help much...

I read in one of his biographies that Faulkner's original plan was to have multi-colored texts for the different speakers and different streams-of-consciousness narratives with The Sound and the Fury ...but the publishers said it was impossible; so they settled for italics instead to help the reader with the interior dialog sentences. (HuhHuh?)

Nevertheless the "Benjy" section of The Sound and the Fury threw me for a loop...it almost got me flunked out of college and sent to Viet Nam. Ever since I've had this love-hate relationship with Faulkner -- but especially Absalom, Absalom. LSU was still segregated back then...most of the African-Americans worked in the cafeterias, in the dorms or down by the Mississippi levee on the cane plantation. The university had a major in sugar technology...and there were these big tall cane fields south of campus. It was like endless fields of bamboo and one could smell the sugar cane factory for miles around...

Over the years I've got more mature and I can read Faulkner now. I don't know why...perhaps I've got more time to luxuriate with the long languid decadent prose and melancholy Southern moods. Living down there helps me now to better appreciate what the Deep South was and still is to a certain extent.

Hoffman and I are talking a little bit about Absalom, Absalom in Meander...and Desdemona and I are kinda talking about it over in Creative Writing. Over in Creative Writing it's not so much reportage and discursive prose...it's more like doing Faulkner rather than talking about his work. Well, I dunno, maybe it's a little of both.

Please find next a little piece I put together of Faulkner quotes from Absalom, Absalom. Desdemona and I are sort of retelling Absalom, Absalom from her family's point of view. It's not meant to be serious stuff...it's more like writing pulp fiction.

I guess Faulkner read a lot of pulp fiction, True Detective magazines, things like that...when he was writing Sanctuary for some money to keep a roof over his head. He said it was a pot-boiler but it's more than that of course. But he read a lot of pulp fiction and mystery stories to research that little gem. Plus he helped to do the screenplay for Raymond Chandler and The Big Sleep...

So these quotes I've strung together sort of segue into Desdemona's faux-family history...although a lot of it isn't that fauxy. My own Southern decadent imagination gets carried away sometimes...like with The Black Angel Review. Gay pulp fiction was big time back in the '50s and '60s...when the rules for publishing and movies were loosening up. Many of those paperbacks like the novels by Carl Corley are worth plenty today. Bolerium Press down in SF has a big catalog full of them...and the Cornell Library Rare Book Room has a long list of pulp fiction classics.

The quotes I've taken from Absalom, Absalom fit into the Desdemona text...which may not interest anybody over here in Fiction. I'm a devoted Reader of Faulkner though now...and for some reason reading him again after all these years makes me want to write like him a little bit.

Nothing serious or profound...just a little bit of entertainment like the Yoknapawtapha imitation contest. Kinda, sorta....

« Last Edit: September 02, 2007, 10:24:39 PM by pugetopolis » Logged

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« Reply #409 on: August 24, 2007, 10:13:10 PM »

Absalom Absalom

“And now,” Shreve said, “we’re going to talk about love.”

“Henry was learning from him how to lounge about a bedroom in a gown and slippers such as women wore, to a faint though unmistakable effluvium of scent such as women used, smoking a cigar almost as a woman might smoke it…with an air of indolent and lethal assurance…”

“…like a cat—cosmopolitan New Orleans…his own inherited and heritable Florentine lamps and gilded toilet seats and tufted mirrors…”

“…champagne in the octoroon’s boudoir…”

“…aping his clothing carriage speech and all…”

“…the cosmopolite ten years the youth’s senior almost, lounging in one of the silk robes the like of which the youth had never seen before and believed that only women wore…”

“…watching the youth blush fiery red yet still face him, still look him straight in the eye while he fumbled, groped, blurted with abrupt complete irrelevance: “If I had a brother…I would want him to be older than me…and I would want him to be just like you…”

“Is that so?” said Bon.

“That young clodhopper bastard. How shall I get rid of him…”

“And who to say if it wasn’t maybe the possibility of incest, because who…has been in love and not discovered the vain evanescence of the fleshly encounter…”

“…Bon telling himself I not only don’t know what it is I want but apparently I am a good deal younger than I thought…”

“…he looked at Henry’s face and thought, not there but for the intervening leaven of that blood which we do not have in common is my skull, my brow, sockets, shape and angle of jaw and chin and some of my thinking behind it, and which he would see in my face in his turn if he but knew to look as I know…”

“…there just behind a little, obscured a little by that alien blood whose admixing was necessary in order that he exist is the face of the face of the man who shaped us both out of that blind chancy darkness which we call the future…”

“…there—there—at any moment, second, I shall penetrate by something of will and intensity and dreadful need, and stip that alien leavening from it and look not on my brother’s face whom I did not know I possessed and hence never missed, but my father’s, out of the shadow of whose absence my spirit’s posthumeity has never escaped…”

“That’s all I want. He need not even acknowledge me; I will let him understand just as quickly that he need not do that, that I do not expect that, will not be hurt by that, just as he will let me know that quickly that I am his son…”

“…and saw face to face the man who might be his father, and nothing happened—no shock, no hot communicated flesh that speech would have been too slow even to impede—nothing.”

“Bon watching him and listening to him and thinking It’s because I don’t know myself what I am going to do and so he is aware that I am undecided without knowing that he is aware. Perhaps if I told him now that I am going to do it, he would know his own mind and tell me. You shall not…”

“Now. Now. Now. It will come now. It will come this time, and I am young, young, because I still don’t know what I am going to do.”

“And he spent ten days there, not only the esoteric, the sybarite, the steel blade in the silken tessellated sheath which Henry had begun to ape at the University…”

“…but the object of art, the mold and mirror of form and fashion”

“until he disappeared, taking Henry with him, and she never saw him again and war and trouble and grief…”

“So that now over the frozen December ruts of that Christmas eve: four of them and then just two—Charles-Shreve and Quentin-Henry…”

“…because he must have now understood with complete despair the secret of his whole attitude toward Bon from the first instinctive moment when he had seen him a year and a quarter ago…”

“So it was four of them who rode the two horses through that night and then across the bright frosty North Mississippi Christmas day…”

“Henry knew but still did not believe…”

“Four of them there, in that room in new Orleans in 1860…”

“…four of them who sat in that drawing room of baroque and fusty magnificence which Shreve had invented and which was probably true enough…”

“…the Haiti-born daughter of the French sugar planter…”

“…the blue unwinded wood smoke standing above the plastered chimneys of the slave quarters, to the River and the steamboat…”

“Four of them there, in that room in New Orleans in 1860, just as in a sense there were four of them here in this tomblike room in Massachusetts in 1910...”

“…the octoroon and the child would have been to Henry only something else about Bon to be not envied but aped if that had been possible, if there had been time and peace to ape in…”

“…two young embattled spirits…”

“…peace not between men of the same race and nation but peace between two young embattled spirits and the incontrovertible fact which embattled them…”

“… Bon took Henry to see the octoroon and Henry looked at her and said, “Ain’t that enough for you?” and Bo said, “Do you ant it to be enough?”

“…and then that spring with Lincoln elected and the Alabama convention and the south began to draw out of the Union…”

“…and Henry and Bon already decided to go…because after all you don’t waste a war…”

“Jesus, think of them. Because Bon would know what Henry was doing, just as he had always know what Henry was thinking since that first day when they had looked at one another…”

“They did not retreat from the cold. They both bore it as though in deliberate flagellant exaltation of physical misery transmogrified into the spirits’ travail of the two young men during that time fifty years ago…”

“Henry citing himself authority for incest, talking about his Duke John of Lorraine…”

“…as if he hoped possibly to evoke that condemned and excommunicated shade to tell him in person that it was all right, as people before and since have tried to evoke god or devil to justify them in what their glands insisted upon…”

“…the two the four the two facing one another in the tomblike room…”

“Quentin, the Southerner, the morose and delicate offspring of rain and steamy heat…”

“…your illusions are part of you like your bones and flesh and memory…”

“…the old mindless sentient undreaming meat that doesn’t even know any difference between despair and victory…”

“…since neither Henry and Bon, anymore than Quentin and Shreve, were the first young men to believe that wars were sometimes created for the sole aim of settling youth’s private difficulties and discontents.”

“Quentin could have spoken now, but Quentin did not.”

“…and Henry: Write. Write. Write.”

“…that quality of delicacy about the bones, articulation, which even at twenty still had something about it, some last echo about it, of adolescence…”

“—So it’s the miscegenation, not the incest, which you can’t bear.”

“You are my brother…”

“Do it now, Henry,” he says…

“Bon does not move beneath the gripping hands; he sits motionless, with his faint fixed grimace; his voice is gentler than that first breath in which the pine branches begin to move a little..”

“I don’t know,” Quentin said.

“But I know. And you know too. Don’t you? Don’t you, huh?”

“Yes,” Quentin said…

“Come on,” Shreve said. “Lets get out of this refrigerator and go to bed.”

—William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom, New York: Vintage, 1990
« Last Edit: September 02, 2007, 10:25:16 PM by pugetopolis » Logged

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« Reply #410 on: August 24, 2007, 10:32:06 PM »

Pugetopolis.... Cheesy Cheesy Cheesy

But on a more serious note.  Take a look at Quentin, all on his own.  Self/Other all in one neurotic package.  Brother/Lover/Norther/Souther.  Add the interesting idea of Shreve as observer....Why ask "Why do you hate the South?"  when what he really meant was "Why do you hate yourself?"

Why does Jason Compson send Quentin to Harvard?  To learn to be what he is not? or to learn to accept what he is?  Either way, they all pester him about the south, and Quentin is like a fish out of water.  (A bit of an irony that three months later, Quentin.....)
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« Reply #411 on: August 24, 2007, 11:01:27 PM »

Argghhhhh!

I just wrote a very long stream of consciousness of being a transplanted Yankee in Virginia, was cautioned that there was a new message, and blew it away instead of sending it.

Puget, You posted the best recommendation I've seen to consider re-visiting Faulkner. At sometime earlier in my life, I put a caution in my brain not to bother with him, but the pieces you shared make me want to re-consider.

I had wandered far afield into my experiences as a Yankee who moved to the South, that is not considered the South by those in the deep south, but is considered southern enough for an accept that amuses folks when I return to Yankee land.

I will repeat that moving to the south caused me to re-evaluate my morality especially related to race, and I've kept a high standard which I successfully imbued in my second husband, a native-born Virginian. When he tells me about telling folks at a gathering who use the "n" term, that most of the "N's" he knows are white, I know that the ways of the south are changing under my feet.

On another day, I will re-l about my neighbors, colored folks who have lived on the land he earned by his service in WWII as a presser of white-man uniforms. They are in their nineties, and point us out to family as their "white" neighbors who "look out for them". I would prefer the term "white" not to be in their repertouire, but respect the fact that it is the reality. We are not the only "white neighbors" who "look out for them". A man came to our house often last winter, telling us he would be hunting squirrels on the land behind ours (and within earshot), to give to these old folks. In talking with Bertha, I learned they do not like squirrel, and give them to family and friends in exchange for other stuff, but the effort is greatly appreciated. We usually take them a thanksgiving dinner, and sometime one for Christmas, depending on what is happening here.

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« Reply #412 on: August 25, 2007, 03:52:26 AM »

"This crucial difference between the urgent historical and political imperatives of post-colonialsim and post-modernism's relative detachment makes for altogether different approaches and results, although some overlap between them (in the technique of "magical realism," for example) does exist."--Edward Said, Orientalism, 349.

Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom is a magical realism novel -- like the novels and works of Borges and the other South American magical realists.

The HBO series Carnival is magical realism as well. The same with Dunn's Geek Love.

Said sees magical realism as the bridge between postcolonialism and postmodernism.

In other words, the Other is a "construction" of reality -- like Quentin and Shreve reconstructing the Sutpen Dynasty in their dormatory room. Fifty years after it happened. This Faulknerikan reconstruction of the Other isn't just a postcolonial or postmodern academic exercise; rather Faulkner's Other is both realistic and magical for both these two young undergraduates at Harvard.

Faulkner uses magical realism in Absalom, Absalom to create/reconstruct his own family's apocryphal history. This is especially true with Absalom, Absalom -- truly a stunning philoprogenitive journey into the heart of darkness...







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« Reply #413 on: August 25, 2007, 11:58:20 AM »

Continuum in Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom

http://laurieh12.blogspot.com/
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« Reply #414 on: August 25, 2007, 02:04:47 PM »

Quote
In other words, the Other is a "construction" of reality -- like Quentin and Shreve reconstructing the Sutpen Dynasty in their dormatory room. Fifty years after it happened. This Faulknerikan reconstruction of the Other isn't just a postcolonial or postmodern academic exercise; rather Faulkner's Other is both realistic and magical for both these two young undergraduates at Harvard.


"MEMORY likes to play hide-and-seek, to crawl away. It tends to hold forth, to dress up, often needlessly. Memory contradicts itself; pedant that it is, it will have its way.

When pestered with questions, memory is like an onion that wishes to be peeled so we can read what is laid bare letter by letter. It is seldom unambiguous and often in mirror-writing or other disguised.

Beneath its dry and crackly outer skin we find another, more moist layer, that once detached, reveals a third, beneath which a fourth and fifth wait whispering. And each skin sweats words too long muffled, and curlicue signs, as if a mystery-monger from an early age, while the onion was still germinating, had decided to encode himself.

Then ambition raises its head: this scrawl must be deciphered, that code cracked. What currently insists on truth is disproved, because Lie or her younger sister, Deception, often hands over only the most acceptable part of a memory...." (Grass, Peeling the Onion)
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« Reply #415 on: August 25, 2007, 02:31:28 PM »


 What currently insists on truth is disproved, because Lie or her younger sister, Deception, often hands over only the most acceptable part of a memory...." (Grass, Peeling the Onion)[/i]

Grass certainly is aware of Lie and her younger sister Deception -- at least according to his critics who dish him for concealing his youthful SS involvement during the war.

But then what about Frey and his tacky Million Little Pieces fake-autobiography or OJ and his faux-bio that was yanked from Barnes & Noble etc and yet he ended up with a million or so in royalty checks and interview fees.

Autobiography is a literary racket like anything else. Just ask Oprah and her minions of trusting dopey readers.

The more clever writers like Nabokov disguise it better with Lolitaesque masks...

The same with Faulkner -- do the words "apocryphal" and "philoprogenitive" ring a bell?



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« Reply #416 on: August 25, 2007, 07:16:26 PM »

Magical realism....I had looked at it more as a literary dissertation on memory.  But could be I need to expand my thinking on magical realism.  There is the idea of viewing the past from a distant perspective (Faulkner makes a point of taking Quentin out of the South), and the only Sutpen that exists is the Sutpen that Quentin has constructed/reconstructed.  Do we read  Henry and Charles' meeting as magical/miraculous or as coincidence?   Faulkner (through Quentin and Shreve) goes to a lot of trouble to explain it (that the reader might suspend disbelief?).  Do we look at the decline of the South and the Sutpens through Shreve's eyes or through Quentin's?  Quentin has left the South and is struggling with his past, but it certainly would seem less otherworldly to him than to Shreve.

Faulkner could be read as philoprogenitor of Marquez.  Both give us tales of the human struggle with moral and social decay; both set the struggle in a miniature  of the cosmos set up to represent the whole.

 

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« Reply #417 on: August 25, 2007, 09:44:29 PM »


Magical realism....I had looked at it more as a literary dissertation on memory.  But could be I need to expand my thinking on magical realism. 

Director Rodrigo Garcia helped with Carnivàle (2003)—he's the son of Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Márquez.

Read any Gabriel Garcia Márquez? Magic realism el supremo.

Rodrigo Garcia has directed episodes for Sopranos, Six Feet Under and Six Degrees.

In the second season boxed HBO Carnivàle seaon there are 3 audio commentaries with Creator Daniel Knauf, Executive Producer Howard Klein, Director Rodrigo Garcia and cast members Clancy Brown and Clea Duvall.

Then there is a special feature on “Magic and Myth: The Meaning of Carnivàle”—a half-hour documentary exploring the apocalyptic writing and mythology behind the show. Interviews with the creator, executive producer, and writers and directors of the show to get their take on the magic realism, as well as independent contributors who have examined the show's characters and the archetypal roles they represent.

A commentator at the Internet Movie Data Base page mentioned something interesting that many viewers noticed: “The show's ultimate strength is the presentation of its visual tones, the lighting in particular is eerily beautiful. Most scenes are lit in reminiscence of the Italian Renaissance painting technique "chiaroscuro," in which figures stand with an almost goldenish glow in stark contrast to the dark surroundings and or backgrounds. This is most obvious in scenes of Brother Justin at home with his sister Iris (Amy Madigan). These golden tones give the overall series a cohesive thematic. This is one of the strongest atmospheric shows I've ever seen on television. Furthermore, the grittiness and downright dirtiness of a poor traveling carnival through the dustbowls of America's Midwest is developed by the show's creators as yet another layer of ambiance. The characters appear dirtier and sweatier each progressing episode as they travel further south.”

I'm watching the series again this weekend, girding my loins for the new Depression coming up.

According to the Countrywide CEO, we're heading into a really bad recession. This is after a $2 billion loan from Bank of America to keep them afloat.

The Depression and Dust Bowl of the Thirties = Carnivàle redux.

I get to be Dr. Lotz...
 
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20405745/


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« Reply #418 on: August 25, 2007, 10:24:20 PM »

Magic Realism

“I don’t care much for facts, am not much interested in them, you can’t stand a fact up, you got to prop it up, and when you move to one side a little and look at it from that angle, it’s not thick enough to cast a shadow in that direction.”—William Faulkner to Malcolm Cowley

(“As we read these words, written more than forty years ago, in the 1980s, we see how Faulkner created such joy for generations of great Latin-American novelists. That “disregard” for fact gave him weight and standing, since idea, conception, strategy were all. Garcia Márquez, Fuentes, Vargas Llosa, Donoso, and before them all, Borges, could create their invented worlds out of Faulkner’s “I don’t care much for facts.”—Frederick R. Karl, William Faulkner: American Writer, New York: Ballantine: 1989, 739.)

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« Reply #419 on: August 26, 2007, 02:05:35 AM »

Quote
Read any Gabriel Garcia Márquez? Magic realism el supremo.

That's my problem here.  I read Marquez before I read Faulkner.  The story that comes to mind is A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings.  In the first paragraph, Marquez describes the weather, the abundance of the crab catch, worries over a newborn baby and a very old man with enormous wings found facedown in the mud.  The couple who discover the old man are so filled with pity than they have no room for awe.  The old man is accepted (although the couple uses him to their financial advantage)...no questions, as if these out-of-the-ordinary experiences occurred everyday.   (For me, the essence of magical realism is found in this image:  an angel found facedown in the mud...the  miraculous interfacing with the mundane.... [in Carnivale it's Sofie and Ben in the back of the truck..."thunderbooming."])

Marquez has commented that he was influenced by Faulkner, but he has also denied this influence.  The big similarities I see are Oxford/Yoknapatawpha Aracarata/Macondo and themes related to moral and social decline.  And there is the post War South seen in the light of a third world, or a world lost to decadence.

I think what I miss in Absalom, Absalom that would move it into the realm of magical realism is the element of the fantastic.  It may be related to my own perception of reality, but there isn't anything unreal about Quentin's narrative.  Sutpen doesn't seem to rise to the level of mythic.  (Possibly, I've known more than my share of truly trashy people  Wink ). 

But, just when I thought I was finished reading AA, I find I need to go back for another look. 

Question:  Is the element of the fantastic or miraculous intrinsic to the concept of magical realism? 



 
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