LITERATURE: If on a winter’s night… – Kinky

No, not because of the threesome in the story prior to this, Chapter 5, but rather that the thought occurred to me that if this novel were to be held to sexual standards, that’s where it’d likely settle most comfortably, in the realm of kinky.

It goes beyond the point of view to bring such innovation into the first and second person that includes the reader in its intricate web of intrigue.  The last book that I read that touched on the idea of so intimate an access to a novel being written was Flann O’Brien’s At Swim Two Birds. Calvino brings everybody into the novel to stand there alongside you; here, a history of writers:

"What does the name of an author on the jacket matter? Let us move forward in thought to three thousand years from now.  Who knows which books from our period will be saved, and who knows which authors’ names will be remembered?  Some books will remain famous but will be considered anonymous works, as for us the epic of Gilgamesh; other authors’ names will still be well known, but none of their works will survive, as was the case with Socrates; or perhaps all the surviving books will be attributed to a single, mysterious author, like Homer."  (p. 101)

This, (the above) was the response from the translator who put the impossibly mixed up versions of several novels into being.

There is such a free flow of time travel here, not only because of the different stories that the main story readers are pursuing, but in bringing in the reader of this whole work itself.  It plays with and off and against all the rules of narrative.  It does not accept that this goes here and that should follow, but rather tests and explores as one would go beyond missionary position.

I will want to read more of Calvino’s work, but I can already say, halfway through this novel, that it’s one of my favorite books.

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STORIES: The Writest – ‘nuther one!

Someone must pull the plug on me now that the faucet’s on full blast: The_Writest_1.pdf

I’ve been tweaking and twiddling with the last story and told myself that even with most of the deadlines of the better journals passed (writers take note: many are reading only three or four months out of the year, and have come up with many revisions to their guidelines, but that’s another posting), I would submit at least one story to the usual round of literary journals just to keep the process active.  In other words, you can write a zillion stories but if you never send them out, or offer them in some form to be read, what are you really doing with your efforts?

All this tweaking stuff is supposed to put a temporary stop on straight text writing so that I can get back into hypertext mode and fulfill the many obligations left hanging for a bit. Oddly enough–or maybe not so odd at all–it seems that even with the story tweaked until it’s screaming in orgasmic release to let it go already, I can only do so by dragging out the submission research and what-do-you-know, another story.  Metafiction at that.

It came out of the blue, although I do believe it likely was inspired by checking out the long list of places to submit and being met with more than the usual dreary news and longshot bets.

Don’t know if I’ll finish it, and it may just be a whimsy, but I find it a challenge as well: the premise of a really bad but self-confident writer upset with the system.  The challenge?  To write badly so wonderfully well.

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STORIES: Only a Phone Call Away – Draft #5

I think, I think it’s done enough to consider sending out. Even though this is not a favorite of mine. Now to pick and choose my market.

Only_a_Phone  Call_Away_5.pdf

 

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WRITING: Submissions

Went so far as to reformat a story in preparation of sending out after making quite a number of tweaking changes.  And can’t get myself to call it ready.

There’s a point where you know what you’re mailing out to literary journals is not junk.  It’s not half-bad at all, you think, and you ARE pretty much up on what the short story market is looking for currently–and I mean, as of this very morning–and yet you know it may not be as really perfect as it should be.

Well, I’ve learned something else as well:  it never will be.

The best thing to do, and this is only with something that you have some confidence in, is send it out.  The submissions rules and reading times are more strict and restricted than ever.  The waiting time is even longer.  Sometimes you just have to do it so that you always have something in the pipeline, something going on; proof that you’re taking your writing seriously in the hope that someone else does too.

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NEW MEDIA: Amazon’s Kindle

Just took another look at the Kindle reader and I suppose that if I had a lot of extra money, I might go for it.  But then again, my naturally frugal nature would still likely balk at the economics of it.

At $400 for the unit, and $10 per book (for most fiction) versus about $12 per book for paperbacks, that’s a $2 difference per book so that means I’d have to read 200 books before it became cost effective.  Let’s cut that in half, seeing that some books may cost more and shipping charges might apply.  But even 100 books is quite a bit.

But that’s not what stops me.  Nor is the fact that I’m limited to what Amazon chooses to make available in its offering not only of literature, but of what news magazines and specific blogs they’ll grant me free updated access to read.  This part doesn’t matter because let’s keep to the specifics and not compare apples to oranges.  After all, no paperback offers this either.

But if the Kindle were a bit cheaper, AND if the books which after all you can not stack back on the shelf later (I wonder if you could store them on a hard drive–have to check again), then it’s like leasing a car.  The payments are the same, but there’s no physical car left at the end of the term.

I like the travel light idea and having several books available at the same time, but it’s still too much money to lay out for what it offers.  At least I think so–though I would like to see one for myself.

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LITERATURE: If on a winter’s night… – Is it Calvino or me?

Chapter 5–the numbered chapters being the story of the 2nd person narrator who along with the Other Reader (Ludmilla) each purchased the book "If on a winter’s night a traveler" only to find that it is a series of unrelated story beginnings (which are here, in the REAL Calvino book, as every other section).  I had just noted that two of the "stories" out of the four were unrelated, though two others were related–if only to each other.  Yet here, in Chapter 5, I read this:

Seated at a cafe table, you sum up the situation, you and Ludmilla.  "To recapitulate: Without fear of wind or vertigo is not Leaning from the steep slope, which, in turn, is not Outside the town of Malbork, which is quite different from If on a winter’s night a traveler.  The only thing we can do is go to the source of all this confusion."  (p. 91)

But that’s not true!  The second story, Outside the town of Malbork, has the first person narrator about to leave his home in Kudgiwa to exchange places with another young man and with any luck, he will also find out more about a girl whose picture the young man carries, a lady by the name of Zwida Ozkart.  There is also mention of Mr. Kauderer, and of his estate at Petkwo.

In the third story, Leaning from the steep slope, it appears that this same character is now at his destination, and he does meet up with Mr. Kauderer as well as the young Zwida.

So what gives?  Is it possible that Calvino has thrown a curve here, perhaps the introduction of an unreliable narrator in the chapters of the one path of story that admittedly continues unbroken?

Ludilla appears to agree, however.  So is it me?

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LITERATURE: If on a winter’s night… – Patterns and Sex

In this next section of the bought book our narrator is reading, the story begins with new characters and setting. Titled "Without fear of wind or vertigo," it takes place in what seems to be a war zone of a country on the brink of revolution.  Therefore, we have intrigue and mystery; we also have some romance in the manner of menage a trois.

Calvino’s strange way of talking about reading and writing the same story he is telling is losing its intrusive quality and it becomes more natural as I read along:

I am narrating this incident in all its details because–not immediately, but afterward–it was considered a premonition of everything that was to happen, and also because all these images of the period must cross the page like the army vehicles crossing the city (even if the words "army vehicles" evoke somewhat indefinite images; it’s not bad for a certain indefiniteness to remain in the air, appropriate for the confusion of the period)…(p. 79)

It is not mere journal-form here, wherein the author may write with the understanding by the reader that the words are meant specifically as documentation, perhaps, or a diary of a certain time.  The words above supposedly are from a novel–albeit within another novel.  Calvino appears to do something, that is, use an element of style, and then proceed to explain and examine it.

 

On another point, Calvino does not shy away from sensuality in writing, but puts it in a most eloquent manner:

I tried to escape, insinuating myself with crawling movements toward the center of the spirals, where the lines slithered like serpents following the writing of Irina’s limbs, supple and restless, in a slow dance where it is not the rhythm that counts but the knotting and loosening of serpentine lines.  There are two serpents whose heads Irina grasps with her hands, and they react to her grasp, intensifying their own aptitude for rectilinear penetration, which she was insisting, on the contrary, that the maximum of controlled power should correspond to a reptile pliability bending to overtake her in impossible contortions. (p. 89)

Given Calvino’s simple setup for this scene, that the trio are inseparable, there can be no doubt as to the menage a trois taking place here, confirmed by the "two serpents whose heads Irina grasps…"  The plot point, however, is not to inject the reading with sex itself, but to emphasize both the relationship of the trio and to concentrate on the language used in describing the scene: rectilinear, serpentine.  Calvino is drawing lines here that the male characters are desperate to uphold and yet Irina is determined to maneuver into graceful curves.

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NEW MEDIA: Choices

After twelve years (my, how time flies!) I have to change my home page.  Excite just gave me notice that they will no longer support stock portfolios on the home page.  Where to, then?  Maybe NetVibes since I have one sort of set-up already but I need to see if a stock column is doable.

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LITERATURE: Library Additions

The Long House by William Gay
Provinces of Night by William Gay
Blindness by Jose Saramago
Jamestown by Matthew Sharpe
Tristam Shandy by Laurence Sterne
The Best American Non-Required Reading 2007

More to come.

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LITERATURE: If on a winter’s night… – Pattern

With the next section of the "corrected" novel our narrator is reading we have a break in pattern; precisely, by a connection with the previous story in the book.  The reason for feeling the novel was improperly printed was the entrance of completely different characters, and yet we find that these two chapters do continue a moving story.

Then we get to Chapter 4 of the book (we are holding physically) and we meet the Other Reader, Ludmilla, and her sister, Lotaria who seem to be at odds about most things, and in particular, the validity of the book in question.

Lots of stories going on here.  Lots of disconnected connections. Links?

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CLASS NOTES: 4/30/08

Good workshopping session.  Great rewrite by Jackie on her story, third draft in, and changed dramatically.  It’s always amazed me  how someone can edit so  much  that characters, scenes, events, and meaning are turned inside out and upside-down and only ten percent of the previous draft is left intact.  Chris Coonce-Ewing did that with his Hummingbird God story and I’ve never forgotten what a difference it made.

Some nice ideas on Bryan’s story too.  The concept of a dying man and his last hours is naturally intriguing and his visitors in this case were quite an interesting crew.  Some technical work and clarification on story arc were suggested and I hope to see a revision on this one soon.

Nice feedback on my own submission, and between last night and early morning, much of the rewriting has already been done.  Awkward phrasing, a letdown ending, and many technical glitches have been repaired though I’ll likely work on it a few more days.

Someone made a comment about wanting the class to go on beyond it’s two-week ending.  It may be possible.  Something’s been brewing and I’ll run it by the professor and crew maybe at the next class meeting.

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REALITY: April 30th, 2002

The expected phone call comes unexpectedly, in the middle of working with a new customer named Sally.  The phone rings and I tell her that I’m very sorry but I have to leave.  My mother’s name is Sally, I tell her, and the nursing home has called. I hold the tears and fears back with a mantra prayer as I wind my way southward through the state and notice changes in the spaces by the length of leaves and fallen blossoms.

She looks so tiny lying there.  And she’s wearing someone else’s nightgown though she wouldn’t know it, but it bothers me somehow.  If today’s the day then something of herself should be with her, what little has been left to her at all.

"Mom," I whisper, then a little louder, "Mom?  I’m here, it’s me."  Me is anybody to my mother.  She never opens her eyes.  Even for the nurse who makes her sit up for a sip of cranberry juice.  He’s so gentle with her.  She looks so frail and white against his bulk.  He is large and black and has one arm around her. She responds to him.  She doesn’t know, I don’t believe, who I am or if I’m even there.  "Thank you, Andre," I say to him.  It’s meant for all he’s done the last six weeks for her.  He knows.  "She’s a sweet lady," he tells me, for comfort, and it is.

My sister comes, we hug and cry and sit and wait and go outside for just a moment through the waiting.  We decide we will not tell my dad.  She leaves, I wait.  I sing, I dance, I tell her jokes.  Then I ask for her forgiveness for anything and all I’ve done, and give her mine.  The nurse brings me some orange juice.  It cuts my throat with acid cold.  I wonder if maybe it isn’t time at all.  But there is little time left and things I want to learn yet from her have been kept from me for years by this disease and all I’ve got is time to let her dream of other things. I tell my mother that she need not worry; that we’ll take good care of Dad.  Then two quick breaths, just a tad faster, a little louder than the rest. I watch.  I squeeze her hand.  She doesn’t take another.

I know and sit there for a minute quietly, still waiting for something I suppose.  And when it doesn’t come, I call the nurse.  My mother’s gone. Still, it’s hard to leave her there but I must go to see my Dad.

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REALITY?: video

Too danged cute not to share (put on sound):
The duck and the dog.wmv

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REALITY?: The Starting Point of Harvest

As bottling time of some of last year’s harvest wine begins, I see the beginnings of the new year’s harvest.  This is the quince bush that can produce jelly or wine.
042808r

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REALITY?: Rainy Day Discoveries

A day for reading, writing, paying monthly bills.  But this comes out of the blue: We have 56 chairs in this household.

I may well be one of the few who rented a tent for a baby shower but didn’t need to rent chairs.  I once comfortably had a family sit-down dinner for 21 people (and obviously had many chairs left over).

19 Chairs are considered outdoor furniture
  5 Chairs are rockers
  6 Chairs are kitchen chairs
  2 Chairs are easychairs
  1 Chair is in the frameshop
  1 Chair is ergonomic (one of those dumb kneel-on things)
  2 Chairs are computer office chairs
  4 Chairs are antiques
  2 Chairs are desk/sewing machine chairs
  3 Chairs are to be recovered someday
  8 Chairs are folding chairs
  3 Chairs are sit-down-and-take-off-your-shoes chairs

Knowing this, having taken mental inventory and established this as fact, I can now move on to something else.

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