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Post by solgroupie on Jan 24, 2011 15:14:52 GMT -5
read & loved head and shoulders today. loved horace and marcia - loved the dialogue between them. it kind of made me wish it was longer, but it probably would not have been nearly as entertaining. but when you opened your door at the rap of life you let in many things. damn well said.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Jan 24, 2011 23:30:45 GMT -5
Honorable Mention Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?(1965)Joyce Carol Oates[/center][/color] I still teach this one on occasion. It always amazes me how many people want to think that Arnold Friend is literally Satan. In fact, it amazes me so much, that I've started to wonder if I'm wrong for thinking that that isn't the point.
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Post by callipygias on Jan 25, 2011 0:59:57 GMT -5
It always amazes me how many people want to think that Arnold Friend is literally Satan. In fact, it amazes me so much, that I've started to wonder if I'm wrong for thinking that that isn't the point. Seems like that story--and specifically Arnold Friend--would be either very interesting or very frustrating to teach; talk about open to interpretation, Friend is about impossible to pin down. Spine-chillingly terrifying one sentence, then in the next his hair moves like it might be a wig or he takes a lurching step forward or something. He goes from supernatural fiend to defective poser and back and back and back, somehow becoming spookier the whole time.
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Post by callipygias on Jan 25, 2011 1:02:47 GMT -5
read & loved head and shoulders today. loved horace and marcia - loved the dialogue between them. it kind of made me wish it was longer, but it probably would not have been nearly as entertaining. but when you opened your door at the rap of life you let in many things. damn well said. I wish I had an extra copy of his collected short stories to send you, I bet you'd like a bunch of them. Bernice Bobs Her Hair comes to mind.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Jan 31, 2011 10:53:14 GMT -5
Hey, calli...do your list and your comments count as "studying" these stories? If so, aren't they destroying your enjoyment of them? teehee...
But, seriously, in regards to the "scholarly book on MST" thing, what's the difference, apart maybe from scale and detail, between what you're doing here and "studying something academically"? I mean, you've said that you not only read the stories and enjoyed them, but you've also looked around on the internet for what other people have thought. Does that count as studying something? That's all I really do when I work on an essay or ask my students to do a research paper. "Academic" studying is just a way of talking about reactions to literature, too.
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Post by callipygias on Jan 31, 2011 11:33:32 GMT -5
I'll treat your question as a kind-hearted one.
As I said in my initial post in my initial list thread, this is all brand new to me. I remember saying something about not wanting to think away the magic of the stories, or something (no time to check now, I have to run to work). That was my biggest concern, and even though I've gotten used to it, somewhat, it's still my biggest concern. A big part of why I started doing this was because of the relative inactivity of, and my part in, the then new library. As difficult and unnatural as it was, it ended up being very rewarding, and I learned a ton more than I would've thought.
But you could hardly call my posts academically inspired or inspiring -- or even academically sound, for that matter. It's half-miraculous that most of my posts don't say, "It's AWESOME! Seriously, read it, it's sooo cool!" Sometimes they're a little descriptive, sometimes I talk a little about the author in a general way, but I rarely say anything approaching serious study. When I do talk about those things it's in a very basic, layman's kind of way, I'm sure.
The closest I've actually come to ruining anything, novel or short story, is the "looking around" part you mentioned. I'm learning to look in a certain way, though, and where I find points that interest me without giving me that "I'm not listening LA LA LA LA" feeling it's been great.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Jan 31, 2011 11:58:10 GMT -5
Of course it's kind-hearted. I just always sound like a jerk. It's my charm. But the question was meant to be kind of pushing/challenging. Part of what I try to do in my lit classes is to show people that analyzing and thinking really critically about literature is, while different, just as fun as plain old reading. And it doesn't have to destroy the magic at all. Now, if your only enjoyment of literature is "getting lost" or escaping into a story so that you forget other things, then, sure, you're not going to like analysis/criticism. But the moment you start thinking about the themes in a story or thinking about how the author did what they did, I win the argument. ;D For example, when you talk about Chandler’s “rhythm,” that’s analyzing his style. Sure, you didn’t write an essay, but even putting a label on something is already analysis. Or when you talk about how Hemingway can create a story that’s almost essentially about creating a character sketch: that’s formal craft analysis. Or what about this for Crane: “Like Red Badge, Death and the Child is full of Crane's hatred for war, his awe of the men who fight it, and his complete astoundment at its effect on nature.” That’s a statement that would work perfectly as the thesis statement of a critical essay focusing on thematic concerns. All “academic” writing does is ramp up those same insights with a lot of references to other similar work that helps you make your point even more specifically and powerfully, distinguishing it from other reactions, perhaps using an idea that someone had in another context that works well with this author, and on and on. So did your insights kill the magic? When you noticed the way that Bierce manipulates your perspective of time, did you appreciate it more or less? If more, then that means that analysis increased the magic because it helped you focus on what was wonderful rather than just going “whoa!” It also gave you something to come back to once that initially adrenaline rush of newness and surprise wears off, and you can reread the story even when you know exactly what’s going to happen and STILL be impressed. The reason I decided to study/teach literature is because I remember back in high school stumbling on to a book of essays on Poe. I'd read most of his stories by that point, and I'd really liked them all...but I probably couldn't have told you why. Or I would have said something like, "I love how dark they are!" ...but that didn't really explain to me what I was experiencing when I read them. But those essays, pure academic scholarship through and through, offered all kinds of ideas about how writers create suspense, about psychoanalytic insights, about Poe's biography, all sorts of potential explanations that made my mind race. The stories were alive more than they ever had been for me, and I reread them again with so many new ideas that it was like reading completely different stories again. It was like I'd been seeing them with one color-blind eye before, but now I had full-color, 3d vision. It's that same experience that I'm always after, and always have been, when I do my "academic" thing and when I have my students write research papers. A story isn't just something you experience while you're sitting there with the paper in your hands. In fact, the most intense reading experiences I've ever had usually come long after the first time I've read something, usually after I've had some ideas, tried to formulate them, discarded some of them, heard what other people said, and all that stuff bubbles until I get some massive intuition of "OH! THAT'S what that was all about!" And suddenly the book becomes this huge living thing again. So, yeah, I'm biased. But I'm biased because I've seen the truth.
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Post by callipygias on Feb 1, 2011 3:03:29 GMT -5
I had a friend in school who couldn't understand why I didn't want to know the lyrics to some of my favorite songs. This reminds me of that, in a way.
Finding your truth is great, mummi, and I appreciate the passion you have for it, but there are lots of truths. My ways are not your ways ~ Fred Burroughs. I'm interested in your opinions--I'm extremely interested in your recommendations (I haven't posted yet on how much I love Bramah)--but remember I'm not one of your students. In fact, if an instructor posted that last at me I'd be considering a drop after the third little paragraph. Not for the mildly adversarial tone (challenging, if you prefer), but for the two extreme options presented: analytical reading or escapist reading. The possible escapist reader insult (by elimination) doesn't bother me a fraction as much as all that ignored space between the two.
As to some of your questions, of course you're right that to some extent we all analyze, the only reason I don't think I should apply that word is because the things I post are hardly worthy of it, but if you think it applies, to whatever extent, I'll take it. Part of the problem here is that things have changed from where this started in Gen Chat. Maybe it's simply because literature and MST are so different, or maybe it's that I'm slowly being broken in to a slightly more analytical view of the things I read because of these lists, I'm not sure. Maybe it's just the difference between analyze and over-analyze as I understand them.
If I had to guess I'd say I've found my happy place--my happiest medium place--where I still read as much with my guts as my brain, but where I'm willing to scan nerdswerds to get everything I want from a thing, and where I'll sometimes specifically search for more info on an aspect of a story or character or author when it occurs to me. Maybe not though, maybe the books-about-books shelf will turn into a books-about-books case, and I'll end up a scholarly bastard if ever there was. BUT I'll stop a skinny hair short of guaranteeing it will never reach MST. Not to say MST's more important than reading, because reading is numero uno, and not to say MST wouldn't stand up to scrutiny, because it does, but I'm relatively sure I'll never go there.
But like I said from the very start, that's just me.
This is starting to feel like it might do better in Observer's Brain, though. Not many come into the Library (except to post: Title, author), fewer yet into this thread.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Feb 1, 2011 9:34:59 GMT -5
Moved to Observers in case anyone else wants to bug in.
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Post by callipygias on Feb 2, 2011 2:18:12 GMT -5
#16 "That In Aleppo Once..."(1943)Vladimir Nabokov[/center][/color] This is probably the most often read story on my list (by me, I mean). It's like an abbreviated Euro- Lolita; at just about 9 pages, it manages to be nearly as complex and just as confusing. The story is a kind of confessional letter its main character has written to his friend in the U.S. (referred to as V.) involving him and his very young wife as they attempt to get out of France, to the U.S., after the Germans invade. He invites V. to write his story, which V. apparently does. From what Nabokov I've read, saying he repeats themes is an understatement, it's more like obsessions, and a compulsion to go back and back and back to them. Death, mature men and very young girls, JEALOUSY, self-deceit, uh... bugs, and plenty of other stuff I can't think of right now, I'm sure. A couple of my favorite Nabokovy things include the relationship between author and narrator (which appreciation comes directly from a critical work I read on the subject/author--score one for the bad guy!), and the second thing, which is huge in Aleppo, is the uncertainty and inconclusiveness of it all. Like when we learn a little from the narrator about his wife before he tells us he's quite sure she never existed, and how right after finding out how heartbroken she is at having unforgivably left the family dog behind, we're told they never had a dog. Nabokov is maybe the most enjoyable author to study on, for me. Ironic he'd come up now. I wish his collected stories were annotated, as he seems to cram in the references. But even when he's thoughtful enough to explain them himself they're still fascinating, like his narrator's comparison of himself (and his immature bride) to Pushkin and Othello (and their immature brides), one factual, one fictional. Couldn't be perfecter. Anyone else I might assume that was a happy coincidence, with Nabokov, who knows? Vladimir Nabokov
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Post by callipygias on Feb 5, 2011 19:27:45 GMT -5
#15 A Good Man is Hard to Find(1953)Flannery O'Connor[/center][/color] O'Connor's characters, especially her mature female ones, are among the most complexly realistic characters I've ever read, regardless of the length of the story, and though I include the grandmother from Good Man in that group, there'll be a better time for that topic. A Good Man Is Hard to Find has something everything for everyone, from the analytical heathen to the thoughtful Christian to the thoughtless Christian to the curious and mighty man-monkey. ONE!sies: You're totaly missing the point O'Conners cynickly expounding upon the meaninglessness of mans existense! Twooshbag: Yeah, Hitler, just completely ignore the grandmother's Transformation to Grace why don't you. ONE!sies: YOU'R Hitler! And you forgot a question mark! Threaceful: That's enough, you two. Golly. Fact is that O'Connor's true purpose of presenting the human condition is easily discerned from her sometimes subtle, sometimes blunt symbolism; this becomes clearer upon close comparison of The Misfit & The Grandmother (AGMIHTF), and Tom T. Shiftlet & Lucynell Crater the greater (TLYSMBYO). Fourbes: It's good. Twooshbag: Good analysis. Fourbes: It's really good. ONE!sies: Leave her alone twoshbag shes right: it IS good, it's a good dark comedy! Twooshbag: Right, except for the existential nightmare that is the life of the Faithless. Except that tiny detail. The dinks are all right. Even Fourbes. Add all those opinions together and it feels like I'm on my way to understanding about a third of what all is in Good Man. They didn't even scrape the South. Miss O'Connor's stories are all about the operations of supernatural grace in the lives of natural men and women. Such operations are infinitely various but so delicate that they have eluded some of the subtlest writers. Caroline Gordon: novelist, lit crit ... Her few books will live on and on in American literature. They are narrow, possibly, but they are clear, hard, vivid, and full of bits of description, phrases, and an odd insight that contains more real poetry than a dozen books of poems. Elizabeth Bishop: Poet Laureate of the United States 1949-50, possessoress of the cutest little button nose: Flannery O'Connor & self-portrait She would of been a good woman, The Misfit said, if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.
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Post by callipygias on Feb 13, 2011 13:19:51 GMT -5
#14.5 Two Soldiers(1942)William Faulkner[/center][/color] The only Faulkner in my top fifty. Two Soldiers is told from the perspective of the younger of two brothers in a poor country family with an ineffectual father and a long suffering mother (sound familiar?), where the older brother, Pete, is all but worshiped by the younger brother/narrator. It's Faulkner's response to the attack on Pearl Harbor, they say, and it's just about the most beautiful little storylette I've ever read. Pete and his little brother spend evenings hiding on a neighbor's porch secretly listening to the radio programs playing inside. On the night when the story begins the news comes over the radio of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, and not long after, Pete decides to enlist. Rather than write directly about war, Faulkner chose to tell his story from the perspective of one of his most remarkable young characters: a little boy unwilling to be left behind. In fact, the boy reminds me more of Thomas Sutpen ( Absalom, Absalom!) than just about any other character I can think of at the moment; I mean, compared to Sutpen the boy is Aristotle Locke, Jr., but when Pete leaves for the army the boy turns into a single-minded, unstoppable little Juggernaut of will and desire bound only to find and serve his brother, to follow him to and through war, fetching water and firewood and such. His odyssey to find his brother in the big city is full of miraculous discoveries as the boy goes from his primitive life on the farm--all he's ever known or seen--to the unimaginable enormity of Memphis. It's one of the best scenes I've ever read, and though it wasn't a focus of the Academy Award-winning short film, just about everything else about the film was near perfect. I can't recommend the short film highly enough. It was done by someone who truly cared for his subject--they mention on the commentary that the director/producer spent his entire life's savings on the production. It payed off. It'd be worth the $$ just for the little boy's performance (as good a performance by a child as I've ever seen---as good as the little girl in The Fall, even), but they got everything just right. William Faulkner
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Post by callipygias on Feb 16, 2011 2:49:00 GMT -5
#14 Bartleby the Scrivener(1853)Herman Melville[/center][/color] Even with the unrestrained weirdness of Poe and Gogol and the previously mentioned crazy-assedness of Kafka, I think Bartleby is the most fundamentally strange short story I've ever read. It's narrated by a loquacious, vain, elderly lawyer who employs two moderately troublesome copyists, Turkey and Nippers, prior to hiring Bartleby, whom he sees as "pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn... motionless." I engaged him, glad to have among my corps of copyists a man of so singularly sedate an aspect, which I thought might operate beneficially upon the flighty temper of Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers. Everything goes well, Bartleby works on, day and night, "silently, palely, mechanically," (my favorite description of Bartleby's ways is, "cadaverously gentlemanly nonchalance") until, one day, when asked to do a simple, ordinary task pertaining to his everyday work, Bartleby replies, timidly but firmly, "I would prefer not to." I sat a while in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties. Immediately it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby had entirely misunderstood my meaning. ... I repeated my request in the clearest tone I could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the previous reply, "I would prefer not to." ... Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the least uneasiness, anger, impatience, or impertinence in his manner; in other words, had there been any thing ordinarily human about him... I should have violently dismissed him from the premises. For the narrator--I'll call him Ahab--things just get worse. Bartleby, pale and white, prefers to do less and less, while Ahab becomes understandably more and more confused and uncertain. It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some unprecedented and violently unreasonable way, he begins to stagger in his own plainest faith. ...Accordingly, if any disinterested persons are present, he turns to them for some reinforcement for his own faltering mind. "Turkey," said I, "...am I not right?" There are so many reasons to love this story, but the one thing that will probably keep it in print long after English stops being spoken is the trait it shares with its title character: inscrutability. I don't think I've read any other story this wide open to interpretation, with every interpretation seeming viable! It could be that Melville recognized the ascent of Wall Street as a way of life and this was his response to it, similar to his short story about the coming industrial revolution, Tartarus of Maids. It could be another "literary double" thing; an idea I'm drawn to, as I always seem to like that sort of thing (the Turkey and Nippers "double echo" would support that, and the narrator's personality sure seems conducive to it). This last time I read Bartleby I couldn't get the Ahab/Moby Dick thing out of my mind; I think it simply came from the constant pale/pallid references, but I kept drawing comparisons from lines like, "Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance," and I don't know how easy that'll be to back up. And many, many, MANY more theories abound, apparently. While it may be some or all of those things, it most definitely is a beautiful, humorous, pathetic story about a man with a puzzling little albatross stuck to him. A pale one. Herman Melville
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Post by callipygias on Feb 16, 2011 2:53:00 GMT -5
Man, that has to be the longest one of these I've done yet. Melville is one of the few writers I'd like to be able to go back in time to talk to. For one I'd like to ask him about this story, but mostly I'd like to tell him how appreciated his work became. I'd wear this shirt. Whoopsie. Take two.... Next I want to find one that says, "Turkey, am I not right?"
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Post by solgroupie on Feb 16, 2011 12:13:50 GMT -5
" spot on earl imitation.
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