Today I saw my liver on the landscape of the moon. Saw the flash of heart beats, heard them pound the blood through arteries in swishing sounds like waterfalls, watched a bright red thread of life wind itself away.
Today I saw my liver on the landscape of the moon.
Very interesting section here; Alex is in prison and is going to be allowed out early under a new program of rehabilitation called the "Ludovico’s Technique." Well Alex is of course all for it, oblivious to the warning signs of sympathy he gets from the jailers. As it turns out, it involves his being strapped into a chair and wired up, his head held secure and his eyelids clamped open so that he can watch a few hours of films of violence in these sessions. He’s turned off in the very first showing, which is extremely graphic, though nothing much worse than what he’s already done himself out on the streets. What’s interesting is his attitude:
Then there was the close-up gulliver of this beaten-up starry veck, and the krovvy flowed beautiful red. Its funny how the colours of the like real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen. (p. 118)
At the time this book was written violence was just starting to become a major topic on the news, the Vietnam war hadn’t quite started, but the youth were organizing themselves into protesting groups against injustices they were becoming more aware of through the medium of television. Movies and TV dramas were beginning to touch the edge and break through the relative complacency of the 50s, a time after WWII where life was good again, and besides, no one saw real war and murder on TV as they did in the 60s. Heck, we saw JFK get shot; we saw his assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald get shot on live TV newscasts.
So where is Burgess leading us? While there’s no doubt that the media has taken the mystique, the horror, the blood and guts and shown the world reality, and in so doing, has anesthetized us to a degree, is the opposite possible by the use of media once again?
These questions have been tossed around since the time of movies and TV, and especially have come to the forefront once again in the violent nature of some video gaming. I’ve always held that children can separate reality from acting in the pretend world of tv, and yet there’s the blending of the two by the news coverage of horrors that are no worse than the imagination itself.
A Clockwork Orange is likely one of the first novels to come out around this transitioning time in history. Story worlds that encompass the audience, breaking down the fourth wall. Maybe Burgess is planning on showing us how to rebuild it as well.
Well I may be getting loads of visitors here, but it doesn’t look like my friends are reading. The first post of this morning should’ve inspired some questions and I’m sure it threw some first time landers for a loop if they hadn’t read A Clockwork Orange.
Honest to God, there are only two stories in this issue. I did read many of the poems, but didn’t bother with the essays other than a quick scan. But the two stories were good ones.
What Happens Next by Susan Jackson Rogers defies structure, but she weaves these separate vignettes of different characters into a whole as they barely touch each others’ lives. A lonely writer who goes out only to walk her dog is mentioned briefly by another character. All are separately titled, and reminded me of the scores of "opening paragraphs" I have sleeping on my hard drive tucked away in a file labeled "Stories Started." But the brief image Rogers gives us of each character, often no longer than a long paragraph, is well drawn out and we get the picture of who the actor is and what they’re seeking. She winds up the collage–if I may call it that, since as a picture framer, it reminded me of such, each peeking out from a window in the mat, their affiliations and the better part of their lives hidden behind the solid matting–with a woman apparently leaving this town of images. Well written, well planned, each like a separate little story.
You’re Not You by Michele Wildgen is a very compelling story about two women who meet when the first person narrator takes on the job of caring for the other, a wheelchair-bound victim of Lou Gehrig’s Disease. The dependence of one upon the other builds in a steady arc, each giving the other strength to face themselves as well as their problems. There was only one spot before the satisfying resolution that didn’t quite ring true, and that was when the narrator suddenly ends her relationship with a married man with no prior indication of any dissatisfaction or desire to do so. It is based solely on the handicapped woman’s being left by her husband for another woman, and while that would be a clear eye-opener, it seemed to come out of the blue for the narrator to end it so quickly without any real feeling for her lover.
I normally would be bitching here about only two stories in this literary journal of 212 pages, but then again, I’ve found as many as seven or eight in other journals and only two were worth page space anyway so this just saved me from wasted reading.
Sitting here, still plattied in my robe, slooshying to the von of the cars of the vecks ittying to rabbit in the factory. My glazzies viddying the leaves, peeting coffee, a cancer in my rooker and my gulliver wondering what’s a starry ptitsa to do with the day.
Finished Longinus, hit Part 2 of A Clockwork Orange, and read one of the two (!) stories in a 2004 issue of Prairie Schooner. Dumped all the jelly out, rewashed the jars, mixed up a magic pectin potion to rejell the jelly, reboiled it, made sure it was "sheeting" and that it jelled on a spoon, recanned it and…it turned back to liquid as it cooled. Stuck the jars in their boxes and hid them away on the shelf down the basement to have cellar sprites jell it somehow instead. I am not going to rework it again. Pulled up some more of the garden and collected more seeds–I love saving seeds, it takes away the sting of the dying of harvest. Jim mowed the lawn, made me come down the hill to see a huge hole in the back lawn.
I will watch it at night and at dawn. I wonder what will emerge. Maybe a lion or maybe a bear.
There may not have been much really new to me here, only in that I’ve taken classes, courses, seminars, and read a lot on writing, but the manner in which this essay was written–and of course, the time–was interesting in its presentation.
I’m not real sure what the ending chapter summary is saying, though. It appears that Longinus first claims freedom to be a necessary path to seeking and reaching sublimity of speech and writing, and then says that that times of war may indeed inhibit as our passions our focused elsewhere. Wealth too, he claims, seems to build a prison as our natures then leads into extravagances and eventually, "breed ostentation, and vanity, and luxury," and our progeny then raised towards insolence and lawlessness and shamelessness."
What I take from this reading is a soberness towards the craft, and the reminder of the need for "story" that is worthy and to tell it with passion. And though I’m likely not quite getting the gist of the final chapter, I would like to have the wealth that would allow the luxury of writing all day, every day, without the worry of reality knocking at the door of my mansion…er, cabin in the woods.
Some interesting points made here, in the lyric quality of the writing:
Demosthenes: "This decree caused the danger which then beset the city to pass by just-as a cloud."
For the thought is expressed throughout in dactylic rhythms, and these are most noble and productive of sublimity; and therefore it is that they constitute the heroic, the finest metre that we know. (Chapter XXXIX, Part 4)
Longinus here notes by example the rearrangement of the words, or the addition (just as if a cloud) or loss ( as a cloud) of a single word or syllable changes the beat so that the phrase as a whole suffers in the floundering of the rhythm.
By the same token, he warns that speech should not be so organized in rhythm that it detracts from the words by its "overrhythmical style":
Sometimes, indeed, the listeners knowing beforehand the due terminations stamp their feet in time with the speaker, and as in a dance give the right step in anticipation. (3) In like manner those words are destitute of sublimity which lie too close together, and are cut up into short and tiny syllables, and are held together as if with wooden bolts by sheer inequality and ruggedness. (Chapter XLI, Part 2 and 3)
I’ve been enjoying re-learning these concepts of speech and writing, and recognize them by the examples given and the way Longinus has very clearly pointed them out. I’ve noticed some of both the good and the bad in my readings of literature as well as in my own writing. In particular, the need to arrange the words in such a way and not in any other.
Well I must admit, the language is starting to get to me.
But there were the golosses of millicents telling them to shut it and you could even slooshy the zvook of like somebody being tolchocked real horrorshow and going owwwwwwwww, and it was like the goloss of a drunken starry ptitsa, not a man. (p. 77)
Roughly translated:
But there were the voices of cops telling them to shut it and you could even hear the sound of like somebody being hit real bad and going owwwwwwwww, and it was like the voice of a drunken old woman, not a man.
Certain words in particular bug me: goloss (voice), slooshy (hear), malenky (small). There’s a slight possibility that it is because they’re close to Polish, a language I can sing and pray in but don’t speak. Burgess has taken some liberty with Russian and Slavic words as well as English (viddy–see or watch; I’m guessing from video). And in truth, as I get used to them and immediately understand their meaning, I realize that it is the words themselves, the syllables, the sound of them that bothers me.
But this is the voice of the narrator, and the slang is a very important part of him. It does add to the cockiness, the aloofness of the character. The starrys (old people) do not speak this way and by the way, it’s a real pleasure to hear them speak now and then. So the credibility is not a problem, yet it sounds forced.
Something this brings to mind in my own writing is the slightly more formal, stream of consciousness writing that I sometimes post here. It may be lyrical prose, but it’s certainly not something that anyone would want to suffer through an entire book.
Interesting thought, without looking ahead into the book: If the character of Alex does change–and he may be at a turning point as he’s just been arrested from breaking and entry and assault of an old woman (starry ptitsa)–will his language change as well? Has any book been written that specifically makes this a part of the structure, likely from childhood to grown-up? Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury comes to mind, as Benjy and Caddy start as children and grown to adulthood during the terms of the novel.
Of the five elements named, that is: Concept, Passion, Figures, Diction, and Composition, the course of diction is truly my favorite.
It may, however, be pointed out that stately language is not to be used everywhere, since to invest petty affairs with great and high-sounding names would seem just like putting a full-sized tragic mask upon an infant boy. (Chapter XXX, Part 2)
Easily seen in writings of the Romance era, and of the overly dramatic romantic novels of even contemporary times. But Cormac McCarthy has been accused by some of overstating description of setting–though I would find the justification in the first element, that is, the concept of the natural world is one that seeks out eloquence.
Overuse of imagery, huge look-it-up words, language that doesn’t suit the story line and place and characters, this is what Longinus I believe is telling us here.
Interesting development, although not at all unexpected. Alex is the natural leader of his small group of miscreants. He attacked the weakest (minded) member of the group for making comments about a girl singing that Alex actually enjoyed listening to. The next day, Alex stays out of school, hooks up with two ten-year girls, gets them drunk in his room and rapes them. That evening, the boldest of his friends attempts to straighten out the group dynamics and threatens Alex’s leadership. They have a knife and fist fight, it’s quickly over, and Alex has reestablished his dominance.
Two things here that follow human nature no matter what state society is in: First, rebellion against authority creates new subdivisions of society. However, it never takes very long to form a new pyramid of authority and control over its members. Secondly, I’m noticing that while leaders need people to lead, they are more likely to not only be able to control a group, they also are those most capable of being alone.
Challenge is also a natural instinct it would seem. In the animal world, the old bull is constantly proving himself worthy to garner the harem. Perhaps cavemen acted the same way. It preserved the safety of the group as well as naturally creating the strongest genetic lineage.
But evolution and civilization has restricted our natural instincts–though it certainly hasn’t been eliminated completely by language. Listening to the political debates lately, we have learned to cut and parry and dance around with words rather than limbs even in our more democratic societies. Wars can be bloody or bloody minded, but the challenge of leadership is a constant.
…for the Burlington Library Book Sale, and this time, my list is alphabetized by author since the library is good enough to do so besides having them filed on shelves by grouping and topics. I never need wander through the Romance section nor chug through cookbooks and self-help tomes to get what I want. They even have the classics–old, old, old–in a separate though very small grouping.
The sale is next week so I’m all psyched up about grabbing some of the books on my list. This past summer I came home with thirty or more from this library alone, and I’ve really been meaning to sign up with the Friends of the Library group who puts these wonderful sales together.
So armed with the visual on-the-spot (rehearsed) debates, and with Longinus and Plato inadvertantly guiding my opinions of the candidates as speakers and planners, my next step is to go through their websites one more time and elsewhere to check their political records and deeds and confirm the final decisions.
I’ve just gotta make one comment on the Foley affair because I just don’t see how it has anything to do with these particular elections but it’s being used as fodder just the same.
When it first came to light and became a political issue, one of my thoughts was: Huh. It seems that while the Democrats felt what Clinton did was a-okay, this is horrible and immoral and all the Republicans are hypocrites because they’re covering it up and ohmygosh, lying!
Didn’t take long to jump from there to the opposite viewpoint: Republicans thought Clinton was a pervert but this thing with Foley isn’t any worse.
What makes me laugh is that the liberals are getting themselves into some serious hypocrisy here when they say (and yes, I’ve seen it, read it, and won’t point you to it) that this IS worse. Clinton’s was an ordinary sexual indiscretion. Does that mean that because Foley’s is homosexual it’s different?
The defense as well as the offense of any particular hijinks seems to ride not on political beliefs, but rather who did the dirty deed.
Watching this debate is bringing some surprises as well as confirming some facts about tonight’s candidates. Something that I realize that I’m using in judging the speakers in the way they speak aside from what they’re saying which is the more valuable (even if it’s political b.s.) is Longinus’ elements of skills in seeking the sublime.
Leiberman just stated my thoughts exactly: Lamont has spent so much time and money telling the voters what Lieberman’s done wrong that he hasn’t said anything about what he’d do right for the people. Lamont has just started his reply yet again with "Leiberman…" Definitely the biggest crybaby in this campaign.
Leiberman’s right behind him.
The Green Party candidate, Realph Ferrucci, and that of Timothy Knibbs, for the Concerned Citizen’s party, are barely holding their own against the others, but their lack of finesse and polish (and a lot of stammering and sweating) doesn’t hide some good ideas they have, as well as some unrealistic goals and plans.
Schlesinger is looking very good right now. Though he is the Republican candidate, they have not funded him at all for this campaign, and I haven’t seen one ad. He is also from my home town of Derby, so I was a bit wary. The only thing I don’t like about him is that he tries to be funny and it just isn’t coming off well, and actually makes him sound a bit goofy and disrespectful.
Lamont is the typical slick politician, nothing real about this man. Schlesinger’s too real, no slickness here, and he could use some. Leiberman’s…well, he’s Leiberman and Connecticut certainly isn’t in the best shape under his time in office.
I’m listening now to the closing statements, and Knibbs should hook up with a party. He has the fire and the passion. Ferrucci is a truckdriver who just is not a politician but he sounds like John Q. Public, or the man on the street so his concerns are real. Just don’t know if he’d know how to remedy the problems.
Joe Leiberman reailly has to scrap the "across party lines" line.
Alan Schlesinger really has to scrap the sarcastic comedy act.
And for God’s sake, Ned Lamont has to get over his obsession with Leiberman. Oh my, he’s back on Bush’s tail for his windup speech.
Burgess has presented an outrageous future world, and pushed us into it where we stumble about wondering, what the hell happened?
There is a schism of wide proportion between the young generation of Alex’s contemporaries and the old, the starry ones that is just a parentage away. These are the ones upon which the young feed, their elders. Though we don’t have a clear picture that all Alex’s generation are this uncaring, this violent–though there seems to be places where they all meet and gather so it has become an established standard of sorts. And maybe they’re not all that uncaring, but seeking a meaning to life that has come to be disregarded or merely taken for granted. Screaming in the guise of repulsive behavior is often the response. This, from Alex to visit by a school official who has come to his home to see why he isn’t in school and to supposedly warn him to keep on the straight and narrow:
But, brothers, this biting of their toe-nails over what is the cause of badness is what turns me into a fine laughing malchick. They don’t go into what is the cause of goodness, so why of the other shop? If lewdies are good that’s because they like it, and I wouldn’t ever interfere with their pleasures, and so of the other shop. And I was patronizing the other shop. More, badness is of the self, the one, the you or me on our oddy knockies, and that self is made by old Bog or God and is his great pride and radosty. But the not-self cannot have the bad, meaning they of the government and the judges and the schools cannot allow the bad because they cannot allow the self. And is not our modern history, my brothers, the story of brave malenky selves fighting these big machines? I am serious with you, brothers, over this. But what I do I do because I like to do. (p. 46)
Alex’s worry it would appear, is that if he does not behave as he does he falls into society’s trap.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology