Friday, April 3, 2015

I contemplate a tree. 
I can accept it as a picture: a rigid pillar in a flood of light, or splashes of green traversed by the gentleness of the blue silver ground.
I can feel it as movement: the flowing veins around the sturdy, striving core, the sucking of the roots, the breathing of the leaves, the infinite commerce with earth and air--and the growing itself in its darkness.
I can assign it to a species and observe it as an instance, with an eye to its construction and its way of life.
I can overcome its uniqueness and form so rigorously that I recognize it only as an expression of the law--those laws according to which a constant opposition of forces is continually adjusted, or those laws according to which the elements mix and separate.
I can dissolve it into a number, into a pure relation between numbers, and eternalize it.
Throughout all of this the tree remains my object and has its place and its time span, its kind and condition.
But it can also happen, if will and grace are joined, that as I contemplate the tree I am drawn into a relation, and the tree ceases to be an It. The power of exclusiveness has seized me.
This does not require me to forego any of the modes of contemplation. There is nothing that I must not see in order to see, and there is no knowledge that I must forget. Rather is everything, picture and movement, species and instance, law and number included and inseparably fused.
Whatever belongs to the tree is included: its form and its mechanics, its colors and its chemistry, its conversation with the elements and its conversation with the stars--all this in its entirety.
The tree is no impression, no play of my imagination, no aspect of a mood; it confronts me bodily and has to deal with me as I must deal with it--only differently.
One should not try to dilute the meaning of the relation: relation is reciprocity.
Does the tree then have consciousness, similar to our own? I have no experience of that. But thinking that you have brought this off in your own case, must you again divide the indivisible? What I encounter is neither the soul of a tree nor a dryad, but the tree itself.

-Martin Buber, I and Thou
Source: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/holidays/Jewish_Holidays/Tu_Bishvat/Ideas_and_Beliefs/Rabbinic/Every_Person_is_a_Tree/I_and_Thou_a_Tree.shtml

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Your love is different from mine. What I mean is, when you close your eyes, for that moment, the center of the universe comes to reside within you. And you become a small figure within that vastness, which spreads without limit behind you, and continues to expand at tremendous speed, to engulf all of my past, even before I was born, and every word I've ever written, and each view I've seen, and all the constellations, and the darkness of outer space that surrounds the small blue ball that is earth. Then, when you open your eyes, all that disappears.
I anticipate the next time you are troubled and must close your eyes again.
The way we think may be completely different, but you and I are an ancient, archetypal couple, the original man and woman. We are the model for Adam and Eve. For all couples in love, there comes a moment when a man gazes at a woman with the very same kind of realization. It is an infinite helix, the dance of two souls resonating, like the twist of DNA, like the vast universe.
Oddly, at that moment, she looked over at me and smiled. As if in response to what I'd been thinking, she said, "That was beautiful. I'll never forget it."

-Banana Yoshimoto, "Helix" (from her collection Lizard)

Monday, February 16, 2015

Mr. Tench's father had been a dentist too -- his first memory was finding a discarded cast in a wastepaper basket -- the rough toothless gaping mouth of clay, like something dug up in Dorset -- Neanderthal or Pitecanthropus. It had been his favourite toy: they tried to tempt him with Meccano, but fate had struck. There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in. The hot wet river-port and the vultures lay in the wastepaper basket, and he picked them out. We should be thankful we cannot see the horrors and degradations lying around our childhood, in cupboards and bookshelves, everywhere.

- Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory

Monday, January 26, 2015

Books/movies documentation, 2015

I've skipped a few years, but I'm determined to continue keeping lists of the books/movies that I've read and watched. This list will be updated as the year progresses.

2015

Books reread will be marked like this: Joyce's Voices*
Books read more than once will be denoted like this: Joyce's Voices (3x)
(These notations also apply to movies rewatched or watched more than once.)


Books
 JANUARY
1. The Dead Secret, Wilkie Collins (1857)
2. The Woman in White, Wilkie Collins (1859)
3. Sexing the Cherry, Jeanette Winterson (1989)
4. The Odyssey, Homer, tr. Fagles (hella old)*
FEBRUARY
5. The Book of Job, anon., tr. Scheindlin (hella old)*
6. Casino Royale, Ian Fleming (1953)
7. The Power and the Glory, Graham Greene (1940)*
8. Dr. No, Ian Fleming (1958)
MARCH
9. Lizard, Banana Yoshimoto (1993)
10. The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses, Kevin Birmingham (2014)
11. The Women of Brewster Place, Gloria Naylor (1987)
APRIL
12. I and Thou, Martin Buber (1937)
13. The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck (1939)
14. The Moonstone, Wilkie Collins (1868)
MAY
:(
JUNE
15. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (1979)
16. The Happy Prince and Other Tales, Oscar Wilde (1888)
17. The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Douglas Adams (1980)
JULY
18. The Witches, Roald Dahl (1983)
AUGUST
19. Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion (1968)


Movies
JANUARY
1. The Apartment (Billy Wilder, 1960)*
2. Kingpin (Peter & Bobby Farrelly, 1996)
3. Repo Man (Alex Cox, 1984)*
4. Wings of Desire (Wim Wenders, 1988)
5. House (Nobuhiko Obayashi, 1977)
6. City Lights (Charlie Chaplin, 1931)*
7. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Robert Weine, 1921)
FEBRUARY
8. A bout de souffle (Breathless) (Jean-Luc Godard, 1960) 
9. Joe Vs. the Volcano (John Patrick Shanley, 1990)
10. Blue Velvet (David Lynch, 1986)*
11. We Are the Best! (Vi är bäst!) (Lukas Moodysson, 2013)
12. They Live (John Carpenter, 1988)*
13. Blue Velvet (David Lynch, (1986)*
14. Whiplash (Damien Chazelle, 2014) 
MARCH
15. Candyman (Bernard Rose, 1992)
16. Wait Until Dark (Terence Young, 1967)
17. The Visitor (Guilio Paradisi/Michael J. Paradise, 1979)
18. Videodrome (David Cronenberg, 1983)
19. Bram Stoker's Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola, 1992)
20. Mary and Max (Adam Elliot, 2009)
21. It Follows (David Robert Mitchell, 2015)
22. Phantasm (Don Coscarelli, 1979)
APRIL
23. My Dinner With Andre (Louis Malle, 1981)
24. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Mike Newell, 2005)*
25. Star Wars Episode VI Return of the Jedi (Richard Marquand, 1983)*
26. Harvey (Henry Koster, 1950)*
27. Treasure of the Sierra Madre (John Huston, 1948) (2x)
28. The Seven Year Itch (Billy Wilder, 1955)
29. The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky, 2012)
MAY
30. Grease (Randal Kleiser, 1978)
31. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Howard Hawks, 1953)*
32. The Babadook (Jennifer Kent, 2014)*
33. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (John Ford, 1962)*
34. In Bruges (Martin McDonagh, 2008)*
35. The Children's Hour (William Wyler, 1961)
36. Do the Right Thing (Spike Lee, 1989)*
JUNE
37. French Kiss (Lawrence Kasden, 1995)
38. Tampopo (Juzo Itami, 1985)
39. Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997)
JULY
40. Withnail and I (Bruce Robinson, 1987)*
41. Kung Fu Panda (Mark Osborne and John Stevenson, 2008)*
42. The Reader (Stephen Daldry, 2008)
43. Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982)*
44. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Howard Hawks, 1953)*
AUGUST
45. 
There was a man of double deed
Sowed his garden full of seed.
And when that seed began to grow
'Twas like a garden full of snow.
When the snow began to melt
'Twas like a ship without a belt.
When the ship began to sail
'Twas like a bird without a tail.
When the bird began to fly
'Twas like an eagle in the sky.
When the sky began to roar
'Twas like a lion at the door.
When the door began to crack
'Twas like a stick across my back.
When my back began to smart
'Twas like a penknife in my heart.
When my heart began to bleed
'Twas death and death and death indeed.

(Anonymous)
It is well known that the ceiling of one room is the floor of another, but the household ignores this ever-downward necessity and continues ever upward, celebrating ceilings but denying floors, and so their house never ends and they must travel by winch or rope from room to room, calling to one another as they go.
The house is empty now, but it was there, dangling over dinner, illuminated by conversation and rich in the juices of a wild duck, that I noticed a woman whose face was a sea voyage I had not the courage to attempt.

-Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry
There was talk of witchcraft but what is stronger than love?

-Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry



Monday, January 12, 2015

Recession Song (by Justin Quinn)

Sage is just the thing
for snakebite, bee sting, 
and keeping all the bad at bay.
The bush stands guard through ice and snow
and when warm winds begin to blow
it draws mauve flowers out of dark clay.

 They steeped it in a tea
with rosemary, 
garlic, horehound, baby's breath,
and called it Four Thieves Vinegar,
convinced its perfume could deter
the swelling horrors of Black Death.

But it will do, good herb,
to salve and curb
a common cold or nerves, and I
these days, with everybody's eyes on
the grim news banked on the horizon,
like how its leaf spears face the sky.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Book haul from Goodwill yesterday. All good finds. The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency has long struck me as charming and adorable -- now to put it to the test!

The real highlight of this trip, though, was finding a first printing of Bored of the Rings, one of the unfunniest piece of classic humor ever recorded. It's so dumb but it's an awesome bit of weird nostalgia.

I love book shopping at Goodwill (this one is in Milford, CT) because I always find such an odd assortment of stuff -- and there's no organization or sorting, which makes it quite fun to browse!

I was also glad to find Portrait of a Lady, not because I love Henry James or anything, but because every time I look at it I think of this moment from Harriet the Spy, which always makes me chuckle:

"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.'" 
Ole Golly said this steadily and sedately, then leaned back in her chair with a satisfied look at Sport. 
Sport looked completely blank. 
"Henry James," said Ole Golly, "1843-1916. From Portrait of a Lady." 
"What's that?" Sport asked Harriet. 
"A novel, silly," said Harriet. 
"Oh, like my father writes," said Sport, and dismissed the whole thing.
 
(source: archive.org)

Friday, January 2, 2015

Richard Brown, Molly Bloom's Gibraltar, and Derrida's Yes in Joyce's Ulysses

I delivered this presentation last year in a seminar on Joyce. I guess I'll put it here -- I just bought Acts of Literature and I'm so excited to reread "Ulysses Gramophone" that revisiting this little review is my kind of fun.


Molly Bloom's Gibraltar, Gendered Narration, and Derrida's Yes/Oui


In his essay “Molly's Gibraltar: The Other Location in Joyce's Ulysses,” Richard Brown argues that Gibraltar has a strong “atmospheric presence” in Ulysses, and that Molly's memory of it evokes the communicative, potent yes which begins the “Penelope” episode and ends the novel. Gibraltar's unfamiliar geography becomes a site of mythic inheritance and transformation, ambivalent desire, and authentic pleasure. Marked by gendered and ethnic alterity, Molly's memory of Gibraltar provides a different perspective, and a perspective of difference, than what has been experienced so far in Ulysses
 
To call Molly's speech in Episode 18 a monologue is, according to Derrida, “to display a somnabulisitic carelessness” (53-4). The episode's genre may resemble a monologue, but the narrative method is much more involved as it resists the one-sidedness of monologue, opening out into an engagement with otherness and subjectivity. This profusion evokes the fluid association and coincidence within Joycean narrative, which is vital to remember when looking at Molly's Gibraltarian origins.

Brown compares Gibraltar's function in the “Penelope” episode to the yes-function that Derrida describes in “Ulysses Gramophone.” Derrida shows that yes in Ulysses is more than a performative speech-act – it is a state of being in itself, a state of affirmation and an announcement of the speaker's existence. At the same time it is an intimate acknowledgement and asking of the Other, like the “Shema Israel” prayer that appears in the Aeoleus episode. Like the prayer, yes functions as both a question and an answer, a “person-to-person call” (38), this time not between Israel and God, but between the speaker and the Other. Such a call reverberates in memory and desire (44) as an event continually being replayed and transferred through the text—like the sound from a gramophone, which is experienced in hearing, memory, and repetition. Thus, Molly's memory of Bloom on Howth, that “I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I say yes to yes” recalls the doubled question and affirmation of yes; it is an echo being transferred between herself and Bloom (“would I say yes to yes”), affirming their separateness while asking them, in turn, to connect (as with a telephone, gramophone, or umbilical cord) and to engage (pun intended). But this connection is suspended in Ulysses; whether Molly and Bloom do end up experiencing “complete mental intercourse” (17.2285) is a question for June 17th
 
For Brown, Gibraltar appears in Ulysses as a place where just such a prolific and sustained relation with the other can occur, and where racial and gendered alterities can exist without facing violence or homogenization. The Gibraltar passages in Episode 18 transform the masculine narratives that the novel has so far enacted through a narration of female interiority, racial otherness, and experienced pleasure; this rewriting constitutes an alternative to, and a critique of, the conventional discourses that the novel might presuppose, especially concerning Gibraltar's status as a colonial state.
 
In 1904 Gibraltar had already been occupied by the British for 200 years. Some critics have suggested that Gibraltar's colonial history marks the island as another colonial state, like Dublin, and Molly as an example of “colonized subjectivity” (158) in the manner of Gayatri Spivak, Homi Bhabha, or Ashis Nandy. Brown seeks to complicate this characterization, claiming that Joyce's weblike allusiveness disrupts any easy category. He argues that Molly's mixed background and difficult-to-define standing among both Gibraltarian and Dublin society makes her more complex in terms of ethnicity and social position.

Furthermore, the source book most used by Joyce on Gibralter, an 1889 study by Henry Field, emphasizes the integrated ethnic demographic of the peninsula, where Jews, Christians, Moors, Turks, and so on seem to exist heterogenuously and harmoniously. Brown suggests that Joyce may have been interested in Gibraltar as a “multi-ethnic utopia” that is juxtaposed with the exclusion and racism that, for example, Bloom encounters in the Cyclops episode (167). Thus, the imaginative landscape of Gibraltar is a political “other” to Bloom's experience: instead of being “just another colonial state” it is an other colonial state to Dublin, where racial and political oppression is replaced by mythical allusiveness and layers of association invoked by memories of pleasure, belonging, and emotional promise. 
 
Brown stresses that the question of politics, colonial history, and race in Gibraltar is affected by the emotional and libidinal energies that Molly's memories invoke. Molly's complex alignments with the colonial military garrison exist simultaneously with her position as gendered and racial other in Dublin. Her exotic Spanish looks sexually excite Bloom (and other Dublin figures). This eroticized Spanishness seem to merge with cultural artifacts and backgrounds: popular song and literature, Orientalist fantasies about exotic women, and ethnic and religious alterity within Gibraltar itself begin to create Molly as an exotic object of desire. But Molly's own memories of her origins diverge from this erotic fantasy, empowering her to create a place in “remembered reality” (170) that communicates direct, authentic, experienced pleasure. This Gibraltar is also strongly linked to the pleasures of writing and reading (170), a connection that might challenge dualistic assumptions about Molly's determined bodiliness at the expense of intellectual sophistication. Brown also suggests Molly Bloom as the novel's “boldest traveler,” a female Odysseus figure exiled from her Mediterranean home. 
 
Most of all, Molly's Gibraltar “provide[s] a powerful alternative to or double critique of the conventional discourses” of history and nation, by evoking a place of gendered, ethnic, and emotional otherness. This place is at once remembered, experienced, and recorded textually; it is also a utopia or no-place that blends memory and subjectivity by encountering otherness directly, and always in the framework of desire. Gibralter's function in the novel is, for Brown, part of Joyce's modernism; its mythology, referentiality and ambivalence exemplify the modernism of Ulysses. Gibraltar is constructed as a “significant other place and [liminal] site of meaning” (157) where nationalist discourse and mainstream narrative can be questioned in a utopian field of memory. The question “Where?” at the end of the “Ithaca” episode demonstrates this liminality. The living Gibraltar, like Derrida's living yes, must always point back to itself in all of its capacities, as both question and reply, self-affirming signature and outward-looking exchange. The intrusion of its otherness calls the speaker and the hearer together in a mutual and never-conclusive question of difference, an unfolding of self and other that is not unlike the process of translation. Gibraltar in Episode 18 asks us to consider alternatives to the militaristic, exclusionary, and tortured narratives that we have seen ever since Mulligan's false Mass on the Martello tower in Episode 1. 
 
According to Brown, Molly's voice of ethnic and gendered otherness, expressed through her memories of Gibraltar, functions as an alternative to colonial history, and a critique of urban space and masculine narrative. But Molly's Gibraltar, like her exuberant yes, also asks an extended, precarious question about connection, intercourse, and incorporation with the other. As Derrida writes, “all the risks crowd together from the first breath of yes” (68), therefore the question of alterity and otherness in Episode 18 involves risk as well as resistance, the danger in intimacy and relation as well as their pleasures. Molly's so-called monologue is never spoken, or experienced, alone (63), and this way of speaking is an unstable and potentially transformative state of being. As well as a liminal location of otherness and utopian resistance to urban alienation, Molly's Gibraltar is also an expression of her desire to participate in unmediated and fertile communication with the world around her, and a rewriting of Ulysses from its liminal outskirts.

--Liz Light 8/5/2014

Works Cited
 Brown, Richard. "Molly’s Gibraltar: The Other Location in Joyce’s Ulysses." A Companion to James Joyce (2008): 157-73.
Derrida, Jacques. "Ulysses Gramophone: Hear Say Yes in Joyce." Acts of Literature.
Joyce, James. Ulysses. Ed. Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and Claus Melchior. New York: Vintage, 1986.