Thursday, September 27, 2007

Stein Stein Stein

Stein, Gertrude. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. NY:Vintage, 1990.

This may remain the ultimate history of the Lost Generation rive gauche avant garde in Paris around WWI and through the 1920's. I'm tempted to pluck a bouquet of bons mots and tidbits about favorite artists and authors, but surely that's been done elsewhere.

The book could give gossip a good name.

Otherly, this is probably the most accessible extant example of Stein sentences, a matter worth study. It's also a useful though limited revelation of Stein's intentions in her other well known works, The Making of Americans, 3 Lives, Stanzas in Meditation, Tender Buttons, and Geography and Plays. This contains as extensive and accessible set of reflections as any I've seen by Stein on her relationship with publishing and the general difficulties of the public with most of her work.
"[Stein] says that listening to the rhythmn of [Basket the poodle's] water drinking made her recognize the difference beween sentences and paragrpahs, that paragraphs are emotional and that sentences are not" (248).

This is deliberately provocative, impossible in the literal, and worthy of study.
"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" (211).

One might ask how anything without emotion might render either an inner or an outer reality. But Stein's intentions might (I can only surmise) be approached by pulling apart the distinctions between incidental sentiments that relate to an author's circumstantial relationship to historical events, and the passion involved in a recognition of the ubiquity of such relationships, and the music or dance of their so relating.

In my long experience as a thoroughly failed author and poet, one way that one may thoroughly fail is by mistaking one's emotion for the readers' emotions, one's relation to the text for the readers' relation to the text.

I feel certain that this is what T.S. Eliot, for example, tried to get at with his theory of the objective correlative. Yet I have still nowhere seen this expressed in a way that satisfies me, and it strikes me as perfectly reasonable that one baffles students in trying to express it. The thing is that what's intended by this POV and what's intended by the Romantic and Post-Romantic insistence that the acme of art is the expression of the author's inner emotion are not contradictory, and yet the words in which these things get couched most definitely are.

I think that the refinement needed to resolve this falls along these lines Yes, the writer's relationship to Universe or common concern resembles the readers' almost exactly; however, it differs in matters of the specific case. And the writers' POV of these matters, filtered through the readers' POV does not equal the readers' POV itself.

To avoid the distortion in this, the author cannot simply gush forth emotion. What results inevitably contains the emotion, the objects that provoked the emotion in their temporal array -- the history, in other words. Expunging these may provide relief to the writer; they don't provide this as well to the reader, who has experienced another history. However, that business of relationship is experienced by both parties. That retains public value. And it's not so much that having to hear personal details dilutes that value; we're happy enough to hear personal details properly framed. It's that changing the music or the structure to match the incidentals of one's own experience of Event distorts the experience of relationships otherwise offered.

Otherwise, the more emotion involved the better, and we shall call it passion instead of sentiment. As Louis-Ferdinand Celine quotes the biologist Savy, "Everything is emotion." I should think these poles are equally true.
It was at that time [of travelling in Granada] that Gertrude Stein's style gradually changed. She says hitherto she had been interested only in the insides of people, their chracter and what went on inside them, it was during that summer that she firstfelt a desre to express the rhythm o fthe visible world" (119).

For this kind of writing, see particularly Stanzas in Meditation, from Sun and Moon, as well as Tender Buttons.
Here's a passage I will have to read Picabia to judge:
"Picabia had conceived and is struggling with the problem that a line should have the vibration of a musical sound and that this vibration should be teh result of conceiving the human form and the human fac in so tenuous a fashion that it would induce such vibration in the line forming it. It is his way of achieving the disembodied" (210).

This should be compared to Olson in "Projective Verse."

Ach, no end to Stein. But I will have more opportunities with The Making of Americans shortly.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Le Guin

The Left Hand of Darkness is kind of a unique story for this collection. It's what's usually called sci-fi, a loose tale on Romantic premises set on another planet. There's an odd weave of loose resemblances between The Ekumen and Euro-American colonizations, though the dark side of that seems to have mysteriously evaporated.

The plot dominates the social comparisons, which are many but loose.

Basically, here goes. Genly Ai has arrived at Karhide, a banana-republic style kingdom on Winter, a very cold planet. Genly carries an offer of alliance from The Ekumen, a loose federation of 84-odd planets of remarkably similar hominids who can't even really visit each other effectively because of the distances involved, but manage to communicate and travel a bit because of presumed time-distortions of relativity, physics' signal contribution to plot-contrivances.

Ai finds Karhiders' overly polite and indirect, gets booted out of the country by the king, a jealous king, who would have no other kings before him. He then gets busted by the cartoon-totalitarian country-across-the-way until his supposedly dishonest and disloyal original adviser, now in exile, busts him out and leads him across the local midwinter Siberia back into Karhide, to call the space ship and make another attempt at truce.

Entering Karhide, Ai's chum rides past the guards and deliberately gets shot to death. One might imagine that he does so because it's somehow diplomatically convenient for Genly, though that makes little sense, considering that Genly is a rather recognizable alien, and goes immediately to mourn his friend's corpse.

Because

Freedom of Love

(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti)

My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude*
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing
With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof
And of steam on the panes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley of gold
Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent
With breasts of night
My wife with breasts of a marine molehill
My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible
With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew
My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days
With the belly of a gigantic claw
My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically
With a back of quicksilver
With a back of light
With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk
And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking
My wife with hips of a skiff
With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers
And of shafts of white peacock plumes
Of an insensible pendulum
My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos
My wife with buttocks of swans' backs
My wife with buttocks of spring
With the sex of an iris
My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus
My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat
My wife with a sex of mirror
My wife with eyes full of tears
With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle
My wife with savanna eyes
My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison
My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe
My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire

Andre Breton

Harriet Wilson

Wilson, Harriet. Our Nig: Or, Sketches from the life of a free black In a Two-story white house, north. Showing that Slavery's shadows fall even there. NY: Vintage, 2002.

Originally published in 1859. It was ignored for some time, then returned to small prominence by Henry Louis Gates around a century later. Our Nig appears to be the 1st novel published by a woman of African descent in English.

Wilson appears to have been born "a free black" in 1827 or 1828, though some records have her born as hearly as 1807.

The story recounts the life of an African American woman living under dire poverty and abusive conditions. Wilson starts with the mother, a white woman who gets pregant out of wedlock and falls into poverty when her lover dumps her. She marries an African-American, out of desperation and for his kindness, but he works himself to death within a few years, leaving her broke again, but with several children. She gives the kids away, and the rest of the story follows the career of her daughter Frado, who becomes informal prisoner and slave to a white family. Some of the family members are moderately kind, but none have the integrity to confront the lady of the house over her sadistic torment of "Our Nig," Frado.
Frado works all her waking hours without show of kindness, decent food, adequate clothing or shelter. She's deliberately kept from anything that might stimulate or educate her. She sickens as she matures, unsurprisingly.
Various family members die off, and Frado is finally adult and free to marry. She does so, hapless hubby dies, and the cycle continues.

The writing is smooth and unsentimental. Various circumstances of publication support the idea that this is an autobiography; it was at least presented as one. Use of the epithet "Nig" in the title, would have been less shocking in the 1840's when this was written, but it must have had an edge even then, especially with the possessive, and more especially given that it is also given as the name of the protagonist. The result is really a strikingly modern text.

Paragraphs

Another observation about paragraphs -

The mind must recurse through the iteration of a paragraph in the same or almost the same way that it does in a sentence. So the rhythm of a paragraph must vary in ways fairly analogous to the rhythms of a sentence. Therefore modes of reference and of modification must be similar in a paragraph to those in a sentence.

Those in sentences have been fairly thoroughly mapped; it remains to correspond them.

In a sentence, using something like the Minimalist model insofar as I understand it, There's a head. Against the head one may also have a gaggle of modifiers.

The head operates something like the scene-setting shot in film editing. That's often called "the long shot" or something like that -- I should go to a film person for this. Actually, I'll need an editor used to working with visuals as Murch is used to working with sound, ideally.

So, given the long shot, we know that the rest contextualizes in this scene, and we use the characteristics of the scene to fill in information, and we use the added details to flesh out the scene.

We have some natural conflict in that the head must delimit in some way, and because the details must add, amend, change. A "closed" story (closed per Bernstein) is one that changes little the initial shot, essentially adding to it or embellishing it rather than "actively" destroying its assumptions and revising them.

Think Apollo and Dionysus here, as in Nietszche's reading.

It strikes me that the issue for me, the issue of incomprehensibility in my writing, is that my readers generally want to insist that there be a long shot to b
egin with, a setting shot.

OF course, that tends to be a thesis or a declarative sentence. And that tends to establish limits I do not want. However, it seems there should be some way to counterfeit this, or to give them something that satisfies their will for a context-establishing shot without making the whole more closed or didactic.

What I need to do is classify and qualify types of opening shots in opening paragraphs, and see how this is done and who is more and less didactic, and what qualities establish scene.

Of course, it won't work exactly by Ph.

Also -- 2 principles that must be relevant:
1) In sentences, items of the Head are identified either by being labelled, or by position in the sentence (that position being designated by the pauses and musical qualities of speech, or by punctation. Therefore something similar will apply in Ph's. Now, the thing I must compare with is almost certainly not verb changes, but declension and terminations of nouns, subject and object, since the verbs are not ID'd as subject or object by their terminations --- although maybe, maybe the terminations can determine which they apply to, though it does not seem so in English.
Check in this context also inversions. Why does Milton still make sense when he inverts?
2) In sentences and paragraphs, listeners and readers clearly play accepted structural elements that may be ID'd and analyzed against presumptions of intention derived from content, reference, and social circumstance. All the latter would seem to be more significant the farther one gets from sentence.

So there are two opportunities to designate that do not need sequence of the unit designated -- though they may need sequence otherwise, within the unit or of larger units of the level in which the unit in question is contained.

NOW, then, a possible Key to Hypertext might be contained in the way of making a phrase or unit function naturally as a scene-setting shot without allowing it to function as a definer or delimiter ---

though this seems as though there may be some contradiction inherent. I need to go more precisely into the nature of this delimitation as opposed (?) to its suggestivity.

Another observation --- Establishing the HEAD in the sentence clearly DOES = or ~ establishing the scene or noun or topic in the ph.

I have to wonder whether another trip through Pedro Paramo is requisite.

Offhand, I think the following are necessary:

1. Joyce in Ulysses, Wake, and Artist
2. Beckett at the end.
3. Rulfo in Paramo and in a couple stories, including El Hombre.
4. Hemingway.
5. A couple people I am less happy with. Updike and Bellow, perhaps.
6. Breton
7. Rimbaud. vs Baudelaire and Ponge?
8. Wharton
9. Woolf
10. Mary Shelley
11. John Milton

Some poets. Whitman, Eliot, Celan, Pound, Williams. Sonnets -- perhaps Shakespeare.

I'm not sure it will work usefully with plays, in which so much will be unspoken -- the orientation provided by the mise en scene.

======

Paragraphing -- further notes

Language

I need to describe it musically, syntactically, punctuationally, visually, possibly referentially. The major problem is that the phrases distinguished will not nest properly. As such, I need internal and external tags to designate differences in the same qualities, as differentiated at different phrasal levels and syntactic levels.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Margaret Fuller

Fuller, Sarah Margaret Ossoli.
The blow-by-blow for the Papers on Art ----

A Dialogue. Poet. Critic. --
Poet vs critic in socratic dialog, each insist on the value of his own. The critic tenatively manages to justify herself, denying the poet's accusation of lack of emotion on the basis that part is better than nothing, that reason explores things that would be left unexamined.

The Two Herberts --
Lord Herbert and George Herbert is "intended chiefly as a setting to the Latin poems of George Herbert," and prefers George's more ethereal observations to his brother's richer stylel (15).

The Prose Works of Milton --
Reads like dust-jacket material for a Works of Milton, and reminds one that into the 20th Century, Milton enjoyed a prominence very near that of Shakespeare. Herein find Fuller's amended Romantic and Transcendental eidos in praise of M's spirituality and the grander span and grasp of his insight. Sublime does not come up, it it's very near the point.

The Life of SIr James Mackintosh: By his son; Robert James Mackintosh --
Clearly, clearly written as a book review, given that it discusses things like the binding, and goes through the pleasantness of owning a thing to which Fuller doth not grant genius. The drift seems to be how the elder Mack did not altogether reach fame and genius for human qualities that may be more admirable. One really wonders whether the younger were not a personal friend or patron.

Modern British Poets --
Campbell -- "... a poet; simply a poet-no philosopher. His forte is strong conception, a style free and bold . . ." (58).
. . . Anacreon Moore, sweet warbler of Erin! What ecstasy of sensation must thy poetic life have been!

The poetry of Walter Scott has been superseded by his prose, yet it fills no unimportant niche . . . . These poems are chiefly remarkable for presenting pictures of particulare epochs . . . " (63).

"Crabbe has the true spirit fo the man of science; he seeks truth alone . . . . The poor and humble owe him much, for he has made them known to the upper classes, not as they ought to be, but as they really are; and in so doing, in distinctly portraying the evils of their condition, he has opened the way to amelioration" (67).

"The youth of Shelley was unfortunate. He commited many errors" (68). But we don't hear which in any specific way. He is "most lyrical," yet "the struggles of Shelley's mind destroyed that serenity of tone which is essential to thei finest poetry, and his tenderness has not always that elevation of hope" (69), which I'd reather call a compliment than a criticism. She only faults him for lacking "unity of purpose and regulation of parts," for which I can only imagine that she's referring to the longer poems rather than substantial jewels like "Mont Blanc" and "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty."

". . . a sorrowful indignation curls too strongly the lip, lightens too fiercely the eye, of Byron" (74). On the other hand ". . . Byron's moral perversion never paralyzed or obscured his intellectual powers, though it might lower their aims" (76) -- an odd separation of moral and intellectual, but I think we're hearing that Byron's often clever without being profound.

She does go on to Southey, Cage, Wordsworth and eventually Coleridge. The comments are more evaluative than analytical.

All in all we have here a catalog for potential readers, and the long quotes that she includes are display rather than meat for close reading.

The Modern Drama -- Shakespeare's "children should not hope to walk in his steps" (103), though british drama far exceeds the american.

". . . if you burn or cut down an ancient wood, the next offering of the soil will not be the same kind, but raspberries and purple flowers will succed the oak, poplars the pine. Thus, beneath the roots of the drama, lay seeds of the historic novel, the romantic epic, which were to take its place to the reader, and for the scene, the oratorios, the opera, and ballet.
"Music is the great art of the time" (104).

She argues further that more respect be shown the actor and what Artaud call the mise en scene. But she trails off in sundry observations of minor work -- accurate enough, but leaving little to report.

Dialogue -- Old friends discourse about not seeing each other so often, the one feeling neglected. They have recourse to various Romantic poets to augment their discussion -- and of course, to Shakespeare.

Poets of the People: Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver by WIlliam Thom, of Iverrury.

"in this book, the recollections are introduced for the sake of the 'Rhymes,' (2).

Here, finally, is an aesthetic statement:

"There are two ways of considering :oems, or the pruducts of literature in general. We may tolerate only what is excellent, and demand that whatever is consigned to prin fo r the benefit of the human race should exhibit fruits perfect in shape, color, and flavor, enclusing kernels of permanent value.
"Those who demand this will be content only with the Iliads and Odysseys of the minds' endeavor. -- They can feed no where but at rich men's tables; in teh wildest recess of nature roots and berries will not content them. . . . .
"But, on the othe rhand, literature may be regarded as the great mutual system of interpretation betweeen all kinds and classes of men. it is an epistolary correspondence between brethren of one family, subject to many and wide separations, and anxious to remain in spiritual presence of one another" (2).

This is a pretty fair statent of the credo of the departments that would bring the academic study called "Literature" to "Cultural Studies," the contextualists. It's a more self-aware statement than I've read otherwise. This is worth quoting at more length as she extends the principle to criticism:

"In like manner are there two modes of criticism. On which tries, by the highest standard fo literary prefection the critic is capable of conceiving, each work which comes in his way; rejecting all that it is possible to reject, and reserving for toleration only what is capable of standing the severest test . . . .
"There is another mode which enters into the natural history of every thing that breathes and lives, which believes no impulse to be entirely in vain . . . " (3).

It's easy to see where Fuller's sympathies lie. She mistakes better work of the formal critic, who should be not so much evaluating, or not evaluating as an end, but should determine and describe the workings of text.

Fuller's tone throughout seems that of a social reformer rather than an artist, clear and sharp rather than subject to transports in the Romantic mode she describes. One can picture Thoreau or Whitman engaged with Emerson's transparent eyeball, but Fuller will be there to remind the boys what work remains to do when they stumble down from that hill.

The rest trails into discussions of poverty, and of Victoria -- which are perhaps in part the same topic.

Miss Barrett's Poems -- F considers BB as free from "morbid sentimentalism" (23). F greets warmly the lush lyricism by which BB remains popular, without playing much with its excesses, as might be imagined from the above.

Browning's Poems -- Interesting that Browning must be Robert and not Elizabeth, even for Margaret Fuller, whom one suspects of other sympathies. Actually, her response to him seems more perceptive than most of what's gone before:

"['Paracelsus'] is one of those attempts, that illustrate the self-consciosness of this age, to represent the fever of the soul pininig to embrace the secret of the universe in a single trance. Men who are once seized with this fever, carry thought upon th eheart as a cross, instead of finding thesmselves dailly warmed and enlightened to more life and joy by the sacred fire to which their lieves daily bring fresh fuel" (31).

Fine notion, and apparopriate to RB, hang it all. Also, this is pretty revealing of Fuller, and who she is and who she is not. Let's note first that insofar as one does not "embrace the secret of the universe in a single trance," one does not embrace it, but stands aside and recognizes and perhaps describes. Fuller's in the latter house, clear where Emerson's not, but, having never seen from that transparent eyeball, she does not fully appreciate the value of getting it all at once.

"Byron could only paint women as they were to him. Browning can show what they are in themselves" (41).

Lives of the Great Composers; Hayden, Mozart, Handel, Bach, Beethoven.

"It is easier to us to get the scope of the artist's design and its grown as the area where we see it does not stretch vision beyond its power" (47).

Left politic and rightis aesthetics -- not an unusual combination.

An interesting comparison between the apparent processes of Emerson and Fuller occurs. Harkening back to the explanation of logic with non-discrete words, one might say that Emerson feels forcibly the instability of his discrete pronunciations and repeatedly weaves back to respond to the unspoken. He has some faith that at some level Kosmos unifies and organizes and so forth -- his transcendent level, of course. For Fuller, the associations of discourse resolve adequately within the sentence, and the recursions of paragraphs and larger units revisit only what has been made relatively explicit in the prior text; where they extend it, they do so relatively straightforwardly.

This difference is quantitive, and anything but absolute. Emerson's trying for clarity, too, and Fuller for profundity. And both achieve some of each. But Emerson spills over regularly, whereas Fuller falls back into abstraction.

This is much of what the business of jumping around consists of in freshman compositions, too. Only they haven't the experience or desire to police it, so they allow it where they have little call to do so.

This has something to do with the difference between linguistic and mathematic analysis. In mathematical analysis, the terms are quantities, their natures fixed or presumed to be fixed. In language one tries for similar strictures, or approximations of them, but the language is presumed referent, therefore it continues always subject to the dissonance of reference. Also, it remains subject to the dissonance involved in categorization, in the parting of externals by the separate samplings of sense and the fictions of its subsequent reassembly.

Mathematics further tends to presume the referent as expressible in quantities, or in a quantity of quantities. Language, conversely, favors the subjectively irreducible goache-fluxus of sense. Mathmind takes the world to be asensual, to hold Meaning or Nature unavailable to the senses or to vision -- possible available to sound or movement, in kinesis.

Here we bend back to a surprising unity -- Fuller is the master of the kinesis in her sentences and paragraphs; Emerson is not. She owns or spans the effective sentence, the long moment of meaning. She has the measure. THE PROCESS OF MEASURE, OF MEASURING, IS TEMPORAL. One measures from __ to __, :. movement.

Now, here's also the problem with the stylistic alterations often requisite of simpler prose. They don't strive like Robert Browning to embrace their topic-wisdom at once. They treat a whole as assembled of parts. Therefore, they tend to lose the specific relationship of those parts. The logical phrase, then, loses the possibility of feeding those aspects into the general pattern, then determining whether other constructs can or cannot be staged mutually with the first construct.

Ooh.

Well, back to Fuller-Ossoli-- She's on to A Record of Impressions of Mr. Allson's Pictures in the Summer of 1839.

"I seemed to recognise in painting that self-possessedelegance, that transparent depth, which I most admire in liaturere; I thought with delight that such a man as this had been able to grow up in our bustling, reasonable community, that he had kept hsi foot upon the ground, yet never lost sight of the rose-clouds of beauty floating above him" (109-110).

The operative concept here seems to be transparence. The relations to Emerson's images of transcendance and transparency describe something of the aesthetic to which Fuller refers. Transparency may involve an alignment of molecules or surfaces. Thus glass is transparent while it lays as melted or poured. Light passes through the aligned surface with little reflection. We see ground glass as white because light of various frequences bounces from the various surfaces. Likewise one considers the moment of recognition as one of clarity or transparency because factors under consideration align; one can also thereby ignore certain aspects of them, because these can be assumed to be in alignment. One can consider other aspects that would normally have to be bracked away from consideration. On has the impression of great or universal perception.

American Literature --

She bops through a few near-contemporaries, admitting a general lack in amlit, but noting Dr. Channing, a Unitarian preacher near to the transcendentalist movement; and JF Cooper, more noted for his faults than blessings, though we're still awaiting Twain on this one. I guess the Sage of Concord must be Emerson, though she ought to say. She disses Longfellow as elegant but "artificial and imitative," Lowell as less. Emerson's mentioned differently, so the Sage above is probably Channing, or the elder Channing. There is also William Ellery Channing "nephew and namesake of Dr. C."

As to the stage of development, she mentions "those who find the theatres of this city well filled all the year round by an audience willing to sit out the heroisms of Rolla" (134). The city is probably New York. She goes on to complain of the play, but the people are there.

". . . the most important part of our literature, wile the work of diffusion is still going on, likes in teh journals, which monthly, weekly, daily, send their messages to every corner of this great land, and form, at present, the only efficient for the general education of the people.
Among these, the Magazines take the lowest rank. Their object is principally to cater for the amusement of vacant hours, and as there is not a great deal of wit and light talkent in this country, they do not even this to much advantage. More wit, grace, and elegant trifling, embellish the annals of literatuer in one day of France than in a year of America.
"The Reviews are more able. If they cannot compare, on equal terms, with those of France, England, and Germany, where, if genius be rare, at least a vast amount of talent and culture arebrought to bear upon all the department so fknowlege, there are yet very creditable to a new country . . . " (137-138).

Swedenborgism ---

"The claim to be the New Church, or peculiarly the founders of a New Jerusalem, is like exclusive claims to the title of Orthodox. We have no sympathy with it" (160).

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Owen Wister

Wister, Owen. The Virginian. NY: Barnes & Noble, 2005.

How can I write about Owen Wister? I feel like I'm ratting out family.

Wister gives a terribly romantic view of all this, but it's all massively familiar. I feel like I'm rooting Grandpa's Field and Stream's from the Forbidden Basement under the lizard's oven, sitting between old men with hearing aids and the odor of Hoppe's #9 floating around, or fingering the .22 case on my bedstand to think of my father.

I should probably reflect on how much of my ethical heritage derives from bad dialog and faux cowboys, but I'll leave it off for discouraging.

Let's leave it with this:


  • The woman has to release her will over the V's violence to wed him. This is supposedly to do with her releasing her hold on class superiority and eastern niceties -- but that would seem a little optimist about the East and downright fanciful about the upper classes. This is supposedly plain-guy, populist stuff. Just how populist Wister's sentiments really are can be seen in much of what follows here.

  • Wister grossly misrepresents relations between labor and management on the ranch in the expanding West. There's nothing about people railroaded and forced off their lands, for instance. (one might look to Frank Norris' The Octopus for comparison). The closest thing to worker organization is dismissed as cattle rustling, the act of lynching not only excused but lionized, defended at length by a character to whom Wister attributes education and legal background. The closest thing to a labor leader is a Snydley Whiplash named "Trampas" (Spanish for tricks, traps, or betrayals). He decides to get too drunk to shoot and call the V out, principally because that certain time of the book had arrived when his character had to be done away with so that V could marry.

  • (see pp 198-202 for an extremist anti-union charade).

  • The only good injun is a daid injun, or thereabouts. Wister scoffs at the notion of peaceful Indians, but shows the whites debating whether to raid an Indian village because unidentified Indians may have attacked someone on the road.

  • The character is so zugnisch that one feels like appending a recording of the old Lenny Bruce routine, "Thank You Masked Man."

  • The Virginian invests in land and becomes a capitalist, embodying Wister's imagination that the old venturesome spirit of the ranch-hand laborers (who else drove cattle and fought Indians and thieves?). He's told Shorty that Shorty should have just saved his money up to buy land; notwithstanding, Shorty is paid less because he's not as good a hand; also, he sends money back to a sweetheart back east, he has to sell his horse to get by. So Wister is taking the morés of the cattle men -- thoroughly romanticized, granted -- and pasting them onto these managerial types. So we continue today with the idea that the businessmen are in some kind of adventure, that our "Indians" in whatever place we're invading at the moment cannot be peaceful, pretending that Iraq has a civil war instead of a war iagainst occupation.



But then, I've got to say, I still miss Bodie.