Giveaway: Kent Haruf’s Benediction

Benediction by Kent HarufI am giving away my copy of Kent Haruf’s Benediction (see review here). Set in a small town in Colorado, this deceptively simple novel, which reminds me of the novels of Willa Cather, is the story of Dad Lewis, who is dying of cancer, his devoted wife and daughter, and friends and neighbors who help out and make the last summer bearable.

I very much enjoyed this, and would be happy to pass it on to someone.

Leave a comment if you’d like it.

And if no one wants it, I’ll give it to the charity sale!

In Which I Read Contemporary Fiction & Finish Kent Haruf’s Benediction

Mirable Attempts Contemporary Fiction.

Mirable Attempts Contemporary Fiction.

I’ve been reading the classics lately.

Balzac and Bronte.  Lost Illusions and Villette.

I’ve written long, long posts.

Although there are a few, very few, outstanding contemporary American writers, I’ve struck out with almost everything lately.  I can’t even tell you how many cats died in the first hundred pages of Antonya Nelson’s Some Fun, a collection of short stories and a novella.

Back to Blood by Tom WolfeI started reading Tom Wolfe’s Back to Blood.  His verbal pyrotechnics dazzle, and it’s a very entertaining novel.  Set in Miami, it interweaves the stories of several colorful characters, including Edward T. Topping IV, a new editor of The Miami Herald who is reeling from Cuban-American hate mail; Nestor, a Cuban-American marine patrol officer who alienates the Cuban community after he rescues an illegal immigrant and hands him over to the Coast Guard; and Magdalena, a beautiful Cuban-American psychiatric nurse.

Some love Wolfe.  I always find him a little draining.  This 704-page novel  reads like an exceptionally vivid, long piece of new journalism. Lots of ellipses…lots of noises like Smack,  Beep, and  Click!

By the way, in the first chapter, the editor and his wife are going to Balzac’s, “the coolest of hot spots.”  Since I’ve been reading a lot of Balzac, do you think I’m meant to read this book?

If you like it, you like it.  It’s good bedtime reading.  I’m reading it in 60-page increments.  I’ll post on it when I’m finished.

Benediction by Kent HarufI finished Kent Haruf’s Benediction.  It is a simple novel, very well-written, set in a small town in Colorado, mainly the story of a hardware store owner who is dying of cancer and his family.

Dad Lewis has only a few months to live.  His  devoted wife Mary is caring for him alone, but it becomes too much for her:  she ends up in the hospital with exhaustion.

She explains on the phone to Dad,

I don’t have any pep.  That’s all.

When she comes home three days later, she calls her daughter, Lorraine, for help.

The dialogue is brilliant.  Simple one-liners mostly.  When Lorraine arrives:

Oh, Daddy.

Yeah.  Ain’t it the goddamn hell.

She took his hand and held it.  Are you in a lot of pain?

No, not now.

You don’t have any pain?

I’m taking things for it.  Otherwise I would.  I was before.  Well, you look good, he said.

Although when it comes down to it, I don’t know anyone in small towns who talks like this, the dialogue is convincing and pitch-perfect in a novel.  It could be adapted for a play.

Other characters include Berta May, their next-door neighbor, and her granddaughter, Alice, who has come to live with her because her mother has died of cancer; the new pastor, Lyle, who alienates his parish by speaking against the war in Iraq; and Willa Johnson and her daughter, Alene, two church members who visit and become like members of the family.  Alene, an unmarried, retired third-grade teacher, and Lorraine, whose daughter died, both befriend the child, Alice, because childlessness is the most heartbreaking lack in their lives.

This novel reads very, very fast.

Dad’s illness is sad and very realistically described.  Eventually he has to wear diapers and his wife and daughter clean him up.  He starts hallucinating: he believes he is having a conversation with his gay son, who ran away years ago.

My online book group on AOL read Haruf’s novel Plainsong, which, as I recall, was a big hit in the ’90s.  The characters from Plainsong are mentioned in Benediction.

I imagine Haruf’s other books are set in this part of the country, too, but I haven’t read them.

I don’t have much to say about Benediction, but it is very good.  One of those award-worthy books, but perhaps too straightforward to be remembered.

Mr. Rochester, Knightley, or Graham Bretton?

Knightley 2009

Johnny Lee Miller as Knightly in the 2009 version of Emma.

Do you read and reread Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series because you’re in love with  Jamie?  Do you try to persuade booksellers to sell the latest Gabaldon before the publication date, as a friend of mine did?

Forget it.  You are never going to meet Jamie, because you would have to time-travel in Scotland.  And you are never going to persuade the booksellers to sell the book early.

I have read only one and a half of the Outlander books, but found them considerably more erotic (and healthier) than 50 Shades of Grey.

If you’re still in love with Jamie, you can fall in love with a romantic hero in a classic. Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte created some of the most attractive romantic heroes in 19th-century fiction.

Kate Beckinsale as Emma and Mark Strong as Knightley (BBC 1996)

Kate Beckinsale as Emma and Mark Strong as Knightley (BBC 1996)

It is not that they wrote romantic fiction:  far from it. We all know Austen’s comedies about marriage and class, and Bronte’s Gothic novels.

In Austen’s Emma,  Knightley, a handsome, rich, bossy man, bullies Emma about her match-making and impetuous friendships, but on the other hand is kind, sensible, and sociable.  When Emma’s friend Harriet considers marrying Knightley, Emma is appalled. If you try to marry “up,” you’re done for.

In Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte  created Mr. Rochester, one of the sexiest men in literary history.  He falls in love with Jane, a  passionate governess, but  secretly has a mad wife in the attic.  Oho!  The old routine, “I have a wife in the mental hospital:  don’t you feel sorry for me?”  Only Mr. Rochester doesn’t tell Jane about Bertha.  He waits till someone objects to their marriage at the altar.

Let's marry Mr. Rochester (William Hurt) and get it over with!

Let’s marry Mr. Rochester (William Hurt) and get it over with!

In Villette, Lucy Snowe falls in love with John Graham Bretton, a witty, attractive, above average, though, alas, red-haired doctor who, alas, loves the pretty more than the brainy, but at least he is normal:  unlikely to spring a mad wife on you!  There are no mad wives, but there are nun-ghosts.

Charlotte Bronte

Charlotte Bronte

In a way, it’s a pity that the normal John Graham Bretton seems more fitting at my age, because Villette hasn’t even inspired a movie. Yet  Graham (or Dr. John, as he is sometimes called)  is reliable, smart, and likable.

But which hero is most suitable for you?  I have devised a four-question quiz to show you with whom you are most compatible.

And now for the Quiz:

1.  Which  remark would make you breathless?

A)  “I never met your likeness… you please me, and you master me–you seem to submit, and I like the sense of pliancy you impart.”

B)   “Invite him to dinner…and help him to the best of the chicken and fish, but leave him to chuse his own wife.”

C)  “Here are some flowers.”

2.  Do you prefer men who see through society women’s charms, or men who cannot?  (It probably depends on the kind of woman you are.)

A) “You should have seen her whenever I have laid on her lap some trifle; so cool, so unmoved, no eagerness to take, not even pleasure in contemplating.  Just from amiable reluctance to grieve me, she would permit the bouquet…”

B)  “My dear ___, do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?”

C) “She’s a rare one, is she not?…A strapper, a real strapper:  big, brown, and buxom; with hair such as the ladies of Carthage must have had.”

3.  You find it romantic when:

A) You receive a long, chatty letter.

B) A man has been unable to find his ideal of women among English ladies, French countesses–but now there’s you.

C)  A hyper-critical man says you will always be his dearest.

4.  You want:

A)  to be needed.

B) to win the love of a worthy man.

C) to marry the most handsome, smartest, kindest, and most influential man in the neighborhood.

5.  You think of yourself as:

A) beautiful, brilliant, and well-loved.

B) plain and brilliant, with good friends.

C)  plain, brilliant, and friendless.

All right!  are you ready for the results?  You are simply going to have to figure out which character gets the highest percentage of your answers–or write in Jamie!

Answers:

1.  A, Mr. Rochester.  B, Knightley.  C, Graham

2.  A, Graham.  B, Knightley.  C, Mr. Rochester.

3.  A, Graham.  B, Mr. Rochester.  C, Knightley

4.  A, Jane Eyre-Rochester.  B, Lucy-Graham.  C, Emma-Knightley.

5.  A, Emma, B, Lucy, C, Jane

Okay,  two for Emma and Knightley, one for Jane and Rochester, and two for Lucy and Graham, so it looks like either Knightley or Graham Bretton will do for me!

I am Emma-Lucy!

Triangular Relationships in Charlotte Bronte’s Villette

Villette in the Mirror

Villette in the Mirror

I have read Charlotte Bronte’s Villette many times.

I am rereading it now.

To a woman of a certain age, Bronte’s Villette, an unflinching report of solitude and isolation, is more interesting than Jane Eyre.  By the time one is thirty, Mr. Rochester no longer appears romantic, and we frankly think Jane would have been better off with St. John.

We’re sorry that the heroine of Villette, Lucy Snowe, ends up with whom she does, but nonetheless we adore the book.

Here is my Villette chart.  I read it at:

Age 14:  Thought it odd.  Perhaps I would end up like Lucy Snowe.  My aunt seemed to think so…  She stressed education over romance.

Age 24:  Despite the fact that I had been married and was engaged once more, I  felt like Lucy Snowe.  I was teaching and perhaps in love with Dr. John Graham Bretton.

Age 37:  I was teaching again and rereading Villette.

Age 44: No longer thought I was Lucy Snowe, but loved the book.

Age __:  This bold novel is much tougher and yet more nuanced than Jane Eyre, and feminist readers and Bronte fans should give it another chance.

villette-charlotte-bronte-paperback-cover-artThroughout Villette, Lucy Snowe, the solitary narrator, is the invisible woman in triangular relationships.  Attachments become triangulated without her realizing it, and the men certainly do not realize it, but whenever she has a friendship with a man, there is another woman in the foreground.

When we first meet Lucy, she seems cold.   There is something almost voyeuristic about Lucy’s cold scrutiny of her godmother Mrs. Bretton’s household, though she loves her godmother.  As a teenage girl, Lucy has no interest in Graham Bretton, the handsome, lively teenage son.   But in minute detail Lucy describes Graham’s friendship with Polly, a small child who becomes passionately fond of Graham when she stays with the Brettons’ during her father’s illness. Graham teases her and behaves like an older brother, while Polly is like a tiny woman.  Lucy cannot understand the magnitude of the child’s attachment.

Lucy is shadowy.  She tells us very little about her family, and there is a Gothic mystery about her intense solitude and taciturnity.

We wonder who this woman is, who in later chapters is thrown on the world without money, and who eventually ends up a teacher at Madame Beck’s school in Villette (an imaginary city like Brussels, where Bronte taught) and meets Graham Bretton (now called Dr. John) again.

villette-charlotte-bronte-hardcover-cover-art Two people have an enormous influence on Lucy’s position  in Villette.  Ginevra, a beautiful, giddy, merciless, heartless student, whom Lucy first meets on the boat from England, tells her about the school.  She mentions that Madame Beck, the headmistress, needs a nurse for her children. Lucy ends up teaching there coincidentally, and she also coincidentally meets John, whom she does not recognize, and who helps her with the language when she needs to inquire about her luggage.

We learn that he is in love with Ginevra.

Lucy and Ginevra have a borderline-lesbian relationship.  Lucy has nothing good to say about Ginevra, and yet when both are in a school play,  Lucy, who plays a man, does her best to flirt and out-woo the other man for Ginevra.  It is partly because John is in the audience (she does not yet know he loves Ginevra) and she wants to shine, but Lucy also favors Ginevra at breakfast by trading bread for coffee, and likes her company, despite her dislike of the girl.

Lucy falls in love with John, though he does not realize it. The triangle does not affect him, because he does not know Lucy cares.   She realizes she is likely to be single all her life.  She is intelligent but not pretty or charming.

Reason tells her not to hope after she returns from a visit to the Brettons and John promises to write to her.

Lucy thinks he won’t and tells us:

This hag, this Reason, would not let me look up, or smile, or hope:  she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in, and broken-down.  According to her, I was born only to work for a piece of bread, to await the pangs of death, and steadily through all life to respond.  Reason might be right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to defy her, to rush from under her rod and give a truant hour to Imagination–her soft, bright foe, our sweet Help, our divine Hope.  We shall and must break bounds at intervals, despite the terrible revenge that awaits our return.”

Lucy’s hopelessness is harsh, because aren’t we all madly in love in our twenties and secretly believe ourselves irresistible?  But this is Charlotte Bronte talking, and we never doubt her, because Lucy’s style is both meticulously restrained and passionate.  Lucy is a fiery woman stuck in the drudgery of teaching unintelligent girls English.

There are other triangular relationships, including Madame Beck’s rivalry for John with Ginevra, but she soon realizes it won’t work.  She is middle-aged; John is in his mid-twenties. There is another triangular relationship when  John falls for Polly, who is now a woman:  Lucy is unnoticed.  Later, Lucy and Madame Beck are earnest rivals for M. Paul.  And Lucy is visible when the man is ordinary, plain, and intelligent.

A very complicated book!

The Opposite of…

Photo on 2013-03-31 at 19.40 #2

Mirabile Interviews Her Opposite.

I have long theorized that one should never marry a man with similar literary tastes.

My first husband and I had opposite tastes, which made our marriage fun while it was fun.  He read Arthur Koestler and the Russians, while I read Dickens and Poldark.  The thing we had in common, and which I have in common with ALL my husbands, is that we love languages.  I once rushed off to study at Grace and Rubie’s (a women’s club in the ’70s; see T. C. Boyle’s short story, “Grace and Rubie’s, ” in Descent of Man) only to find I had his Russian flashcards instead of my German.

inferno pinsky danteBut all that is long ago. A few years ago, when he tracked me down on the internet via a mortifying essay which I have begged the website owner to delete–apparently it remains there for maximum humiliation–we both agreed that Robert Pinksy was a good poet.  He thinks Pinsky’s translation of Dante’s Inferno is stunning, and naturally I prefer Allen Mandelbaum’s translation.

The opposite literary tastes have been a lifelong theme.  Of course, my friends find this opposite literary problem  odd.  One says she has never picked a husband on the basis of literature.  She thinks more about whether they can dance or not.

Although today I did not get out of my  “lounge pants,” which some might call pajamas, I got quite a lot of thinking done on this question of opposites. I interviewed A Certain Kinsman, whom I shall hitherto refer to as ACK.

ACK, who has opposite tastes from mine, does not think we are opposites.  He points out that we both are fans of Gary Shteyngart, Chekhov, Edith Wharton, and Alice Munro.

But since this is an in-depth blog on opposites, requiring deep digging, I will tell you what I know.

His favorite book last year was Dave Eggers’ A Hologram for a King.  My reaction was, “Why?”  My favorite book last year was Michael Chabon’s Telegraph Avenue.   He found it very boring.

emma jane austenThe following may be deeply offensive to you, so brace yourself.  ACK is not a lover of Jane Austen.  That is why I allowed him to wear a mask and assume a different identify before I interviewed him.

“I’m just tired of hearing so much about her.  I don’t think people should spend their life on her.”

Oh dear.  I mean, who doesn’t think the opening sentence of Emma is the best sentence in the world?

I am trying to get him to read Rudyard Kipling’s “The Janeites.”

He also doesn’t care for Nancy Mitford, another of my favorite writers.

I don’t like to have to go out in the middle of the night to get her book of letters and hear at Barnes and Noble that there’s a Mitford industry.”

It is just possible I asked for that book at night.  I’m sure I needed it for something…like reading!

He also doesn’t like Barbara Pym.  “It’s a cozy read if you want a good night’s sleep.”

He doesn’t like Colette.  “I didn’t like Claudine and it’s hard in French.”

He won’t read Ursula K. Le Guin.  “I don’t like science fiction.”

Will Self-UmbrellaI have strongly recommended Will Self’s Umbrella, which is a great book, but not my kind of thing.  He was able to identify a quote from the Kinks’ “Apeman” for me on the opening page, so I know he would enjoy it.

He says, “Maybe you have to be a Kinks fan to appreciate it.”

And I agree.

But I, too, don’t care for many of the books he likes.  After I read Celine’s Death on the Installment Plan, I told him,

It made me want to jump off a bridge.”

On Faulkner’s The Hamlet I said,

I hated the guy who had the affair with a cow.”

On Moby Dick, after the chapter “The Whiteness of the Whale,” I closed the book and said,

I don’t like American literature.”

So is it a Battle of the Sexes?  He likes Faulkner, I like Caroline Gordon.  He likes Joyce, I prefer Virginia Woolf.  He likes Dostoevsky, I like George Eliot. I love Zola, he thinks he is terrible.   He likes Saramago, I like Elena Ferrante.

But to be fair, here is a list of the writers we both like:

Bess Streeter Aldrich

Willa Cather

Joseph Conrad

Dickens

Elsa Morante

Joe Queenan

Do any of you have “the opposite of” literary problem?

Balzac’s Lost Illusions

Lost Illusions Modern LibraryIf you spend all your leisure in bookstores, you probably are too fond of books.

If you spend your time hunting for the lesser-known novels of Balzac, you are probably obsessive.

There are approximately 90 novels, novellas, and short stories in Balzac’s La Comedie Humaine (The Human Comedy), a series in which Balzac portrays French society during the 19th century period of Restoration and July Monarchy.

And though most are available free in nineteenth-century translations at Project Gutenberg,  you’re lucky if you find hard copies of Pere Goriot or Eugenie Grandet in bookstores.

Perhaps Balzac is out of fashion.

Balzac was a mercilessly observant novelist whose exuberant prose, riveting plots,  and outrageous characters enthrall readers, but who also instructs  in the how-tos and perils of social climbing and commerce.

Need to know something about the business world?  Try Balzac.

Lost Illusions, one of his masterpieces, is in many ways a diatribe against publishing.

Balzac knew the printing, publishing, and writing world inside-out. In 1825, he started his own printing business and published volumes by Moliere and La Fontaine.  In 1828, the business smashed, and he was in massive debt to his family.  As a journalist and novelist, he had already learned the art of writing for money.   His friend, Auguste Lepoitevin, a hard-boiled, satirical journalist, had helped him get his start:  Balzac agreed to write several stories, which Lepoitevein would polish and sell to publishers.  (Balzac wrote three novels with Leopoitevin.)

Leopoitevin boasted that he’d given many writers their start.

Take little old Balzac–he’s one of mine!  He and I made loads of plans together!  I wrote a fair few novels with him–his worst novels, I’ll grant him that….He was like a little cannonball…”

Lost Illusions is largely inspired by Balzac’s experiences with Leopoitevin (and others like him).  The hero, Lucien Chardon, a writer, grows up in Angoulême.  He is adored by his best friend, David Séchard, a printer, who marries Lucien’s sister Eve.  The couple take out enormous loans to support Lucien, thinking he is a genius.

Lucien moves to Paris when his married girlfriend, Mme de Bargeton (Louise), a bored, romantic, wealthy woman, insists that he accompany her. But in Paris Louise drops her young lover as soon as she sees that he is  ill-dressed and too immature to flourish in high society.

Another well-read paperback.

Another well-read paperback.

Lucien, handsome, witty, and proud, also considers Louise countrified.  Abandoned and poor, Lucien becomes zealously industrious, writing a historical novel in the style of Sir Walter Scott.  His friends are other serious writers and artists, and they have brilliant, lively discussions in their garrets.

Then Lucien meets a journalist, Lousteau, who teaches him how to make a living by glib, gossipy satires and reviews.  He learns to write hyperbolic praise or witty condemnations of books and plays, according to the payment of the  publisher or theater managers.  He also receives books and theater tickets, which he sells for extra money. And he is very excited by the double-dealing, which doesn’t seem to him unethical, though he is warned by his artist friends that it will boomerang and hurt him.

By the way, there apparently were some good newspapers in Paris, but Balzac concentrates on the small journals that trafficked in satire, gossip, and scandal.  He may have had a bone to pick:  some of the journals published bad reviews of his novels.

In one of Balzac’s polemics against journalism in Lost Illusions, a group of movers and shakers in publishing and the theater discuss the corruption of journalism.  One exclaims,

Instead of being a priestly function, the newspaper…is becoming merely a trade; and like all trades it has neither faith nor principles.  Every newspaper is, as Blondet says, a shop which sells to the public whatever shades of opinion it wants.  If there were a journal for hunchbacks, it would prove night and morning how handsome, how good-natured, how necessary hunchbacks are.  A journal is no longer concerned to enlighten, but to flatter public opinion.  Consequently, in due course, all journals will be treacherous, hypocritical, infamous, mendacious, murderous; they’ll kill systems, ideas and men, and thrive on it.”

Wouldn't you sort of like the Folio edition?

Wouldn’t you sort of like the Folio edition?

Lucien falls in love with an  actress, Coralie, and they are happy  until he gambles away their money. His cruel, witty journalism has alienated so many that there is much schadenfreude among his competitors and adversaries.  The aristocrats, particularly Louise, who has been skewered in the press by friends of Lucien, are out to get him and destroy his reputation.

The last part of the novel is set in Angoulême, where Lucien finally returns.  Brilliant David, hopelessly in debt because of loans to Lucien, is a blundering businessman who spends most of his time trying to invent a new kind of paper while Eve struggles to keep the printing shop open.  Another printing shop is trying put them out of business.

Lost Illusions details the avarice and business practices that destroy poetry, novels, reportage, and reviews.  In the story of the fall of Lucien (whose fall is not unlike that of Lucifer, though Lucien is the tempted, not the tempter), Balzac records the fall of the publishing industry (as he sees it).  But money isn’t everything, and a few characters, like David and Eve, manage to escape the papery world.

Balzac, William Cooper, Howard Jacobson and the Rest of Us on Publishing

"Lost Illusions' illustration by Francis Mosley

“Lost Illusions’ illustration by Francis Mosley

Let’s allow the publishers their fatuous make-believe:  they never do read any books, otherwise they wouldn’t publish so many!”–Balzac’s Lost Illusions

Balzac, William Cooper, and Howard Jacobson have written satirically in their fiction about the publishing business.

Lucien, the up-and-coming hero of Balzac’s Lost Illusions, abandons his literary talent for the instant gratification of journalism:  publishers in nineteenth-century Paris pay newspaper editors for good reviews, and if they don’t pay up, the reviews are negative. This journalistic power seems normal to Lucien, who can grind out 30 articles in a day under pseudonyms to support his gambling habit and high-society incursions.

Joe Lunn, the novelist narrator of William Cooper’s charming 1983 novel, Scenes from Later Life, explains that the success of a book, and especially his new book, “was more likely than not decided long before it was actually published,” because advertising is as necessary as reviews and his publisher won’t advertise.

Zoo TimeGuy Ableman, the novelist narrator of Howard Jacobson’s boisterous publishing satire, Zoo Time, blames book groups, three-for-twos, and the internet for the death of reading.  His books aren’t available in bookstores, and he is arrested for shoplifting one of his own books from Oxfam.  His publisher commits suicide, depressed by the new dependence of success on “blags” and “twits.”

Over the centuries, thousands of writers have inveighed against the publishing industry.  Of the three I mention, Balzac’s accusations are the most outrageous, but the even-tempered Cooper is also cynical about the future of literature, and witty Jacobson blames the gullibility of readers as much as he blames publishers and editors for trying to market books to readers on the net.

We feel like insiders when we read novels about writers and publishers.  Aha!  So that’s how it is.

Edouard Monet Woman writingNewspapers are folding, publishers merge, e-books outsell books, writers have to tweet to sell books, and desperate literary writers invest in a “Freedom” app to keep them from surfing the internet when they should be writing.

Books are our most precious artifacts. Have they gotten worse? Perhaps yes, perhaps no.

I don’t have the faintest idea what goes on in New York and have no ax to grind, but I have struck out with a couple of new short story collections this spring, cannot imagine what my friend sees in the latest “literary masterpiece” by X, and think of permanently reverting to science fiction, a genre which “is what it is,” and which I say I like but read remarkably little of.

On the other hand, there are still Michael Chabon, Margaret Drabble, Hilary Mantel, A. M. Homes, Amitav Ghosh, and countless other great writers.  So, as Dorothy Parker put it, and this is out of context: “You might as well live.”

It is much easier in the Back of Beyond to understand the decline of journalism than to understand book publishing.  We are all witnesses to the death of the American newspaper.  And for a number of years I freelanced, so I was an insider-outsider.

It happened accidentally.

After attending a writers’ conference where the acclaimed teacher/writer forbade the use of adjectives, adverbs, participles, relative pronouns, flashbacks, and exposition in fiction, my short stories read like action-packed telegraph messages but my style was well-suited for journalism.

I began to write what I call “bubble-gum journalism.”

There was no pressure, because it was not immortal prose.

In the course of many pleasant years, I wrote charming articles about poetry slams, frozen custard, winter camping, bike messengers, birdwatching, bookstores, book-touring writers, gentrification, sculpture gardens, and farmers’ markets.

The editors were kind, if gloomy to a Dickensian degree.  Generally they were sensible, but you had to watch your back.   If they forgot to change the jokey title of your article on edgy fashions from “Courtesan Couture:  Lay Lamé Lay” to a more acceptable headline, you would find yourself apologizing to the hysterical mother of the 40-year-old woman who had worn the gold lamé tube top and hot pants to the Elton John concert.

With so many newspaper writers fired and early-retired, approximately four people now write the entire paper here.  It is said to be like the House of Borgia, without Borgias.

I love books, newspapers, and magazines and don’t think about them in terms of the publishing business.

But we will all regret it if the business kills the publications.

Let’s hope it won’t.

Mirabile Reads Virgil

Reading the Virgil with text, dictionary, and grammar.

Old photo of Virgil’s Aeneid, Williams edition, and notes.

Reading Virgil is a joy.

I was happy when I came to Book XII, line 239, and recognized the allusion of the verb serpit to the serpent imagery in Book II.

 …serpitque per agmina murmur.

“…and the murmur snakes (creeps) through the army.”

Y0u spent a week, perhaps it felt like years, studying Book II with Ms. Mirabile, who expounded on the serpent and flame imagery (from Bernard Knox’s famous essay) and possibly xeroxed the essay for you AT HER OWN EXPENSE.  Did you reread The Aeneid later at the beach, as the great Cecil Wooten advised Ms. Mirabile’s generation, who strongly recommended it to you?

Well, I did.  But then I MIGHT be Ms. Mirabile.

Back to the serpent imagery in Aeneid Book II: the Greek Sinon (think “sinuous”) persuades the Romans to bring the wooden horse into Troy; then serpents strangle the priest Laocoon and two sons after he warns the Trojans against Greeks even bearing gifts; and the flames of Troy flicker like serpents.

IMG_2287In Richard Tarrant’s commentary for the new Cambridge edition of Aeneid, Book XII, he details the use of serpit in Latin literature. If you’re a student, you can skip most of the philology and use the notes for translation.

serpere can mean:  creep, crawl; move slowly, creep along; grow imperceptibly, make way stealthily, spread abroad, increase…

In Georgics, III, 468,Virgil warns us to cut the disease  (or “mischief”) with a knife

…priusquam

dira per incautum serpent contagia vulgus.

…before the dire infections snake through the unsuspicious herd (or through the heedless people).

Cicero uses it in Pro Murena, 45:

Serpit hic rumor.

“This rumor (snakes) gets abroad.”

I very much enjoy reading these notes.  Would everybody?  No, but if you don’t have time for the history, the manuscript criticism , and so forth, you don’t have to read all of them.

You have to be a little bit crazy to want to curl up with Virgil and a dictionary, but some of us still do it.

David Bamber as Cicero in "Rome"

David Bamber as Cicero in “Rome”

NEXT UP:   Anybody want to join my Cicero group?  I’d be astonished if you did.  Perhaps I’ll read Pro Murena.

Or you can just watch the miniseries, Rome, if you can’t face Pro Murena. David Bamber plays Cicero.

SPRING BREAK traditionally arrives during spring.  Of course we have only had spring here in the Back of Beyond since global warming.  Some years back, I waited for a train in Chicago on a freezing March day, the river dyed green, and a parade marching through snowy downtown.  That was spring.

This year, that was spring again.  It was cold.

Here is what I did to celebrate the advent of spring.

Kevin-McKidd-as-Lucius-Vorenus-Ray-Stevenson-as-Titus-Pullo-rome-16609042-600-399

Ray Stevenson as Titus Pullo and Kevin McKidd as Lucius Vorenus

I watched the miniseries, Rome.  I love Mark Antony (who could not? he’s very funny) and the evil Atria (Octavian’s mother), but of course am especially drawn to the two ordinary soldiers who are off-center yet at the center of quotidian life, Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo.

I TURNED THE THERMOSTAT UP.  We’ve all known since Jimmy Carter’s presidency that we should keep the thermostat down and wear a sweater.  But it was so cold last week that I left the heat at 60 at night.
It was just a Spring Break thing, but I certainly felt better.

Let’s get that solar power going so we can all be warm indoors!

Moving & William Cooper’s Scenes from Later Life

OK, this wasn't us.

OK, this wasn’t us.

Moving is arduous.

We all have our stories.

The keyboardist (or drummer?) for John Cougar Mellencamp helped us move a desk from a garage sale in return for our helping him move a chair.

We left the desk in Indiana because we couldn’t squeeze it out the door again.

Later, I acquired a big wooden desk that was similar.

The first time we hired professional movers, the young men complained about the stairs, the books (“What’s in here, bricks?”), and the heavy desk.  One of them, who was really raging about the books,  sublimated by vengefully lecturing me on my inadequate polishing of the desk.

Okay, I tried polishing after that.  I knew I would have to move again.  I wanted happy movers.

Next time we moved, we hired wonderful movers who endured my frantic continued packing while they loaded the truck and caught a panicky tortoiseshell cat  who dashed out of the basement.  They drove cross-country with a truckload of furniture and books and not only delivered my desk (and books)  intact , but somehow kept our big plants alive in the dark truck.

Scenes form Married Life and scenes from later life by william cooperIn William Cooper’s charming novel, Scenes from Later Life, the fourth in his series about writer and civil servant Joe Lunn, Joe is preparing to retire, and he and his wife sell their house.  The description of the movers made me laugh, though Joe is exasperated by their incompetence.  If Joe had had to move my huge desk, he would have been thrilled with  movers.

They came half an hour late, having been drinking tea at a caff on the main road.  They were in possession of a pantechnicon with scraps of old carpet lying on the floor and containing a huge number of tea chests partially filled with crumpled newspaper.  There were four men; one, older than the others and smelling rather more strongly, appeared to be the foreman.  He assured us that though they were starting half an hour late they would finish early.  Early, if you please!  It was immediately obvious that they were going to achieve that desirable end, when the house resounded with the noise of our chosen pieces of furniture crashing against the bannisters and hanging onto door-posts on their high-speed way to the pantechnicon.”

I can visualize this so clearly.

William Cooper

William Cooper

Then there is the problem for Joe of  redecorating the new flat.  The boiler has been boxed in by the kitchen carpenters so no one can light  the pilot light, the sink is installed too far away from the dishwasher, the chairs are upholstered with the wrong material…and it never stops.

We have never redecorated, though we did get some rewiring and painting done.  I don’t remember ever seeing the electricians:  were they little mice nibbling the wires?  The painters spent quite a lot of time here, and I learned their names.  I would say, “Hello,”at the horrid hour of 7 when they showed up, then dash out on my bicycle and hope they would be gone by the time I ventured home.  I wanted to avoid conversations with Michelangelo or Fra Angelico about their smoking breaks. Yes, somebody smoked inside, possibly everybody, and there were always cigarettes in the toilet.  Here’s what I learned from a friend many years ago: if you have maids or workmen, get out of there, because they will never do anything the way you want it done anyway.

Cooper’s charming novels, which I’ve read recently, are unassuming, thoughtful, and funny:  Scenes from Provincial Life, Scenes from Metropolitan Life, Scenes from Married Life, and Scenes from Later Life,  There is nothing the narrator Joe Lunn doesn’t talk about as we follow him through different stages of life:  sex, bachelorhood, work, money, marriage, old age and death.  Scenes from Later Life is the last of the four but not the best:  it is, however,  a quietly observant, stylish portrayal of the effects of aging.  I coudn’t make myself read this fourth novel until my own mother was in a nursing home, because I didn’t want to dwell on this phase of life.

The novel begins with a trip to his mother’s nursing home.

My mother said, ‘Tell me how old I am!’

I said, “I’ll tell you how old you are if you want me to.  But you do know how old you are.  And you know you know.  In fact ten minutes ago you told me.”

There’s an underlying misery in these exchanges with his mother.  He makes the same statements again and again.  Every time I see my own mother, she asks, “Is that how old I am?” It’s as though, traumatized by leaving the house she lived in for 50 years, she cannot bear what she sees.  She is usually lucid, though.

Joe experiences the trauma of moving to a flat now that he is aging.  He  has arthritis and needs a cataract operation, but he still has a warm, sexy relationship  with Elspeth, who is 15 years younger.

There is quite a lot of sadness in this novel. Joe’s friend, Robert, another civil servant/novelist, has spent most of his time alone since his wife was diagnosed years ago with schizophrenia and is in a private institution.  Poor Annette!  I loved her character in Scenes from Married Life.

But William Cooper/Joe keeps the novel from getting sentimental.  This is the way things are:  the men accept them.  They seem to know there is so far and no farther one can push, though the women of the novel (and women like me) always think more can be done.

And here’s a John Cougar Mellencamp video (since I mentioned him above).

New Tolstoy Translation & Willa Cather’s Letters

Doug told us about Mary Beard’s blog, A Don’s Life.

Doug, a fedora-wearing bookseller who died of prostate cancer last year, was an aficionado of history who introduced us to all kinds of blogs we’d never heard of:  did you know, for instance, that there’s a Diary of Samuel Pepys blog?  During a brutally long weekly class (two hours), he was happy to scribble book titles and internet sites on the board so I could sit down for a few minutes.

Beard, a professor of classics at Cambridge, is the author of The Fires of Vesuvius: Pompeii Lost and Found, which I brought to class one day.

Doug was enthusiastic about her work.

Tolstoy

Tolstoy

I don’t always read her blog,  but recently she mentioned that Peter Carson, her late editor, had translated Tolstoy’s Death of Ivan Ilych and Confession for Norton. She is writing the introduction.

I am not familiar with Carson’s work, but I love Tolstoy.

I regret that I have been unable to take the “Tolstoyevsky” class–Tolstoy and Dostoevsky–at the University of Iowa.  (It would require extensive traveling)

Beard writes of her introduction:

Don’t worry, I am not getting above myself. There is also to be a more specialist essay from a Russian expert. My job is to set the scene  — and also to celebrate, and discuss, Peter’s role as translator (on which I have quite a lot of interesting stuff). All the same I thought I needed to do a bit more background work on books concerned and their author. Up to now, my knowledge of Tolstoy has been like many people’s I imagine: that is to say, some familiarity with War and Peace and Anna Karenina, and rather less interest in the spiritual, pacificist, social reformer that came later — in the period when both Ilych and Confession were written.”

I’m looking forward to it.

Willa Cather News.  On April 16, Random House will publish The Selected Letters of Willa Cather, ed. by Andrew Jewell and Janis Stout.

I am off to reread Willa Cather to prepare for the event.

And I’ll be selling my books in order to buy this one, because I must admit I have spent all my book money for the year.

Look at this gorgeous cover photo of Willa on the prairie.

Willa Cather Selected Letters