(Richard Long- A Line in Japan, Mount Fuji, 1979)
Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.
(Dylan Thomas- Twenty Four Years)
MUSIC.
Mainly it's been Arvo Pärt's beautiful Tabula Rasa that's been e-spinning on my laptop recently. In a similar way to the fact I find my admiration for Caspar David Friedrich's overtly religious paintings a bit strange, in an abstract sort of way I feel I ought to find Pärt's music offputting, as again they're (supposedly) primarily religious in character. (He's been called the "foremost composer of minimalist devotional music" and this work in particular "the pinaccle of the 'Holy Minimalist' movement") But, as ever, abstraction ignores the music- and Tabula Rasa (literally: "blank/clean slate") is heart-stoppingly beautiful. The "religious composer" tag is, I think, something of a misnomer: I'm sure it informs his compositions a great deal, but it's not something I think I'd've guessed at hearing the pieces 'cold'. Rather, this is wonderfully concentrated, contemplative stuff: two violins, prepared piano; two movements- and to simply leap from 'contemplative' straight to 'necessarily religious' seems a tad lazy. Needless to say, the religious don't necessarily have a lock upon the concept of 'contemplation- regardless of the personal beliefs of the composer. Death of the author, innit!
Anyway. An exquisite little ocean of calm, and something I've been playing a great deal. It feels as though it manages to articulate the infinite wonder of the universe as a whole.
Below is first movement Ludus- my favourite of the two, the second, Silentium, I couldn't find whole on youtube.
_______
BOOKS.
In keeping with the whole 'infinity' theme that seems to have developed (and though not a particularly RECENT ENTHUSIASM), I'd like to talk a little bit about David Foster Wallace's wonderful novel, 1996's Infinite Jest.
It's hard not to merely recapitulate what many others have said about this book- there's certain salient features that kind of beg to be mentioned: the unbelievably extensive footnoting; the vivacity and inventiveness of Wallace's prose; the daring and brilliance of some of his conceits; the heinously complex and self-consciously surreal plot(s); its sheer length (w/footnotes IJ comes to something like 1100 pages, +/-)... It's a list that has the potential to be extended for a very, very long time: this book is brimful of ideas, devices, themes and just straight up hellaciously interesting stuff. To the point where, regardless of whether you actually enjoy the thing, as with any project of this scale, it kinda demands admiration, at the very least.1
So I'm kind of spoilt for choice as to what I discuss here: do I talk about Eschaton's hilarious mix of tennis prowess (large chunks of the novel are set in an academy for promising tennis players, by the way) and simulated global thermonuclear war utilising only tennis paraphenalia and a mobile mainframe computer? The (quite literally) lethally entertaining film Infinite Jest that gives the book its title, and attempts to locate said film by Quebecios separatists? The sly, constant parodying of (among a great many other things) latter-dayconsumer culture? The manifold and frankly bizarre subplots? The vividly sketched characters occupying the AA meetings and halfway houses that populate this tome? The ferocious sense of humour; the puns? Or even just pick apart grammatical things like the Wittgenstein-esque, ever-present '...', indicating a non-reply/lack of speech- or even, say, just the fiercely convoluted syntax? These are all important, probably vitally so, in explaining why I think the novel succeeds on so many levels- but I don't think, by and large, that they're the point.
Now a statement like that probably needs some unpicking, so here goes: all the 'postmodern-er than thou' stuff, DFW's "verbal high jinks"- they're kind of a side-show. They occassionally mask, and at other times reinforce, a wider, much deeper, and much more important message about human communication (and hence human experience), on a very basic level.2 Infinite Jest should, I think, be seen as the culmination of much of his work (both pre- and post-IJ's publication), much of which serve like great (in a physical size, rather than prestige/stature kind of way), separate expositional footnotes and illustrative addenda to IJ.3 Things like the Kenyon commencement speech, or the short stories The Depressed Person or Good Old Neon (which can be found both online and in the collection Oblivion: Stories) are primarily about "the existential angst that occurs when existential angst itself becomes a cliché",4 and at a very basic level how to deal with being alive.
It's something Jonathan Franzen pretty much nails down in the heartbreaking speech he gave at Dave's memorial service: his work is about exploring ways out of loneliness. It's about avoiding the "gut-level sadness" that seems inherent in Western culture. And it's certainly no accident that the unashamed, openly-accepted, comment-free 'sharing' that (apparently, I don't actually know for sure) goes on at AA meetings gets such frequent (if sometimes oblique) mention: that's, as I think he saw it, the main way to deal with the great (same sense of the word as above) destructive power of irony in rendering discourse lonely and essentially meaningless. If you're never sincere, never say what you mean, what does this add up too? And it's here that Infinite Jest's great (other sense, obviously) success is evident: espousing a basic message of sincerity, of unimpeded communication but doing it via the (literally) deconstructive tools of the ironist; using their own weapons in for a diametrically opposed purpose. You can see it in two therapist characters, one from IJ, one from aforementioned short story The Depressed Person: in the latter example, exaggerated to such an extent as to render the "value-neutral" approach taken is rendered ridiculous- it does the patient no good whatsoever, and exacerbates her condition; in the former case, Hal Incandenza's horrendously self-conscious approach to grief counselling totally impedes him from any kind of meaningful discourse.5 The artifice he erects stands between the two interlocutors, and it's no real wonder that Hal's a basket case. He's us- exaggerated, sure- but the essentials are all there. In both cases, and many others, Wallce is employing exaggeration to parody,-not to mention all the other staples of so-called 'maximalist postmodernism': incessant references to high and popular culture, rapid vaults through authorial register, authorial interruption, and etc. etc.- but for a purpose other than deconstruction. And this isn't even beginning to scrape the surface of much of Infinite Jest- and that, I think, is why it's such an essential book.
1. Admittedly the same is true of most immensely long novels- apart from those godawful fantasy ones that just go on and on and on, and that have characters named such that one gets a forehead-punchingly obvious distillation of that character's traits from name alone.
2. Again, what I'm saying here isn't a particularly new insight into the text, as you'll see when I start quoting people, but it's sure as hell an important one for understanding it, as far as I can see- especially when somewhere like Time Magazine gets it so spectacularly wrong. If there's one thing this book isn't, it's a "sendup of humanism at the end of its tether". Also, on this point, and many others, I'm especially indebted to Jon Baskin's fantastic essay on DFW, available here and probably a great deal more concise and interesting than this.
3. I mean, you could see it as the other way round, but that seems kind of obtuse and churlish- the smaller pieces, by definition, aren't a thousand pages long. Nothing screams 'defining, definitive artistic statement ahoy!' quite like length.
4. A turn of phrase I owe squarely to a wonderful article found here.
5. Again, a point owed the article of footnote #4.
_____
ART
(Richard Long- A Line Made by Walking, 1967)
Bristolian Richard Long's art isn't so much infinite as infintely beguiling: his subject, quite simply, is walking. Works are often stark descriptions of certain walks rendered without value-judgement, photographs of natural features rearranged subtly (see top) or altered (as just above) by the very process of walking, or the assembly of naturally occuring objects (rocks, primarily) into geometric, strangely pleasing patterns. It's oddly fascinating, and a lot more than it seems prima facie.
Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.
(Dylan Thomas- Twenty Four Years)
MUSIC.
Mainly it's been Arvo Pärt's beautiful Tabula Rasa that's been e-spinning on my laptop recently. In a similar way to the fact I find my admiration for Caspar David Friedrich's overtly religious paintings a bit strange, in an abstract sort of way I feel I ought to find Pärt's music offputting, as again they're (supposedly) primarily religious in character. (He's been called the "foremost composer of minimalist devotional music" and this work in particular "the pinaccle of the 'Holy Minimalist' movement") But, as ever, abstraction ignores the music- and Tabula Rasa (literally: "blank/clean slate") is heart-stoppingly beautiful. The "religious composer" tag is, I think, something of a misnomer: I'm sure it informs his compositions a great deal, but it's not something I think I'd've guessed at hearing the pieces 'cold'. Rather, this is wonderfully concentrated, contemplative stuff: two violins, prepared piano; two movements- and to simply leap from 'contemplative' straight to 'necessarily religious' seems a tad lazy. Needless to say, the religious don't necessarily have a lock upon the concept of 'contemplation- regardless of the personal beliefs of the composer. Death of the author, innit!
Anyway. An exquisite little ocean of calm, and something I've been playing a great deal. It feels as though it manages to articulate the infinite wonder of the universe as a whole.
Below is first movement Ludus- my favourite of the two, the second, Silentium, I couldn't find whole on youtube.
_______
BOOKS.
In keeping with the whole 'infinity' theme that seems to have developed (and though not a particularly RECENT ENTHUSIASM), I'd like to talk a little bit about David Foster Wallace's wonderful novel, 1996's Infinite Jest.
It's hard not to merely recapitulate what many others have said about this book- there's certain salient features that kind of beg to be mentioned: the unbelievably extensive footnoting; the vivacity and inventiveness of Wallace's prose; the daring and brilliance of some of his conceits; the heinously complex and self-consciously surreal plot(s); its sheer length (w/footnotes IJ comes to something like 1100 pages, +/-)... It's a list that has the potential to be extended for a very, very long time: this book is brimful of ideas, devices, themes and just straight up hellaciously interesting stuff. To the point where, regardless of whether you actually enjoy the thing, as with any project of this scale, it kinda demands admiration, at the very least.1
So I'm kind of spoilt for choice as to what I discuss here: do I talk about Eschaton's hilarious mix of tennis prowess (large chunks of the novel are set in an academy for promising tennis players, by the way) and simulated global thermonuclear war utilising only tennis paraphenalia and a mobile mainframe computer? The (quite literally) lethally entertaining film Infinite Jest that gives the book its title, and attempts to locate said film by Quebecios separatists? The sly, constant parodying of (among a great many other things) latter-dayconsumer culture? The manifold and frankly bizarre subplots? The vividly sketched characters occupying the AA meetings and halfway houses that populate this tome? The ferocious sense of humour; the puns? Or even just pick apart grammatical things like the Wittgenstein-esque, ever-present '...', indicating a non-reply/lack of speech- or even, say, just the fiercely convoluted syntax? These are all important, probably vitally so, in explaining why I think the novel succeeds on so many levels- but I don't think, by and large, that they're the point.
Now a statement like that probably needs some unpicking, so here goes: all the 'postmodern-er than thou' stuff, DFW's "verbal high jinks"- they're kind of a side-show. They occassionally mask, and at other times reinforce, a wider, much deeper, and much more important message about human communication (and hence human experience), on a very basic level.2 Infinite Jest should, I think, be seen as the culmination of much of his work (both pre- and post-IJ's publication), much of which serve like great (in a physical size, rather than prestige/stature kind of way), separate expositional footnotes and illustrative addenda to IJ.3 Things like the Kenyon commencement speech, or the short stories The Depressed Person or Good Old Neon (which can be found both online and in the collection Oblivion: Stories) are primarily about "the existential angst that occurs when existential angst itself becomes a cliché",4 and at a very basic level how to deal with being alive.
It's something Jonathan Franzen pretty much nails down in the heartbreaking speech he gave at Dave's memorial service: his work is about exploring ways out of loneliness. It's about avoiding the "gut-level sadness" that seems inherent in Western culture. And it's certainly no accident that the unashamed, openly-accepted, comment-free 'sharing' that (apparently, I don't actually know for sure) goes on at AA meetings gets such frequent (if sometimes oblique) mention: that's, as I think he saw it, the main way to deal with the great (same sense of the word as above) destructive power of irony in rendering discourse lonely and essentially meaningless. If you're never sincere, never say what you mean, what does this add up too? And it's here that Infinite Jest's great (other sense, obviously) success is evident: espousing a basic message of sincerity, of unimpeded communication but doing it via the (literally) deconstructive tools of the ironist; using their own weapons in for a diametrically opposed purpose. You can see it in two therapist characters, one from IJ, one from aforementioned short story The Depressed Person: in the latter example, exaggerated to such an extent as to render the "value-neutral" approach taken is rendered ridiculous- it does the patient no good whatsoever, and exacerbates her condition; in the former case, Hal Incandenza's horrendously self-conscious approach to grief counselling totally impedes him from any kind of meaningful discourse.5 The artifice he erects stands between the two interlocutors, and it's no real wonder that Hal's a basket case. He's us- exaggerated, sure- but the essentials are all there. In both cases, and many others, Wallce is employing exaggeration to parody,-not to mention all the other staples of so-called 'maximalist postmodernism': incessant references to high and popular culture, rapid vaults through authorial register, authorial interruption, and etc. etc.- but for a purpose other than deconstruction. And this isn't even beginning to scrape the surface of much of Infinite Jest- and that, I think, is why it's such an essential book.
1. Admittedly the same is true of most immensely long novels- apart from those godawful fantasy ones that just go on and on and on, and that have characters named such that one gets a forehead-punchingly obvious distillation of that character's traits from name alone.
2. Again, what I'm saying here isn't a particularly new insight into the text, as you'll see when I start quoting people, but it's sure as hell an important one for understanding it, as far as I can see- especially when somewhere like Time Magazine gets it so spectacularly wrong. If there's one thing this book isn't, it's a "sendup of humanism at the end of its tether". Also, on this point, and many others, I'm especially indebted to Jon Baskin's fantastic essay on DFW, available here and probably a great deal more concise and interesting than this.
3. I mean, you could see it as the other way round, but that seems kind of obtuse and churlish- the smaller pieces, by definition, aren't a thousand pages long. Nothing screams 'defining, definitive artistic statement ahoy!' quite like length.
4. A turn of phrase I owe squarely to a wonderful article found here.
5. Again, a point owed the article of footnote #4.
_____
ART
(Richard Long- A Line Made by Walking, 1967)Bristolian Richard Long's art isn't so much infinite as infintely beguiling: his subject, quite simply, is walking. Works are often stark descriptions of certain walks rendered without value-judgement, photographs of natural features rearranged subtly (see top) or altered (as just above) by the very process of walking, or the assembly of naturally occuring objects (rocks, primarily) into geometric, strangely pleasing patterns. It's oddly fascinating, and a lot more than it seems prima facie.
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