“My children, I woke you as a seed is woken in the spring.”
Folklorist Wolkstein travelled to Australia multiple times to gather and authenticate the m“My children, I woke you as a seed is woken in the spring.”
Folklorist Wolkstein travelled to Australia multiple times to gather and authenticate the myths of the Sun Mother in order to create this beautiful adaptation. It’s enhanced by indigenous Australian artist Bronwyn Bancroft’s colorful paintings.
One of my favorite memories is the way my mother woke me in the mornings--gently, with a whisper. So I loved the way, in this story, the world began with a soft voice whispering to Sun Mother to wake up, and wake the earth. Off she went to do just that, first waking the flora, then the fauna. She goes back to the sky and reappears each day as the sun, eventually creating the moon and morning star so there will always be light.
Lovely and inspirational, for adults as well as children. ...more
“I worked for--what? How could I explain it? For beauty? No. Many of the pictures I painted were not beautiful. For what, then? For a truth I did not “I worked for--what? How could I explain it? For beauty? No. Many of the pictures I painted were not beautiful. For what, then? For a truth I did not know how to put into words. For a truth I could only bring to life by means of color and line and texture and form.”
This is a warm and wonderful bildungsroman story, about the boy Asher Lev, born to a devout Hasidic Jewish family, and how he grows into a gifted, though controversial, artist. There appears to be no path within the faith for someone who is as driven as Asher is by his artistic talent. He must create this path, and it is a painful journey.
There are mythic ideas explored here: art and evil, reverence and duty, what is owed to a family and what is passed down through that family.
It’s so beautifully told, so perfectly paced to keep the tension building, and peopled with such genuine characters (his mother deserves a story of her own) that the reader feels Asher’s pain deeply. But the joy of creating a brilliant work of art, which most of us will never know, is also conveyed.
I love a book that takes me to a world I don’t know and brings it so clearly to life for me that I feel like I’ve lived it. This is such a book, and I’m so happy to have discovered it....more
While this would have been a lot more fun if I read it in Italy, I enjoyed my armchair travels through this study of Italian villas and gardens by theWhile this would have been a lot more fun if I read it in Italy, I enjoyed my armchair travels through this study of Italian villas and gardens by the novelist and gardens connoisseur Edith Wharton.
My favorite: Villa d’Este at Tivoli
[image]
Wharton says from the village square you can only see a wall with a door, but when you pass through, there was a suite of rooms with frescoes. “This corridor has lost its frescoes, but preserves a line of niches decorated in coloured pebbles and stuccowork, with gaily painted stucco caryatids supporting the arches; and as each niche contains a semicircular fountain, the whole length of the corridor must once have rippled with running water.” It sounds stunning.
She tells how water was drawn up the hill (very expensively) from the Anio River to make a thousand little streams traveling downward across each terrace, “dripping into mossy chonchs, flashing in spray from the horns of sea-gods and the jaws of mythical monsters, or forcing themselves in irrepressible overflow down the ivy-matted banks.” Now that’s a garden!
One of the most interesting to read about was the Villa Scassi in Genoa, masterpiece of architect Alessi, who supposedly studied under Michelangelo. Wharton says it was here “that the earliest attempts were made to bring the untamed forms of nature into relation with the disciplined lines of architecture.” The villa is at the foot of a hill, and the gardens rise above it up the hillside in terraces. Niches with statues and temples decorate the grounds. This shows the “nymphaeum.”
[image]
The place I absolutely must see? The gardens at Val San Zibio. Wharton says “They are remarkable for their long pleached alleys of beech, their wide tapis verts, fountains, marble benches and statues charmingly placed in niches of clipped verdure.” There are some beautiful shots here: https://www.valsanzibiogiardino.com/t... that allowed me to pretend.
Even without seeing these in person, I must agree with Wharton that the Italian architects created, “with simple materials and in a limited space, impressions of distance, and sensations of the unexpected …”
“Three or four times like this the break came. There was a way. Any mark on the canvas would be a way. A random stroke, meaning nothing, pointing towa“Three or four times like this the break came. There was a way. Any mark on the canvas would be a way. A random stroke, meaning nothing, pointing towards nothing. Any colour, any shape. There must be no doubts. Thus in the small hours paintings came into being.”
Tóibín’s first novel, and my first of his, picked up completely on a whim.
Tóibín, born in 1955 in Enniscorthy (between Dublin and Cork), begins this tale in 1950 in the same Irish town. A well-off woman, unhappy in her marriage, leaves her husband, young son, family farm, and country and relocates to Barcelona to paint. She discovers a new landscape, and people who are dealing with their own troubles: remnants and ruptures stemming from the Spanish Civil War. She is drawn to other painters in the city, and falls into a relationship with Miguel, a Catalan anarchist. They later meet another artist, Michael, who turns out to also be from Enniscorthy.
All of this allows Tóibín to explore layers of conflict: in relationships, families and countries. A subtle spirit of nationalism sneaks in and out of the prose, and a clashing of old and new. It all takes place in the mindset of artists, so the descriptions are painterly--full of light and shadow; a chiaroscuro that perfectly blends with the subject matter.
I wanted to like all of this, but almost abandoned the book a few times. After finishing, I read the author himself said, years later, that he took his sentence structure from Joan Didion, and I can see that, but felt a similar impact too. Like with Didion, emotion is held back, as if it was dangerous. While that doesn’t make the read depressing necessarily, it does cast a particular chill.
I’m so glad I kept reading though. The end doesn’t warm up, but there are interesting sparks, making me wonder and consider and see things differently (you know, the way good books always do), and now I’m ready to read Irish and Spanish history. It’s so exciting when a novel gives you a glimpse, and then you can go to the history with that little “in” that helps it come alive.
I knew virtually nothing about these Norse myths before reading this, so it was a real eye-opener and a great way to get an overview.
The Norse mytholoI knew virtually nothing about these Norse myths before reading this, so it was a real eye-opener and a great way to get an overview.
The Norse mythological world had three levels. The Asgard was where the Aesir, or gods lived, like their Mount Olympus. The Midgard was the world of humans. And the Nifheim was the underworld of the dead. They were all linked by this big Ash Tree called Yggdrasill, or the World Tree.
[image]
The story of Yggdrasill was one of my favorites. It provided protection and nourishment, and it suffered along with all the creatures. Even in later times, trees were venerated and thought of as guardians in Norse and German cultures.
There were lots of battle stories, as you’d expect. This volume had wonderful pictures of Viking symbols and why they were important (lots of helmets and hammers and horses), and beautiful carvings of ships and trees and a gorgeous wheel of life that represents the sun moving across the sky.
But what was most interesting was the end of the world story.
“The concept of an inescapable fate was deeply embedded in the whole of Norse mythology, for the myths told of a future catastrophe, Ragnarok, in which gods and mankind would be entirely destroyed.”
I love how this mirrors our own lives, which we know will have an end.
“Norse people imagined the creation of the world, its cosmology and its inevitable final destruction, as a single unit in a continuing cycle of creations, each of which ended in an apocalypse before the world was renewed. Humans fitted into this cosmic scheme as one of several types of beings, each group contributing to the lives of the others.”
Ragnarok was the apocalypse, consisting of three years of battles caused by greed, then three terrible winters with no summer in between, then a wolf would swallow the sun and the moon, then there’d be a huge earthquake, then the ocean would surge onto the land, and ultimately the gods would kind of fight it out. The ones that prevailed would preside over a new creation, populated by two people hidden throughout all of this in the ash tree Yggdrasill.
A cycle, of course. In the end, a beginning....more
“I like things that appeared; then one was sure. Whether they were or not was a subordinate and almost always a profitless question.”
A fascinating sto“I like things that appeared; then one was sure. Whether they were or not was a subordinate and almost always a profitless question.”
A fascinating story around the unusual topic of communicating the real through art.
I learned early that nothing falls flat in a story like a real-life anecdote. But it really happened! No matter, it isn’t believable. Maybe partially because the writer isn’t trying hard enough to make it believable, but real life taken as it is does not often work in fiction.
James is exploring something similar here. A formerly-distinguished now down-on-their-luck couple shows up at an artist’s studio to be used as models for his book illustrations. They see themselves as “the real thing,” gentlefolks like those in the story he’s illustrating. Yet when using them, the artist can’t make his illustrations work.
“But after a little skirmishing I began to find her too insurmountably stiff; do what I would with it my drawing looked like a photograph or a copy of a photograph.”
What was missing? Therein lies the story, told in James's characteristic layered meanings and opaque detail.
“I longed to enter the fraternity of the artist: the hunger, their manner of dress, their process and prayers. Nothing seemed more romantic to my youn“I longed to enter the fraternity of the artist: the hunger, their manner of dress, their process and prayers. Nothing seemed more romantic to my young mind. I imagined myself as Frida to Diego, both muse and maker.”
Take two driven young artists in a truly remarkable relationship, add a capturing of the spirit of the late 60’s/early 70’s, throw in New York City and Paris and artistic geniuses living and dead, put it all in the hands of an exceptional writer, and what do you get? This masterpiece.
I was never a fan of Patti’s music, but I read her small book about writing, Devotion, and just knew I would love everything she wrote. But I think this book is very special, and I’ll give three main reasons.
First, it’s written to fulfill a sacred promise. Before he died, Patti told her once love and lifetime friend Robert Mapplethorpe she’d write the story of their life together. A deep love and respect comes across on every page.
Second, it’s a fascinating story.
I think my favorite part was the beginning, where she tells us about each of their childhoods. We get to see how two artists were made--creativity coming to life. For example, when Patti graduated from saying the “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer, she turned her prayers into “vows, visions and schemes,” which she says led to her “entrance into the radiance of imagination.”
She tells a beautiful love story about how she and Robert met and got together. She gives details of their life of struggle, their devotion to art, and the magical time and place where they were becoming themselves. She takes us to the often tiny rooms where they lived and tried to create, and we feel the constraints but also the freedom. And we get to see a new side to Andy Warhol, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Sam Shepard, and so many others.
“Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg, and William Burroughs were all my teachers, each one passing through the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel, my new university.”
Third, she has taken the messiness of these extraordinary real lives, and turned it into a work of art. The ending of this reads like the best of novels. I cried like I usually only cry over fictional characters, because Patti made them real to me in the way fictional characters are real--that way that makes them feel close and known and whole.
I left this in awe, and greatly inspired.
“I feel no sense of vindication as one of the handfuls of survivors. I would rather have seen them all succeed, catch the brass ring. As it turned out, it was I who got one of the best horses.”...more
“The profound wisdom of Black life and literature” is the subtitle, and exactly what I found inside this wonderful book. Griffin combines a warm and p“The profound wisdom of Black life and literature” is the subtitle, and exactly what I found inside this wonderful book. Griffin combines a warm and personal memoir with what fed that warmth: books and beauty and culture.
Very generally, I felt she focused the first half on her father and the second half on her mother. Her father taught her a love of reading and jazz music. He sadly died when she was only nine, so the meaning behind the memories is heightened.
“Yet and still, I don’t believe my father is dead. He visits me every night. I don’t see him. But I feel the side of my bed go down as he sits on it, like he has done hundreds of times before. I smell him. I feel him. And, often, after falling asleep, I meet him in my dreams.”
His advice provides the title: read until you understand. She took it seriously, and dove into the library of books he left her. Using examples from these books, she makes many points about how to survive and thrive under oppression. I knew of writers like Phillis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass of course, but she shares about some lesser-known writers too.
I particularly liked the story of Frances Ellen Watkins Harper. Born free in 1825, but orphaned at three, she was raised by an uncle who was a prominent Baltimore abolitionist and founder of the Watkins Academy school for Black children. She studied there, excelled at writing, but was put out to service at age 13. The Quaker bookseller in whose home she worked opened his library to her though, and she read and wrote and eventually published poetry.
Griffin continued to read and encountered writers from her own lifetime, like Toni Cade Bambara, and particularly Toni Morrison. She provides illuminating analysis of one of my favorite Morrison novels, Sula.
But she doesn’t stop at literature. She moves on to art, and beauty in a broader sense--particularly the healing nature of beauty. I found her memories of the Black women in her life and how they made beauty from what they had incredibly moving and useful.
At one point, she includes a fascinating painting: Romare Beardon’s The Dressmaker, which sparks meaning for her from contemplating the fact she comes from a long line of seamstresses who took comfort in creating something beautiful for their families.
I just have to share this lengthy passage. It brought tears to my eyes, remembering my own mother and grandmother at their own sewing machines late at night, carefully creating clothes for us, draperies, and even upholstering chairs and sofas.
“The quiet buzz of her sewing machine is barely audible over the sound of Miles, Marvin, or Earth, Wind & Fire. My mother prefers to sew after midnight: after the dishes have been washed and the kitchen straightened up, after I have bathed and gone to bed, after the noise of the day has quieted. By morning’s light, she will have solved a puzzle, pushed past a momentary challenge, and she will have created something beautiful. She is meticulous: a finished seam, pressed flat with the iron, a collar stiffened just right, a yoke, a dart. She attends every detail, even if it means ripping it all out and starting over. If I awaken, I come down the narrow, dark staircase to find her sitting at the shiny black Singer sewing machine with gold lettering. Our cat, a jet-black, green-eyed beauty named Velvet, is reclining at her feet. My mother is humming, and she seems--happy.”
So we read and learn and create beauty that will bolster us through hardship. What an important message in these difficult times.
“Even in the midst of crisis, the flowers bloom. Especially in moments of crisis, their blooming is a reminder of something that transcends the moment, a reminder of a deep, deep sense of time, reaching back and stretching forward.” ...more
“The fact of a man being a poisoner is nothing against his prose.”
A light but fascinating biographical essay about Thomas Griffiths Wainewright, an ar“The fact of a man being a poisoner is nothing against his prose.”
A light but fascinating biographical essay about Thomas Griffiths Wainewright, an artist and author convicted in 1837 of being a serial killer. Wilde muses on his life, and on the intersection of art and morality.
Fans of The Picture of Dorian Gray—check this out: I found a special bonus at the end. Wilde is talking about how Wainewright’s crimes had an effect on his art. Note that this essay was published in 1885, five years before that novel:
He writes of Wainewright, “… it is said that ‘he contrived to put the expression of his own wickedness into the portrait of a nice, kind-hearted girl.’” Then he adds, “M. Zola, in one of his novels, tells us of a young man who, having committed a murder, takes to art, and paints greenish impressionist portraits of perfectly respectable people, all of which bear a curious resemblance to his victim. The development of Mr. Wainewright’s style seems to me far more subtle and suggestive. One can fancy an intense personality being created out of sin.”...more
… whenever I’m in survival mode like this I find myself drawn irresistibly to museums and art galleries, like people running for air raid shelters in … whenever I’m in survival mode like this I find myself drawn irresistibly to museums and art galleries, like people running for air raid shelters in wartime.”
Unique and subtly inspiring, this filled a craving for art I didn’t know I had. An unusual narrator opens the door to an artist, provides a tempting tidbit of what they meant to her, and off you go, searching out histories and paging through paintings.
And this narrator is certainly unusual. We learn about her in pieces, never sure exactly of the whole. She feels on the verge of a realization, and is interestingly but never depressingly troubled. She has a wealth of artistic knowledge and excellent taste, and gives us not just any artists, but remarkable, often lesser-known talents with intriguing life stories.
Each chapter revolves around a painter and a related personal story: Hubert Robert’s ancient ruins and her relationship with her mother; the tortured works of El Greco, felled ancient redwood trees, and the tragic life of her oldest brother.
Gainza’s style is spare and leaves lots of room for reflection. She has a particularly artistic way with descriptions. “Her straight, shoulder-length hair was the lustrous black of a crow’s feathers in the rain.”
I loved this thoughtful, stimulating book, full of discoveries....more
In beautiful, simple sentences, Steven Galloway tells an incredibly moving story of four individuals, acting and reacting while the city of Sarajevo iIn beautiful, simple sentences, Steven Galloway tells an incredibly moving story of four individuals, acting and reacting while the city of Sarajevo is under siege.
“The city is full of people doing the same as he is, and they all find a way to continue with life. They’re not cowards and they’re not heroes.”
Galloway paints intricate pictures of the way music can change an individual’s reality--at a time when reality really needs changing. These scenes are breathtakingly beautiful and made me realize the power of art in a distressing world.
In the midst of inhumanity, there is still beauty, still humanity, and this book sheds light on that humanity. It serves as an important reminder to appreciate the things that we have, and not take them for granted. It also makes you think about what each of us might be required to do when the civilization we count on is threatened.
“Because civilization isn’t a thing that you build and then there it is, you have it forever. It needs to be built constantly; re-created daily. It vanishes far more quickly than he ever would have thought possible.”...more
It is easy to understand why Joseph Campbell, the much-loved professor of mythology and literature, included this book on his students’ required readiIt is easy to understand why Joseph Campbell, the much-loved professor of mythology and literature, included this book on his students’ required reading list. It is a profound little masterpiece that sheds light on complex ideas using simple explanations and examples, like Campbell did.
Kakuzo Okakura lived primarily in Japan but travelled widely and wrote in English. He is attempting to provide a kind of bridge between East and West, and with these essays that explore the historical, spiritual and cultural aspects of tea drinking, I believe he succeeds.
“With Luwuh in the middle of the eight century we have our first apostle of tea. He was born in an age when Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism were seeking mutual synthesis. The pantheistic symbolism of the time was urging one to mirror the Universal in the Particular. Luwuh, a poet, saw in the Tea service the same harmony and order which reigned through all things.”
The universal in the particular. This book expands on that idea, explaining how an appreciation of art, and flowers, and tea, can help us understand how to live.
“Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things.”...more
I spent time comparing my library’s editions of the fables, and am so glad I settled on this one. Each fable is from a different translator, some in pI spent time comparing my library’s editions of the fables, and am so glad I settled on this one. Each fable is from a different translator, some in prose and some in verse, and each is accompanied by an etching or engraving, most of which are wonderfully intricate and absolutely stunning. I stared at them for at least twice as long as it took to read the fable.
I grew up on “Fractured Fairy Tales” and the similar “Aesop and Son,” but don’t remember reading a proper volume of these fables. What fun. I especially like the ones that play against stereotypes, like the so-well-remembered The Tortoise and the Hare.
Other notables were The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse, which extols the pleasures of peaceful country living; The Lion and the Mouse, about helping each other; and The Ant and the Grasshopper, which is supposed to be about work ethic but just reminded me why I prefer grasshoppers.
The best though, one of the few in verse that I liked a lot, was The Fox and the Crow. A translation by Marianne Moore from 1952, it begins:
On his airy perch among the branches Master Crow was holding cheese in his beak. Master Fox, whose pose suggested fragrances, Said in language which of course I cannot speak …
My favorite, from the suggesting fragrances pose on.
"These streets are a poem waiting to be hatched—suddenly it’s Easter; eggs everywhere.”
Follow Patti Smith to the café, to Paris, on the train, into he"These streets are a poem waiting to be hatched—suddenly it’s Easter; eggs everywhere.”
Follow Patti Smith to the café, to Paris, on the train, into her dreams. You’ll emerge a different person: an artist, aware of detail, discriminating of style.
Since this is part of the “Why I Write Series,” I assumed she would tell us about why she writes. But, duh. No. She shows us. She takes us on a journey during which she conceives of a story, she gives us the story, and then reflects on the question. Thus her answer unfolds, and comes to life before our eyes.
I’ve long admired her persona, but this is my first experience of her prose. It is as unique as I expected....more
“All those precious moments are still there somewhere.”
This is one of those novels that feels like a work of art: a painting that you can’t look away “All those precious moments are still there somewhere.”
This is one of those novels that feels like a work of art: a painting that you can’t look away from, that makes you remember things you had forgotten and understand things you didn’t know you questioned.
It was, for me, a different twist on a love triangle--fresh but also familiar, and so much more.
Vincent Van Gogh haunts the story from beginning to end, but we also hear from Walt Whitman and Donna Summer. The main characters are male, but the most inspiring females play key roles in their lives.
It’s a tale of tragedy and loss, the complexity of relationships, and getting to the roots of our lifelong issues. It’s about falling in love. It’s about following your dreams. It’s about regret. It’s about forgiveness. That’s a lot to cover in one little book, yet it feels light and breezy, and goes down like ice cream.
In other words, the best kind of book. Y’all were right about this one.
“And remember, my sentimental friend, that a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.” The Wizard of Oz...more
Dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp is a fascinating person, and she provides a treasure trove of inspiration in this volume. With a no-nonsense writDancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp is a fascinating person, and she provides a treasure trove of inspiration in this volume. With a no-nonsense writing style, she shares genuinely useful tips and tricks for anyone trying to fuel their creative life. Included are little stories about her own routine (taking a cab to the gym first thing every morning to work out), examples of how she solved creative problems (a surprising story about creating the dance Push Comes to Shove to showcase Mikhail Baryshnikov) and exercises she uses herself to jump-start inspiration.
Here’s just a sample of the many words of wisdom I found helpful:
“You need a tangible idea to get you going. The idea, however minuscule, is what turns the verb into a noun--paint into a painting, sculpt into sculpture, write into writing, dance into a dance.”
“By making the start of the sequence automatic, they replace doubt and fear with comfort and routine.”
“No matter how limited your resources, they’re enough to get you started.”
And this one, which may be my favorite: “You do not know what is and is not possible and therefore everything is possible.”...more
This book is all about voice and viewpoint, and Teju Cole handles both with a special mastery. He gives us a story with little plot, told to us by JulThis book is all about voice and viewpoint, and Teju Cole handles both with a special mastery. He gives us a story with little plot, told to us by Julius, a troubled, deeply flawed character. Julius is joined by other characters—friends, strangers, memories—and they provide contrast, but it is his thoughts and observances that we follow; his point of view.
It’s New York City, in the style of Peter Bruegel, but painted instead with words. https://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth... (a video on Cole’s GR author page names Bruegel as an influence)
On the other hand, it’s a psychiatrist’s musings about himself and humanity. “We were all deeply sensitive to the suffering of our patients, but I was one of a tiny minority, as far as I could tell, who thought incessantly of the soul, or worried about its place in all this carefully calibrated knowledge.”
This is an unusual read--not for everyone. I was intrigued by the ideas Cole explores, regarding art, music, medicine, religion, politics, family, race. I enjoyed the subtle way the story was told. Most of all, I loved the voice....more
A day in the life of Monet, but so much more. It’s not just about the painter’s observations, but also those of all the family members around him, as A day in the life of Monet, but so much more. It’s not just about the painter’s observations, but also those of all the family members around him, as seen through their different states of mind.
The writing is lovely--the way noticed details provide a richness that reveals a character’s inner life. Through all of the description, a story evolves.
Monet’s wife Alice is depressed. It has been a year since her daughter died, leaving two small children for Alice and her older children to tend to while Claude is out raging that the gardeners haven’t cleared all the bugs off the lily pond. We become the gardener dangling his hand from the boat into the water, Alice closing her eyes in struggling sleeplessness, and their granddaughter Lily musing about how far away a year is and the smell of grandparents.
“…everything about Grandpapa was on the surface, outside where you could see and hear and touch it, but grandmama was just the opposite: the secret of grandmama was concealed in her black dress, in the folds of her gown and what she might wear underneath. It was buried in her face, too, in the slack mouth and soft white cheeks, and the pale eyes that said nothing.”
Lily’s thoughts were my favorite. Reading them was like stepping back in time and noticing things the way I did as a child.
Next time I stare into a Monet painting, I’ll see this family reflected, with all their shades and colors, and it will be even more beautiful.
“Art is Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is mon“Art is Individualism, and Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine.”
Oh, boy. I bet a lot of people got their panties in a bunch over this one! He takes on authority, capitalism and religion, and that kind of thing doesn’t tend to go over very well. And his interpretation of Christ’s message has been called into question, but really, shouldn’t all interpretations be questioned?
This was fantastic--intriguing and thought-provoking. It’s not really about Socialism. It’s about non-conformity. It’s a thought experiment—Socialism as a springboard of possibilities, mostly regarding the creation of a world in which an artist and non-conformist like Oscar could better thrive.
“There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot who tyrannises over the body. There is the despot who tyrannises over the soul. There is the despot who tyrannises over soul and body alike. The first is called the Prince. The second is called the Pope. The third is called the people.”
There is so much to be considered here, and so much that I agreed with in concept. His aren’t easy fixes, but Wilde explains that.
“It will, of course, be said that such a scheme as is set forth here is quite unpractical, and goes against human nature. This is perfectly true. It is impractical, and it goes against human nature. That is why it is worth carrying out, and that is why one proposes it. For what is a practical scheme? A practical scheme is either a scheme that is already in existence, or a scheme that could be carried out under existing conditions. But it is exactly the existing conditions that one objects to; and any scheme that could accept these conditions is wrong and foolish.”
It was good to see so many oft-quoted Wilde lines in context here:
“For the recognition of private property has really harmed Individualism, and obscured it, by confusing a man with what he possesses. It has led Individualism entirely astray. It has made gain not growth its aim. So that man thought that the important thing was to have, and did not know that the important thing is to be. The true perfection of man lies, not in what man has, but in what man is.”
“With the abolition of private property then, we shall have true, beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste his life in accumulating things, and the symbols for things. One will live. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
I think I’ll take his advice, and not try to tell anyone else what to think. I’m taking his ideas to heart for myself, but you do what you want. We’re all individuals, and that’s a good thing....more
It’s Paris in the period before and after WWI, and it is fascinating. This book is 80 percent name dropping and 20 percent Gertrude Stein’s unusual taIt’s Paris in the period before and after WWI, and it is fascinating. This book is 80 percent name dropping and 20 percent Gertrude Stein’s unusual take on things. Both aspects were great fun.
Alice’s life pre-Gertrude is summed up in the first five paragraphs. It’s obvious that Gertrude Stein has determined that Gertrude Stein and the people Gertrude Stein wants to surround herself with and Gertrude Stein’s thoughts about them and Gertrude Stein’s beliefs about everything are the important part of Alice’s story, which may be true.
We get an inside look at artists such as Picasso and Matisse, T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound, Sherwood Anderson and Hemingway. Many come off as rather needy and fragile, relying on Gertrude (who has unending confidence in her opinions) both materially and artistically.
“Begin over again and concentrate, she said (to Hemingway).”
This book is not characteristic of Stein’s other writing, but I got a feel for her sentences by reading this, and also for her philosophies. There’s some deep stuff here:
“Gertrude Stein, in her work, has always been possessed by the intellectual passion for exactitude in the description of inner and outer reality. She has produced a simplification by this concentration, and as a result the destruction of associational emotion in poetry and prose. She knows that beauty, music, decoration, the result of emotion should never be the cause, even events should not be the cause of emotion nor should they be the material of poetry and prose. Nor should emotion itself be the cause of poetry or prose. They should consist of an exact reproduction of either an outer or an inner reality.”
Having had this reading experience will be a great help as I tackle her more challenging novels and poetry. I'm looking forward to them!...more
Loading...
