A Game of Chess

Sad news today, as Ingmar Bergman passed away. I think I assumed for a long time he was in fact already dead, and was surprised to find out not just that he was not, but was still working and being productive.

We saw some of a great season of his works at the NFT. Those seasons are always interesting, and the NFT is one of the things I miss most about London.

One of the things I find intriguing is people's choice of which ones to go and see. For example, as a Bergman novice at the time, I chose Wild Strawberries and The Seventh Seal. The former was adored by some friends, but I preferred the latter, which was remarkable and terrifying in its own way. Choice is really dependent on how well one knows a director, and so more experienced Bergman fans saw things like Persona, Winter Light, and loved them. This lovely short article by Nigel Andrews sums it up, I think, rather well.

I haven't seen a Bergman since, but a retrospective would pose an interesting dilemma: Revisit those utter classics to get a good feel for them, or see unseen ones that deepen my understanding of his work as a whole? I find I feel the same about books, to a certain extent: while I would like to go through the whole works of Dickens, for example, what I really want to do is curl up with Our Mutual Friend, which is now like an old friend and comforts, stimulates and moves me.

When Film Forum, as it undoubtedly will, announces its retrospective we shall see what I end up choosing. I think I would explore a few new, and watch one of my others again. But you never know...

Preemption

Annoyingly, the Observer Music Monthly for July features a vote for the 50 Greatest Cover Versions of All Time (Ever Ever Ever - plus, no question it's All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix, so a stupid thing indeed). This is akin to the Challenge (TM) set me by Cerebus on Thursday night - to get together a playlist of the most successful cover versions. By this, he and I mean to put together a list of the genre-crossing, unexpectedly great versions. For example, the rather splendid version of The Hounds of Love by the Futureheads will definitely feature...

Which is what I'm going to be doing for the next month or so. Contributions will be gratefully received, although not guaranteed to make the final list...

Americana

I have just finished what is a fairly extraordinary book, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It is my second Ken Kesey, and I have to say, I am now an enormous fan.

This brings to mind the discussions Cerebus and friends have had about the "great" authors of the twentienth century, and how, as with visual art, this has shifted to the United States. For example, there is Kesey, Faulkner, Roth, DeLillo, Dos Passos, Updike, Auster (although the friends loathe him, but I love him, so tough), Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Bellow... anyone else missing? However, I feel that unlike the art world, what differentiates literature is the shift to post-colonial writers, with some of the most influential and beautiful writers in English not being either British or American, but someone like Coetzee, Rushdie, Naipaul, Achebe, Carey et al.

Kesey I love; I think Sometimes a Great Notion is one of the most wonderful books I have ever read. His description of the inability of two men to ever understand each other was beautiful and stays with me. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was simply terrifying: the combination of authoritarian humanity combined with the gradual grinding down of the "rabbits" by wider society... I think one of the starkest moments is when Mack realises that the patients there are there voluntarily; that his mission to gather other patients to buck the system with him simply won't work. His bewilderment, his thrashing struggle to avoid being brought down, was haunting. So obviously there may be more Kesey and his Canadian goose obsession.

Nonetheless, I feel my next "series," if I ever really have one, is to be U.S. authors in general. So, folks, I need recommendations, soon. I have to get through my new bookclubbook first, and then I'm there. So what's it to be? What, or more importantly, who should I read?

Midnight's Children

FINALLY. I have finally finished another from the list, Midnight's Children.

It was extraordinary - ambitious, breathtaking, self-deprecating, playful... I didn't realise how deeply imbued it would be with the traits of magical realism, which was an unexpected joy. What I really loved was that he seemed to embrace and rejoice in the underbelly, the smelliness, the faults, the dirt of Indian living. The book was bustling and alive, and while it didn't mean that I appreciated the aesthetics of the country I feel I understand a bit more about life in India. Although of course that might be a load of old boswellox.

And yet, as often with reading of classics, or must-reads, I feel I have missed something. I now feel I understand a great deal more about the birth of India, or Pakistan, of Bangladesh, although I can't help thinking I would have got more out of the book if I'd known more about that in the first place: some of the references, the jokes, the satire, clearly went over my head. Which proves to me that to truly engage with "great" works on more than a superficial level, you need to really have a sense of history - either of the time of writing of the book itself, or of the time period which the book covers, but history, nonetheless. Something like Demons, by Dostoyevsky, makes a lot more sense when you understand the adventures of the Nihilists; all of Dickens reveals more when you understand the rise of the nouveau riche, the chattering middle classes. Somehow that seems a tad unfair, that it's not just the text but the backstory that matters. Particularly when I'm the ignoramus. This is why crime novels are the gifts that keep on giving... they are almost timeless. Still, perseverance: it's next time for more Ken Kesey, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - yet another cheery one.

Perverted Inheritance

I have, alas, not got any further in my quest to read / watch anything that can be considered a classic. I have, however, completed my bookclub book for this month - Saturday, by Ian McEwan.

Hmm.

There are some (Cerebus, for example), who will say I was predisposed to dislike him because my mother dislikes him. Her influence cannot be denied on me, hence my gobbling up of crime novels, I'm sure, and my general irritation with two of the world's grand dames, the Dench and the Streep (although my dislike has waned somewhat). Nonetheless, I think this was all entirely his own fault. It was... infuriating. It all felt--and I hesitate to use this term--terribly contrived. I am also not entirely sure I'm interested in reading this story of this type of man, but I imagine that the Daily Mail & Telegraph loved it.

So yes, prejudiced - but due to the book. However, I shall persevere. My friend has a three-book rule - if you can't stomach an author after trying three of their books, that's it - no more chances. Therefore, given that Atonement is on the Top 100 List, which is acting as our guide, I shall give him one more try.

Alas, as it's finals time, I cannot bear anything too taxing. So it's back to reading trash until I can think properly again, without guilt.

Sub-par-way

I have finally finished the Pamuk. It was actually rather good once I made an effort with it. The problem was reading it on the subway rides to school, which is where I do most of my non-school reading. Some books and authors are simply not designed to be reading in small chunks, and I think Pamuk is definitely one of those. He is too dense, too intricate, and a twenty minute bash simply does not do him justice. Interestingly, where I was successful in engrossing myself in his book was on the long ride down to South Ferry - about 50 minutes or so - which really allowed me to relax into his style.

I thought you would appreciate this piece about how difficult it is to translate Turkish into English, as described by his translator, Maureen Freely, talking about the devrik cümle:

This is a sentence--usually a very long sentence--in which words appear in an order different from that ordained by custom and practice, and cascading clauses create a series of expectations that are subverted by the verb at the very end. The poet Murat Nemet-Nejat has described Turkish as a language that can evoke a thought unfolding. How to do the same in English without the thought vanishing into thin air?

The accepted view, especially among bilingual Turks, is that the translator should pay close attention to the sentence's "inner logic." This might also be desdcribed as its architecture--the elegant way in which the various parts reflect one another and, together, reflect the mystery that must never be coarsened by words; the games with voice and tense and the imaginative melding of different epochs and places in setneces that may be admired at length like pictures in a museum. For those who feel at home inside the traditions of Turking thought, the virtues of this approach are manifest. A translation that is utterly faithful to that inner logic will, in their view, open up like a flower to reveal its inner truth . . .

This passage reinforced to me the problems of reading in translation, and that languages really are structured differently, not just grammatically, but in terms of thought processes. A communication gap really does exist between those who are fluent, and those who are not. Nonetheless, understanding how the language works, and why it is translated in a certain way, does help with the reading. All very interesting, to me, at least.

Stop!

Result! I have signed away yet more of my privacy with a 'fair'-ly secure password, and here I am, ready to confess to never having read 3 Men in a Boat. It seems there's one last copy in Butler that's not in the Rare Books room (!) so I'm going to head downstairs and pick it up. Stay tuned for the twists and turns involved in my finding it (or not!!) on the shelf, taking it to the circulation desk, and trying to avoid checking it out with the scary dude with the latex gloves who is very, very angry at the world.
Anyway, that's it: I'm in. I thought I'd also share this tidbit from Wikipedia with you:

'Among US troops in Iraq, "Three Men in a Boat" is slang for "stop", because of the shape of the Arabic word قف‎ for "stop!"'

Doesn't quite have the punch of 'the suck', does it? What's happening to Army slang? Are they quietly conscripting English grad students? Why do you even need really lengthy slang for 'stop'?

So many questions.

Why Even Bother?

I admit that I have not yet read Three Men in a Boat. In fact, I am still struggling through The Black Book by Orhan Pamuk which is, in my opinion and experience thus far, almost unreadable. I don't know why I'm finding it quite so difficult, but I really am.

Completely readable is, however, The Well of Lost Plots, the third of Jasper Fforde's series about a literary detective, Thursday Next. It is a rollicking read, ridiculous--and the edition I have, kindly lent by a friend, seems unable to distinguish between who's and whose, which drives me NUTS and for which there is NO EXCUSE. Anyway, the point of all this is that there are many literary references in these books which are extremely good fun and make you feel clever for knowing what they mean... which is possibly one reason (albeit dodgy) for reading the classics: That feeling that you are cleverer, somehow, than those who have not yet read them.

Is that wrong?

Is this thing switched on?

So, having inhabited my list of things to do for nigh on three weeks, `post on Grace's blog' has finally made its way to the top. Like cream. Or possibly scum. More accurately, Friday afternoon ennui has pushed everything else on the list down to the point that this is now my most pressing activity. The nice things about `to do' lists is that they convey no actual information on the importance of each list item. For example, the three things I had to do today were:

1/ post on Grace's blog
2/ Write working paper and circulate
3/ eat fruit

and I am going to go home today feeling pretty chuffed that I have completed two-thirds of my goals. Assuming that I can be bothered eating my apple.

I've not got the point of this at all, have I? This is meant to be a forum for confessions about gaping holes in our cultural experiences and searingly insightful discussion regarding our attempts to plug such gaps. Not for self indulgent ramblings better suited to the myspace blog of some subliterate teen. So here are my pithy observations:

a/ Of the observer to 100 books I have read:

3. Robinson Crusoe (though possibly a laydybird classics for young readers edition)
4. Gulliver's Travels
16. David Copperfield Charles Dickens
24. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland Lewis Carroll
31. Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain
33. Three Men in a Boat Jerome K. Jerome (well, my dad read it to me as a bedtime story BUT THAT COUNTS)
40. The Wind in the Willows Kenneth Grahame Not only that, my brother starred as toad in Hallam middle school's noted performance of the book
44. The Thirty-Nine Steps John Buchan A classic adventure story for boys, jammed with action, 49. The Trial Franz Kafka
56. The Big Sleep Raymond Chandler I(clearly the best book on the list)
59. Nineteen Eighty-Four George Orwell
61. Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger Which I can prove, to 2 significant figures, is the worst book in the english language.
64. The Lord Of The Rings J. R. R. Tolkien
74. Catch-22 Joseph Heller
76. One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez
87. The New York Trilogy Paul Auster
88. The BFG Roald Dahl
97 Atonement Ian McEwan
98. Northern Lights Philip Pullman

Not very many, but I feel particularly aggreived that I am getting no points for having struggled through Crime and Punishment, the outsider, potrait of an artist as a young man or Gravity's rainbow

b/ it turns out, unlike the rest of you illiterate yahoos, I have actually (sort of) read 3 men in a boat, so I would suggest something different. Or I could read lolita while you all read 3 men. We could meet up and you could discuss humorous, heartwarming happenings in your book while I occasionally interject with comments like 'There is no such thing as morality' and 'I feel so dirty'

c/ Can we do a film series as well? I haven't seen goodfellas, Rocky, The Godfather or Dude Where's my Car, and I'm keen to see all 4

d/ Wind-up: Did you spot the subtle hint at the Midsummernight's dream reference embedded in the title of the first blog entry.

Anyway - I feel cleansed. Thank you for letting me share. I'm now going to play shamik at Badminton. Surely no-one could lactate after an activity so manly?

...by moonlight?

I have to admit, the name of this blog is clever in a silly sort of way. Even sillier, though, is the fact that it has taken me this long to work out the pun. I would keep looking at the address every time I came here, thinking, "Huh, illread. Makes me think of something, but..." And then I would get distracted by some other shiny object, lending proof to my sneaking suspicion that my attention span is... I'm sorry, what were we talking about again?

Here's what I like: "Illread" is both a pledge, as in "I'll read," that is, I shall or I will read, the convention of the URL forcing out the apostrophe, and a confession, as in I (to take the most blatantly obvious example) am "ill read."

But I think, too, that this last is also a charming reference to A Midsummer Night's Dream wherein Oberon greets Titania at the first on-stage crossing of their paths with the line, "Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania." That is, this is a crafty, subtle, underhanded challenge, calling us out to read or risk losing some form of (A) handy child, (B) fairy kingdom, (C) pride, (D) magical love-potion, (E) all of the above in the form of our imaginations, allegorized.

Then, too, you have homophony, such that "illread" becomes "isle red," possibly a reference to the ill-fated Red Island of Rovinj, Croatia. How this last works seems slightly beyond my modest powers of interpretation, but I would imagine it has something to do with the rocks upon which the stormy waters of time will toss us should we fail to keep ourselves afloat with the aid of good, solid, surely-everyone-has-read/watched/listened-to-this-except-me culture.

Any others?

It's Not Just The Academy

So, Mr M Scorcese finally recognised by the peeps in Hollywood and given an Oscar. Huzzah! It is, of course, an outrage that he has never won one before. It is, however, just of much an outrage that I rage outishly about this, and yet really haven't seen that many of his movies.

So, throat cleared, here it is. The real list of shame.

Of his movies, I have seen (in chronological order): Mean Streets; Taxi Driver; New York, New York; Bad (by Michael Jackson - seriously, that was Scorcese); The Departed.

I have, therefore, not seen: Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore; Raging Bull; The King of Comedy; The Color of Money (seriously though - who wants to? Paul Newman is not enough... Marty, Marty, what were you thinking?); The Last Temptation of Christ (this was him? Really? What did seminary school have to say about it?); Goodfellas; Cape Fear; The Age of Innocence; Casino; Kundun; Bringing Out The Dead; Gangs of New York; or, The Aviator.

Oops. Maybe I should start this whole netflix business and start remedying all this.

But remember: I have seen Bad.

Mandamus

We have made a start. I am a great believer in starts (so says Joey the Lips Fagan in The Commitments).

So the plan is to push forwards... no slacking (ha!). Despite having work and children and theses to write, I feel we should choose something none of us have read... and force ourselves to do it and discuss it. If I've got this wrong and you've read the suggestions, let me know...

What about Madame Bovary? I've read it, but I don't think I really got it at the time, and as the reviewer in the Observer said,

You could summarise this as a story of adultery in provincial France, and miss the point entirely.

For something which is such a strong portrayal of a woman's situation, how did I not get it? Dunno, really, but maybe we should try this?

Other suggestions:

If you've not done Les Liaisons Dangereuses I really think it's a truly wonderful book... Windup Bird and Stk, that appears to be missing from your lists...

Or, for something fun and a little less heavy, how about Three Men In A Boat?

Answers on a message post please...

Little Lola

Interestingly, we all seem to have read Lolita. I was utterly mesmerised by it. I think what people find troubling about the novel (probably those who haven't read it) is its strength: the ambiguity with which we view Humbert. He is not obviously a monster, despite doing often monstrous things. It's on every list of the greatest books of all time that you can find, it seems. The Guardian's 50 books you must read describes it thus:

With its unreliable narrator and ambiguous tone, Lolita avoids drawing any definite moral conclusions from this notorious story of ageing academic Humbert Humbert and his obsessive confusion of lust and love for a 12-year-old girl. It is Nabokov's playful prose, however, that is the most bewitching aspect of this novel.

It is a truly remarkable work. That it was written in a second language makes it all the more incredible - to have such a command of a tongue that is not your own... my envy is palpable.

Starter for 100

This list of the hundred greatest novels of all time (ever! really!) was posted by the Observer late in 2003.

Of them, I have read twenty-seven.

(If you're interested, by "read" I mean completed them, not just bought them second-hand and left them on the shelf; not started and left with a bookmark about thirty pages in, never to be touched again)

(if you're further interested, the twenty-seven I have read are: 8, 9, 10, 16, 22, 23, 24, 34, 40, 43, 48, 56, 59, 61, 63, 64, 66, 69, 72, 73, 74, 76, 85, 87, 88, 96, 98)

Ill-read by Moonlight

Once upon a time, there was a woman who really did consider herself an erudite, educated person. She had studied Latin. She not only liked subtitled movies, but in many ways, preferred them. She lapped up the classics.

Or did she?

Despite all my best intentions, this is a blog dedicated to my attempts to redress the gaping holes in my cultural knowledge. Therefore it will be, in character:

1) Confessional: It takes a big step of courage and a loss of face to admit which books you have never made it through, particularly when your bravado has sort of... implicated that you have indeed read that book, seen that movie. There's no shame here precisely because we ALL have something to be embarrassed about.

2) Sporadic: One of the reasons why I don't read the classics as often as I should, but instead reach for Dalziel & Pascoe (a vastly superior detective series) is that it takes a long time to read them. They are NOT light reading. Not that there's owt wrong with that--in fact, there's a great deal to be said for simply reading for pleasure, learning, and enjoyment, and this website is not to disparage that.

3) Critical: Why are "the classics" given that status? Is it really going to shape my life and thinking in a more profound way to read Dostoyevsky than Harry Potter? I met someone once, in Madrid, who really didn't understand why you would waste time on HP when you could spend your life trying to make it through the great canons of literature. I personally, generally, do not agree (and nor do others). Instead, I think reading is about joy and education, and you can get both from all sorts of books. However, I think my critical eye and reading skills are underdeveloped, and that they are slowly improving given how important they are for my chosen field of work. Therefore I don't want to read them simply to have read them, but also to discern why they have such an established place in the pantheon of "books you should have read."*

4) Amateur: This blog is about all sorts of "classics". It is also to be written by and for all sorts of folks. While my field is not traditionally part of the literary field, it is immensely word-intensive, focusing on meaning, terms of art; what is meant and understood by a phrase, and what a reasonable person could understand by it. However, I have no technical training, unlike many of the friends who I hope to be involved with the project. The trick is to get over the fear of not-really-knowing-what-you're-talking-about and immerse yourself in the words and your reactions to them... and pick up some tools for future readings / viewings / listenings. Plus, we're all equally screwed when it comes to sound and screen... ha!

All aboard! Full steam ahead this weekend and onwards...

*While I appear to be referring to books all the time, this illiterate blog will deal with albums we should know and love, movies we should have seen and swooned at... however, it's just easier to deal with one medium for this statement of purpose, as it were.