Monday, January 20, 2020

As we are mock’d with art – a review and a preview – guest-starring Ian McKellen

How I enjoy “year in review” posts on book blogs.  I read all of yours.  Well, I was celebrating the holiday and then on vacation, and my reading of all kinds suffers, so I can say I looked at all of your “best books of 2019” posts.  I enjoyed them to the extent of my power.

The best book I read last year was The Iliad (8th century BC), an old friend that I have read four or five times.  That’s a lot, for me.  In London, I saw “Ian McKellen on Stage,” a one man show.  In the first half, McKellen made a running joke about everyone, including heores like Edmund Hillary, insisting on telling him that “I read The Lord of the Rings every year!”  McKellen said he had never read it at all until he was cast in it.

He seemed a little skeptical of the whole “every year thing.”  But this is a guy who puts on the same show every night, twice on Wednesdays.  It has never occurred to me to have a book that I read every year, but apparently I read The Iliad every ten years.

The next best “book” I read was the poems of Sappho (say 6th century BC), as translated by Guy Davenport in 7 Greeks.  Perhaps that entire astonishing book should fill this slot – Archilochos, Haraclitus, Diogenes.  And next would be The Winter’s Tale (1611, maybe), you know, Shakespeare.

McKellen spent the second half of his show talking about nothing but Shakespeare, reciting famous chunks, telling stories about productions, opinionating.  “I have nothing to say about Troilus and Cressida,” at one extreme, and quite a lot to say about Macbeth on the other.  About The Winter’s Tale, he said it was marvelous “until the action moves into the countryside and the play goes all” – and McKellen made a combination of deflating noise and wriggling hand gesture that I will interpret as “soggy.”  “But then in the last act” – yes, yes, in the last act.  I pulled the phrase in the post’s title from the last act, scene 3.

Last May, during the ill-fated readalong of Henrik Pontoppidan’s big Danish “tormented atheist” novel Lucky Per (1898-1904), I remember seeing a couple of readalongers say that the novel was the best thing they had read all year – they were not too far into Pontoppidan at that point, I guess – and I remember thinking that I had, earlier in 2019, read The Radetzky March (1930), The Age of Innocence (1920), The Tower (Yeats, I mean, 1928), prime Marianne Moore, Robert Frost, and Wallace Stevens, plus that Shakespeare play.  And that was just in January.

I read a lot of really great books.  Perhaps I read too many great books.  What do I think I am doing with it all?  What is the point?  I am mocked with art.  Maybe I should space the best stuff out more.  I would be interested in reading that argument.  Maybe I should write that argument.

Plans:  1. Last year, I read quite a lot of books from the 1920s, and felt that I learned a lot, so I suppose this year I will read mostly books from the 1930s, and if I am fortunate I will learn something from that.  2. Keep reading in French.  3. Read less, write more.

38 comments:

  1. I hope to read that one. It is, or once was, the 6th best crime novel of all time.

    Yet I doubt it will be as high as the 6th best book I read in 2020.

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  2. Which Iliad did you read? I mean, by which translator? [I am making a perhaps hasty assumption that you did not read it in classical Greek].

    My favorite book of the year was George Thornley's 1657 translation of Daphnis and Chloe, which scholar William McCulloh argues was strongly influenced by Sappho (not just because both wrote from the island of Lesbos). So Sappho is definitely on my list for this year.

    Wonderful that you got to see Ian McKellan doing a one person show. I attended one at the Westwood Playhouse in LA at least 30 years ago, and I still remember parts of it like yesterday, especially his unpacking of the "sound and fury" speech from Macbeth while acting it all out.

    Very much looking forward to whatever you do in 2020 here on Wuthering Expectations.

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  3. Is it possible to read too many great books? The answer to that, I think, is no. But your next questions: What do I think I am doing with it all? What is the point? To that I would like an answer. The answer for me is not to read less, write more. I already have filled more Midori inserts than I know what to do with. Besides, my reading did not flourish in 2019. I will have to read more. Perhaps comment more. But, I still am not sure of the point of any of it other than to have some sort of fellowship with one another.

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  4. I read Lattimore again. I have no idea who I might have read as a youth, the first couple of times. Whatever was in the library.

    I've only read bits of D&C. It's that good? Or is the 17th century English the good part?

    Now, 30 years ago, did McKellen have a whole bit in his act about famous people misspelling his name, in just the way you did? It's in the act now, anyways.

    Yes, Meredith, comment more! Always a good idea. Well, no, that is not true. Often a good idea. Commenting more here is always a good idea. Commenting elsewhere - case by case.

    My reading is so much more selfish than yours. I mostly read to learn (and mostly to learn about literature), and then some other nice things, Truth and Beauty and all that, sometimes come along as well.

    I hope you find better books this year. I plan to join on the Japanese Challenge soon. When I was reading mostly 19th century I had the excuse that there wasn't much (great) Japanese literature (available in English). But in the early 20th century, Soseki, Tanizaki, etc. obliterated that excuse. So I should read them.

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    1. I had a feeling I was getting McKellen's name wrong - even when it was right up top for me to check. *sigh*

      Yes, I think D&C is that good even without Thornley (I also read a bit of a 20th century version in the Loeb Library). The supposedly great translation, though, is the French one by Jacques Amylot, preceding Thornley by 8 years, so if you're looking to read more books in French... I mean, my French is a lot better than it used to be, but I really don't know how I'd do with un français suranné. The Twayne series book on Longus by William E. McCulloh, though, makes for a terrific follow-up, enormously informative and entertaining.

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    2. Oh good heavens. Amyot, not Amylot. I've done it again.

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    3. I really thought that maybe you were quoting his act, that maybe it was an old bit. I guess it's a new bit, which makes sense. The more famous he is, the funnier it is that people misspell his name.

      The Amyot translation does not look too bad, as long as some kind editor modernizes the spelling for me. Some notes would be nice, too.

      Same with the English, come to think of it. "Right vnder the hollowe rifing of this caue..."

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  5. “I mostly read to learn (and mostly to learn about literature), and then some other nice things, Truth and Beauty and all that, sometimes come along as well.” Nor selfish, wonderful! I read to learn, too.

    So glad to hear that you may be joining us in the Japanese Literature Challenge 13. I just read a Kawabata that I can’t stop thinking about. And, I have some Soseki to get to, too.

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  6. I have hardly read any 20th century Japanese literature. A little Kawabata, for some reason several Mishima books, some poetry anthologies. That might be about it.

    I am browsing my own blog to see if I have forgotten anything. Not so badly read on the old stuff, a couple of giants (Genji, Heike) excepted. Hey, Jiro Osaragi, I should track down one of his novels, since I visited his house.

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    1. I have long been meaning to/wanting to read Genji, Heike. Maybe this year will be the one to do that.

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    2. I keep saying the same thing! I have picked up each of those books at least twice this month. I have also put them back. We'll see, we'll see.

      Maybe some Genji this summer. Then with Genji finished, Heike will be a 700-page breeze.

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  7. What is the point? I think sometimes it is just to be glutted with fiction.

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  8. Oh sure, the glut, the immersion in a series that goes on forever. Or that is what the term makes me think of.

    I would think that "really great" books would be an obstacle to the pleasures of the glut. The gluttist might be better off with worse books, easier books.

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    1. Possibly yes, one way of looking at it is how fast one can cram in everything that is good, even great. I was thinking of the point of reading great works in terms of a lifetime. What is the point? To inflate oneself with greatness before expiring. Perhaps at a certain point it's best to cram in all the great stuff as fast as possible, in case you die before you can get to all of it.
      You have started me off on what might become an entire post.

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  9. I would enjoy reading that post.

    Is it possible to over-inflate with greatness? To be bloated with greatness? Or does over-inflation just improve fuel efficiency?

    Whatever happens after death, I am sure there will be no quiz about what I have read. But sometimes I act like I think there'll be a quiz.

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    1. Here is the post https://necromancyneverpays.wordpress.com/2020/01/27/glutted-with-greatness/

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    2. Excellent. I'll come over and say something. I assume this is not a crowd that has embraced the joy of argument.

      The problem with the word "great" surprises me. It is a commonly used word.

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  10. I certainly didn't read anything as good as The Iliad last year, but at least many of the books I did read were better than Lucky Per.

    I don't know why we read, either. To know the world, or something like that. I don't know why I write. I really don't know why I occasionally blog. I'm glad people blog about reading, though. A cornucopia, a feast for all us gluttons.

    In 2020 I'm going to read more Japanese novels. Probably sticking close to Kawabata and Mishima, but it's something. Also, more Chinese poetry from, say, around 1500 years ago. I see why Pound was so mad about the stuff. Some of it's just breathtaking.

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  11. Well, I read because I love reading. My question is, really, why do I read such good books? Most people who love reading spend their time with much worse books. Oh, so much worse. If book blogs have shown me anything - anyway, they seem happy.

    If I can get writing today, I will at least gesture at one possible argument against reading so many great books.

    Excepting T'ang Chinese poetry or whatever. We are really blessed at his point with translations of Classical Chinese poetry. Each translator kinda add a different tone.

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  12. I think that the best book blogs might show that the number of "such good books" is much, much larger than we've imagined, so perhaps rationing out the great books rather than just reading them nonstop might not be necessary or desirable. I've been reading a lot of nonfiction over the last two years, and it's making me kind of edgy. I would like to spend some time wallowing in masterpieces.

    There must be a whole world of popular/mainstream book blogging about which I know nothing at all. One more reason I don't have an agent.

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  13. Well, "today's" post, will not, it turns out, write itself, thereby becoming tomorrow's post.

    Otherwise - the best book blogs, right, I was not exactly thinking about those. Several years ago I followed, with some degree of attention, about two hundred book blogs, some of which were more in that popular/mainstream category. I learned a lot, I can tell you that. I had thought that the fantasy, generally, like mine, was to be a critic, but for a number of people the fantasy is to be a publicist. I suppose I would have to go to Booktube to see how things have progressed, but I don't know how to skim videos.

    Anyway, I vote for wallowing in a masterpiece. Rather than write something, or read any of the other books I have going, I started The Man without Qualities, which so far is hilarious.

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  14. I'm reading Genji now, in snatches when I feel up to it, and I can tell you right now, it's rough going. Not because of any alleged mysterious inscrutability -- I'm not having any trouble following plot or characters (I've got the Royall Tyler version, which reads very well) -- but because (SPOILER) it's so damn rapey. Basically, every chapter is about the gorgeous, well-born young prince seeing (or hearing, or hearing about) a woman who takes his fancy, sneaking into her bedroom at night, ignoring her outcries, and having his way with her. I had been reading it to my wife, and she bailed out when he seized a lovely ten-year-old girl whose parents had died and carried her off to his lair to groom for later. She told me I could read it by myself and start reading it to her again if and when it got out of that pattern. So I asked my brother (a big Genji fan who's been pestering me for years to read it) if it kept going that way, and he reluctantly admitted that it did. "But it's so wonderful!" The last time I've experienced such a gap between popular/critical enthusiasm for a book and what the book actually felt like to read was with Gogol's Taras Bulba (see my outraged post). I'll finish it, because it's hard for me to give up on a book and it may improve, but right now, as I say, it's hard going. Caveat lector.

    As for 1930s reading, I have three words for you: William Cuthbert Faulkner.

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  15. Genji is up there with - oh, not Proust, but getting there - in terms of how much I have read about the book. So there are no spoilers for me, at least, in that comment.

    If your last three words mean what I think they mean, I will say that I do plan to revisit a lot of Faulkner. I read a lot of his books, almost all of them, many years ago. I just finished Sanctuary again, speaking of rapey, which I took on vacation partly because it is one of the easy ones.

    Among the best book blogs, given their other interests, Faulkner is the most under-read author I can think of.

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  16. I should add that I don't demand nice books about nice people; I read Russian literature, for God's sake. But there's no distancing, no implicit criticism except that every once in a while he feels vaguely bad about dumping some woman he seduced. This ain't Humbert Humbert, this is a guy we're apparently supposed to admire as much as everyone in the novel does.

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  17. If your last three words mean what I think they mean

    Yes, sorry, I just had an attack of cuteness. I figured you'd read him, but everyone should read him more often, including me. I agree that he appears to be the most under-read great author these days.

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  18. Yes, in Sanctuary the rapist is a monster, some form of walking evil, not the hero for a thousand pages!

    The "international fiction / literature in translation" crowd maybe does not know how much Faulkner is intertwined with so much of what they read.

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  19. I read Iliad last year as well, but I know I read it poorly, because it seemed more like hard work than great literature--at least while I was reading it. Thinking and reading about it since, I realize how much I missed. It demands a reread. Which is how I know it's great.

    Lots of good comments here, too. I keep meaning to read more Faulkner (is he underread because of reputation of difficulty? what I've read I've loved), and here you've provided more inspiration, especially that note about how much influence he has had internationally...I really should read some more of his work before I return to Garcia Marquez this spring.

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  20. I keep thinking about this post. I know I don't want to confine myself to "great" works under any definition, but why? Probably part of it is wanting the great stuff to stand out; if you eat at a four-star restaurant for every meal, how can you possibly appreciate it? And part of it is awareness that there's lots of good material even in non-"great" books. Is the Merezhkovsky book (Leonardo da Vinci) I'm reading great? Probably not, but I'd be sorry to have missed it, not least for its very convincing portrait of Machiavelli. I'll keep thinking about it.

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  21. William Pritchard, in his introduction to Seeing Through Everything: English Writers 1918-1940 (1977), which I am enjoying immensely, is justifying the near absence of Pound, Joyce, and Yeats in his book: "But one can't consort with the party of genius all the time; there are simply far more readerly needs and curiosities than can be satisfied by repeated and extended study of the Cantos, or The Tower or Finnegans Wake." Which I think is a good part of what we are getting at.

    What are those various readerly needs? This whole question ("too much greatness?"), when I thought of it, seemed a bit stupid, but less stupid the more I thought about it, so why not write it up. I don't think I formulated the idea well, but it's a start.

    The Iliad is full of difficulties, which I would argue are part of its pleasures. I come to art for its difficult pleasures as much or more than what it gives up easily. Or I try. Within my various limits.

    Faulkner, I don't know, I don't get it. I read his books with real pleasure. Here is the well-read and adventurous Howling Frog on Light in August: "Mostly, it's horrible people doing horrible things to each other. I quit." Visceral, whatever it is.

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  22. I suspect Faulkner is reaping the whirlwind of his racism, which was always troubling but now makes him persona non grata among those who place progressive values above all else, including artistic value (which the more idiotic of them deny even exists: "Why read these dead white men when there are thousands of living writers we can read instead?"). This too shall pass; Faulkner is too great to be forgotten.

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  23. Yes, although it is not as if people are reading biographies of Faulkner and making a judgment. It is an entirely received idea. They are certainly not reading Toni Morrison on Faulkner, or even Oprah Winfrey on Faulkner.

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  24. Of course. They don't have to read anything; everybody *knows* he was racist, just like they know the Founding Fathers owned slaves and therefore we need pay no attention to their tainted writings.

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  25. Man, Oprah Winfrey's "Summer of Faulkner" was in 2005 - so recent! Some bitterness is warranted.

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  26. I mean, it doesn't really make sense to be bitter. I know perfectly well about the crooked timber of humanity, and the fact that people are incapable of sedately following the middle path so highly recommended by philosophers (Know thyself! Nothing in excess!); when people start waking up to the pervasive horror of racism, of course they're going to go overboard and start the Woke Inquisition, and it's a small price to pay for long-overdue social change. But I'm only human, and it makes me bitter.

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  27. "Well, I read because I love reading. My question is, really, why do I read such good books?" Seems like the statement answers the question since everyone's personal pleasure/love varies. You and those that visit your site enjoy some level of the "difficult pleasure."

    Plan #3: I hate that reading/writing is such a trade-off, but realistically it is.

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  28. Yes, the difficult pleasures. I could read much worse books and still scratch the "I like to read" itch. But there's more than that.

    Many professional writers - novelists, whatever - have carefully trained themselves to only "read for the book." They read for pleasure once the book is written, that is until they start writing the next book.

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