Thothmuffin
Don't get any crumbs on the scale of judgement.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
A Reasonable Request
Can I have Sayid for my birthday? k plz tks
Monday, December 27, 2004
A curious balm
Tonight, as I am wont to do when I question the benefits of life and my continued progress down my current path, I visited the bookstore. My particular form of self-healing was aided and abetted by a gift card, which yielded:
1. Tactics, a manga about a cute blond demon slayer and the sexfabulous goblin who is bound to him
2. The Count of Monte Cristo, a story about revenge (unabridged...)
3. Gilgamesh: A Verse Narrative by Herbert Mason
4. A calendar of Michael Whelan art (Tarrant! <3)
I always have a great deal of anxiety about picking translations, as there are always so many, and so few have success in capturing the spirit of the original, and nothing upsets me more than the suspicion that the work I'm holding may be missing, or even violating, the daemon-muse that birthed it. I feel much better when I know some of the original language and can refer to it, but in the case of Ancient Sumerian (or whatever form of Gilgamesh this translation is from), I'm quite at the mercy of the scholars.
Typically, my method of selecting a translation (when the original is not in Japanese, French, or Middle English) is to go for the version which best balances grace of reading and obsessive-compulsive footnoting. In the case of Gilgamesh, I took a different route entirely, and chose the translation that made me cry in the bookstore. I realize the work I chose is a highly subjective translation, and may even have left out or reordered entire sections of the original tablets, but I have respect for anything that can unman me in public, and could not have been persuaded to purchase another.
As an introduction, the poet-translator offers this Argument, which is indicative of his sparse and poignant style:
T_T
I also bought myself a birthday skirt that would do the harajuku EGLs proud. Though I have not yet decided if I desire to celebrate my birthday in the company of others. I'm not feeling the revelry this year.
Back to my Gilgamesh. <3
1. Tactics, a manga about a cute blond demon slayer and the sexfabulous goblin who is bound to him
2. The Count of Monte Cristo, a story about revenge (unabridged...)
3. Gilgamesh: A Verse Narrative by Herbert Mason
4. A calendar of Michael Whelan art (Tarrant! <3)
I always have a great deal of anxiety about picking translations, as there are always so many, and so few have success in capturing the spirit of the original, and nothing upsets me more than the suspicion that the work I'm holding may be missing, or even violating, the daemon-muse that birthed it. I feel much better when I know some of the original language and can refer to it, but in the case of Ancient Sumerian (or whatever form of Gilgamesh this translation is from), I'm quite at the mercy of the scholars.
Typically, my method of selecting a translation (when the original is not in Japanese, French, or Middle English) is to go for the version which best balances grace of reading and obsessive-compulsive footnoting. In the case of Gilgamesh, I took a different route entirely, and chose the translation that made me cry in the bookstore. I realize the work I chose is a highly subjective translation, and may even have left out or reordered entire sections of the original tablets, but I have respect for anything that can unman me in public, and could not have been persuaded to purchase another.
As an introduction, the poet-translator offers this Argument, which is indicative of his sparse and poignant style:
It is an old story
But one that can still be told
About a man who loved
And lost a friend to death
And learned he lacked the power
To bring him back to life.
It is the story of Gilgamesh
And his friend Enkidu.
T_T
I also bought myself a birthday skirt that would do the harajuku EGLs proud. Though I have not yet decided if I desire to celebrate my birthday in the company of others. I'm not feeling the revelry this year.
Back to my Gilgamesh. <3
Thursday, December 23, 2004
He's there...Inside my Mind...
My brother and I watched the new movie version of Phantom of the Opera, which is basically the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, only more lavish, if you can imagine it. You should all know I'm a big harlot for period drama, and the sheer extravagance of this production was everything I could have wished for.
Also, I have a Gerard Butler thing. He does creepy so very, very well, and made an excellent Phantom, with the exception of his singing voice, which was raspier than I might have wished. But there was this red velvet outfit of his that totally made up for everything. Fabulous. Extravagant. Delicious.
I have now had the Phantom songs stuck in my head for five hours. I am compelled, as though it is my eternal lot in Hell, to hum the Phantom's theme every 30 seconds. It is now an involuntary process, like breathing. I have tried to replace or erase it with any number of songs. It has resisted Rammstein, Hall of the Mountain King, It's Automatic, and assorted Christmas songs. It is very, very powerful, and I expect it will be months before it looses its grip on me.
I have always felt particularly drawn to the Phantom character, and while watching the movie I realized that he's a type I like to play with in my own work. I like creepy love because it seems truer to me than really schmoopy love. Not that I'm into hanging people from the rafters as a courtship gift or anything. I think it goes back to the idea of unrequited love, and love for something hopelessly purer and more beautiful than yourself (like Christine, the ingenue--a heartbreakingly lovely girl who seems much more mature than her 16 years in the movie version). The idea that you can't help but love something, and though you want to keep it with you at all costs, a large part of you just wants to tell it to run away from you as fast as possible because you're such bad news.
We all want someone pure to love the monster inside us. The trick is finding that person who looks at your monster and sees an angel, no matter how fallen.
Also, I have a Gerard Butler thing. He does creepy so very, very well, and made an excellent Phantom, with the exception of his singing voice, which was raspier than I might have wished. But there was this red velvet outfit of his that totally made up for everything. Fabulous. Extravagant. Delicious.
I have now had the Phantom songs stuck in my head for five hours. I am compelled, as though it is my eternal lot in Hell, to hum the Phantom's theme every 30 seconds. It is now an involuntary process, like breathing. I have tried to replace or erase it with any number of songs. It has resisted Rammstein, Hall of the Mountain King, It's Automatic, and assorted Christmas songs. It is very, very powerful, and I expect it will be months before it looses its grip on me.
I have always felt particularly drawn to the Phantom character, and while watching the movie I realized that he's a type I like to play with in my own work. I like creepy love because it seems truer to me than really schmoopy love. Not that I'm into hanging people from the rafters as a courtship gift or anything. I think it goes back to the idea of unrequited love, and love for something hopelessly purer and more beautiful than yourself (like Christine, the ingenue--a heartbreakingly lovely girl who seems much more mature than her 16 years in the movie version). The idea that you can't help but love something, and though you want to keep it with you at all costs, a large part of you just wants to tell it to run away from you as fast as possible because you're such bad news.
We all want someone pure to love the monster inside us. The trick is finding that person who looks at your monster and sees an angel, no matter how fallen.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Because I Like Lists (vol. 1)
Things I've Researched This Year for My Writing:
Fairy tales
Genetically modified plants
Narcissism
Agency
Language & Perception
Small appliances
Navy SEALs
Magnetism
Necromancy
Incubi
Snakes
Medieval travel food
Ritual Magic
Suicide hotlines
Angelology
Demonology
Mythology (Shinto, Egyptian, and Judeo-Christian)
Proper usage of thee/thou/thine/thy
Wicca
Eunuchs
Thanks for everyone who helped me with these various things, especially davesque, who has been invaluable in explicating and discussing certain delightful passages of the Hebrew Bible.
Also, I'm still looking for a good book on eunuch physiology, psychology, and hormonal development. Just in case anyone has one lying around. ^_^
Fairy tales
Genetically modified plants
Narcissism
Agency
Language & Perception
Small appliances
Navy SEALs
Magnetism
Necromancy
Incubi
Snakes
Medieval travel food
Ritual Magic
Suicide hotlines
Angelology
Demonology
Mythology (Shinto, Egyptian, and Judeo-Christian)
Proper usage of thee/thou/thine/thy
Wicca
Eunuchs
Thanks for everyone who helped me with these various things, especially davesque, who has been invaluable in explicating and discussing certain delightful passages of the Hebrew Bible.
Also, I'm still looking for a good book on eunuch physiology, psychology, and hormonal development. Just in case anyone has one lying around. ^_^
Monday, December 20, 2004
All about the myrrh
Lately there has been much to-do in the news about people who are offended by people who are offended by being wished a Very Merry Birth of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ (that's how it appears on his birth certificate, anyway).
Now, I hate phatic language, and think it should be abolished, either that or taught properly in schools. I believe that "Happy Holidays" and "Merry Christmas," when said to strangers at This Time of Year--especially strangers who are lax in their defense of their non-Christian status and make the mistake of wearing certain colors or shopping during the month of December--constitutes nothing but phatic language. Non-Christians, if they are sensible people and dealing with total strangers, should respond politely, as though someone has just told them to have a good evening when it is 10 AM, and take it in the spirit intended, which I'm pretty sure is always a friendly and slightly frantic spirit.
But for people who insist on wishing those they know to be non-Christians a Merry Christmas, particularly by sending them baby-Jesus-themed cards, I have this to ask: Just what were you hoping to accomplish? Did you really hope to spread joy, love, peace, and acceptance to your friends who are self-avowed Atheists, card-carrying Wiccans, or long-standing Jews by informing them to rejoice, for the Christ has come to die on the cross for their sins? Because I can tell you right now, that's not winning you any points. Besides, he's just a kid. I mean, Jesus.
But I digress. My point is, ignoring other people's religions so that you don't have to buy another pack of holiday cards or snap out of your guilty, last-minute, zombie trance of card-addressing is selfish, and probably not in the proper spirit of Christmas. If you really care about your friends so much that you can't bear to leave them out of *your* celebration, and if you really believe in Christmas as a time of joy and togetherness and love, take the extra time to select a card with a nice Yule log on it for your Pagan friend, or pick up the phone and call your local atheist and say, "Hey, my Lord and Savior was born around now, and I know you're not into that, but it makes me all schmoopy, so I just thought I'd see how you were doing, maybe we could go get something to eat, reaffirm our friendship." You'll feel good. They'll feel good. Baby Jesus will feel good. No one will be offended.
Personally, I celebrate something that my family calls Christmas, but is really a time when we express our never-articulated fondness for each other by making detailed lists of our material needs, exchanging them, and purchasing for each other exactly the members of said list. We also eat a lot of food that is bad for us, listen to songs about the baby Jesus, and festoon a tree. I'm guessing we won't say grace this year, because we tried that last year at Easter (which is much the same thing as Christmas for us, only with even *more* chocolate, and far fewer presents) and it just ended in nervous laughter as we realized we were all trying to fake a commitment to O.L.A.S. and there wasn't anyone left in our family to fake it for. So I'm looking forward to a very secular Christmas, and an excuse to send some of my friends presents, which I dearly love doing, and I figure people of any persuasion will forgive me for, knowing I'm not trying to remind them about the birth of baby Jesus.
Think of me as one of the Magi (Melchior has always been my favorite, but I'd take Balthazar in a pinch.) I'm not sure what this baby-Jesus stuff is all about, but I never pass up a chance to put on my prettiest robes, run around with my two best friends, crash other people's parties, and hand out wildly inappropriate gifts, all the while half-suspecting that something far more important than settling an astrological bet is going on. But that doesn't really concern me, does it?
In conclusion: Blogging is great because you don't have to have a point. Also, some of you will be receiving holiday cards from me that are formed in the mystical shape of the Fat Penguin, and contain references to having a warm holiday season, because Melchior needed something to scribble in, and it was that or gold-embossed cards doomsaying the baby Jesus. There might be some hypocrisy in there, but the penguin is so fat, you'll probably forgive me. <3
Now, I hate phatic language, and think it should be abolished, either that or taught properly in schools. I believe that "Happy Holidays" and "Merry Christmas," when said to strangers at This Time of Year--especially strangers who are lax in their defense of their non-Christian status and make the mistake of wearing certain colors or shopping during the month of December--constitutes nothing but phatic language. Non-Christians, if they are sensible people and dealing with total strangers, should respond politely, as though someone has just told them to have a good evening when it is 10 AM, and take it in the spirit intended, which I'm pretty sure is always a friendly and slightly frantic spirit.
But for people who insist on wishing those they know to be non-Christians a Merry Christmas, particularly by sending them baby-Jesus-themed cards, I have this to ask: Just what were you hoping to accomplish? Did you really hope to spread joy, love, peace, and acceptance to your friends who are self-avowed Atheists, card-carrying Wiccans, or long-standing Jews by informing them to rejoice, for the Christ has come to die on the cross for their sins? Because I can tell you right now, that's not winning you any points. Besides, he's just a kid. I mean, Jesus.
But I digress. My point is, ignoring other people's religions so that you don't have to buy another pack of holiday cards or snap out of your guilty, last-minute, zombie trance of card-addressing is selfish, and probably not in the proper spirit of Christmas. If you really care about your friends so much that you can't bear to leave them out of *your* celebration, and if you really believe in Christmas as a time of joy and togetherness and love, take the extra time to select a card with a nice Yule log on it for your Pagan friend, or pick up the phone and call your local atheist and say, "Hey, my Lord and Savior was born around now, and I know you're not into that, but it makes me all schmoopy, so I just thought I'd see how you were doing, maybe we could go get something to eat, reaffirm our friendship." You'll feel good. They'll feel good. Baby Jesus will feel good. No one will be offended.
Personally, I celebrate something that my family calls Christmas, but is really a time when we express our never-articulated fondness for each other by making detailed lists of our material needs, exchanging them, and purchasing for each other exactly the members of said list. We also eat a lot of food that is bad for us, listen to songs about the baby Jesus, and festoon a tree. I'm guessing we won't say grace this year, because we tried that last year at Easter (which is much the same thing as Christmas for us, only with even *more* chocolate, and far fewer presents) and it just ended in nervous laughter as we realized we were all trying to fake a commitment to O.L.A.S. and there wasn't anyone left in our family to fake it for. So I'm looking forward to a very secular Christmas, and an excuse to send some of my friends presents, which I dearly love doing, and I figure people of any persuasion will forgive me for, knowing I'm not trying to remind them about the birth of baby Jesus.
Think of me as one of the Magi (Melchior has always been my favorite, but I'd take Balthazar in a pinch.) I'm not sure what this baby-Jesus stuff is all about, but I never pass up a chance to put on my prettiest robes, run around with my two best friends, crash other people's parties, and hand out wildly inappropriate gifts, all the while half-suspecting that something far more important than settling an astrological bet is going on. But that doesn't really concern me, does it?
In conclusion: Blogging is great because you don't have to have a point. Also, some of you will be receiving holiday cards from me that are formed in the mystical shape of the Fat Penguin, and contain references to having a warm holiday season, because Melchior needed something to scribble in, and it was that or gold-embossed cards doomsaying the baby Jesus. There might be some hypocrisy in there, but the penguin is so fat, you'll probably forgive me. <3
Monday, December 13, 2004
Non...fiction?
Now that I've just written a metric ass-ton of fiction, I find myself intrigued by the possibility of writing non-fiction. I'm in a stage of my life that probably has a Tarot card assigned to it, and it's probably not one of the good ones where kids ride around on white horses and voluptuous ladies dance around half-naked and throw grapes and gold at you.
At any rate, I think it would be interesting to have a spiritual journey, and to write a book about it, although it's possible that I just want to do it so I can buy a digital voice recorder, in which case I should probably just buy the voice recorder and record myself saying pithy things full of wit and moment.
But I will indulge myself for a moment and try to explain what exactly I'd like to write about. I had the idea of going around to every House of Deity in my fair hamlet and experiencing at least one service or Mass or whatever. Then I might pick a representative sample of clerical leaders and hold interviews in which I try to figure out what their religion is all about, and they try to convert or damn or understand me, according to their faith and nature. I would then compile my journey into a witty (and yes pithy and momentous) non-fiction book about agnostic spiritual quests that don't end in stinky candles and twice-a-week yoga and pointy crystals.
Actually, I'm not sure how it would end, and that's sort of why it's so exciting. Although I'm still pretty comfortable writing the candles out of the picture. Well, the crystals, at least.
If anyone's ever seen "What the @#?! Do We Know?" I'm envisioning something like that, only with almost no quantum physics, which sort of makes it the exact opposite of that…ok, bad comparison.
For someone who doesn't have much truck with the LORD, I'm awfully fascinated by talking about all kinds of religious beliefs with people. Of course, then I thought about it more, and realized that that fascination only works with open-minded people with a sense of humor who aren't easily offended in religious matters. Which I'm guessing isn't a huge percentage of the clergy.
Also, just reading ads for local churches makes me feel sort of shriveled and nasty inside. How can a force that does so much salvation and good and wonder in other people's lives fill me with such revulsion and fear and confusion? I wonder if I'd be brave enough to talk to the leader of a Jehovah's Witness congregation, or a hellfire Baptist, or someone whose religion I know just enough about to make myself sound completely ignorant--an Islamic priest, a Rabbi, a High Priestess of the Goddess, a Buddhist monk . . .
I don't want to offend anyone. I just want to understand. But it's hard to understand when folks be so busy hatin'.
Of course, that might be a largely baseless prejudice and fear of mine. I'm sure if I dressed modestly and came with an open mind, most everyone would be nice to me.
Bleh. I know this idea is unorganized and going nowhere and has no clear motivation behind it, but for some reason, I still keep thinking I want to do it, no matter how many times I remind myself how creeped out I am by organized religion.
What I really need is a pool of interesting, open-minded people from all denominations and walks of life that just want to talk with me about what they believe. I'm open to suggestions if anyone can think of a way to find that.
At any rate, I think it would be interesting to have a spiritual journey, and to write a book about it, although it's possible that I just want to do it so I can buy a digital voice recorder, in which case I should probably just buy the voice recorder and record myself saying pithy things full of wit and moment.
But I will indulge myself for a moment and try to explain what exactly I'd like to write about. I had the idea of going around to every House of Deity in my fair hamlet and experiencing at least one service or Mass or whatever. Then I might pick a representative sample of clerical leaders and hold interviews in which I try to figure out what their religion is all about, and they try to convert or damn or understand me, according to their faith and nature. I would then compile my journey into a witty (and yes pithy and momentous) non-fiction book about agnostic spiritual quests that don't end in stinky candles and twice-a-week yoga and pointy crystals.
Actually, I'm not sure how it would end, and that's sort of why it's so exciting. Although I'm still pretty comfortable writing the candles out of the picture. Well, the crystals, at least.
If anyone's ever seen "What the @#?! Do We Know?" I'm envisioning something like that, only with almost no quantum physics, which sort of makes it the exact opposite of that…ok, bad comparison.
For someone who doesn't have much truck with the LORD, I'm awfully fascinated by talking about all kinds of religious beliefs with people. Of course, then I thought about it more, and realized that that fascination only works with open-minded people with a sense of humor who aren't easily offended in religious matters. Which I'm guessing isn't a huge percentage of the clergy.
Also, just reading ads for local churches makes me feel sort of shriveled and nasty inside. How can a force that does so much salvation and good and wonder in other people's lives fill me with such revulsion and fear and confusion? I wonder if I'd be brave enough to talk to the leader of a Jehovah's Witness congregation, or a hellfire Baptist, or someone whose religion I know just enough about to make myself sound completely ignorant--an Islamic priest, a Rabbi, a High Priestess of the Goddess, a Buddhist monk . . .
I don't want to offend anyone. I just want to understand. But it's hard to understand when folks be so busy hatin'.
Of course, that might be a largely baseless prejudice and fear of mine. I'm sure if I dressed modestly and came with an open mind, most everyone would be nice to me.
Bleh. I know this idea is unorganized and going nowhere and has no clear motivation behind it, but for some reason, I still keep thinking I want to do it, no matter how many times I remind myself how creeped out I am by organized religion.
What I really need is a pool of interesting, open-minded people from all denominations and walks of life that just want to talk with me about what they believe. I'm open to suggestions if anyone can think of a way to find that.
Friday, December 10, 2004
DaVinci Attakku!
Ok, we have a plan for the DaVinci Reading! Davesque pointed out that it would be less cool if I had read the book before all of you had had a chance to commentarify, so I'm sending it around to everyone first and being really really so good and patient until it gets to me. Here is the list of participants, in order:
1. davesque
2. chibimonnie
3. covert purin
4. liminal onion
5. guantes
6. thothmuffin
I'm sending out an email to all of you with more details.
Apologies to my beloved overseas friends who were also excited about this, but some fun has to be reserved for those of us living mundane, domestic lives Stateside. Also, the time involved in the shipping is a little too protracted for my poor, beleagured patience. Come back to the Land of the Free and you can get in on next year's metatext. Unless this turns out totally stupid, in which case we'll have to come up with a new postmodern project. ^_^
1. davesque
2. chibimonnie
3. covert purin
4. liminal onion
5. guantes
6. thothmuffin
I'm sending out an email to all of you with more details.
Apologies to my beloved overseas friends who were also excited about this, but some fun has to be reserved for those of us living mundane, domestic lives Stateside. Also, the time involved in the shipping is a little too protracted for my poor, beleagured patience. Come back to the Land of the Free and you can get in on next year's metatext. Unless this turns out totally stupid, in which case we'll have to come up with a new postmodern project. ^_^
Thursday, December 09, 2004
On the Ravishment of Shakespeare's Goode English
So, I try not to be a grammar freak, but too much injustice has been done to the good Bard and his English lately, and I have to speak out. Some of the more egregious examples:
1. A politician saying that "the people don't care a whip." That'll be whit. Not necessarily Shakespeare, but Middle English etymology is close enough.
2. A letter to the editor, rebuking someone who made a big deal of nothing, which started with the words, "This is a classic case of 'Methinks thy doth protest too much.'"
Set aside for a moment that the grammar there doesn't even make sense. I'm going to wager that this person wouldn't have been able to identify Shakespeare as their ill-quoted source, much less that Gertrude, the Queen in Hamlet, says "Methinks the lady doth protest too much" when watching a staged version of herself.
But you know what, I'm not picky. It's cultural idiom now. I would have settled for the inclusion of a proper subject.
3. And by far the most grievous offender: I noticed something rather upsetting in the bookstore yesterday, namely modern-day "translations" of Shakespeare's plays with the original text on facing pages, much like you would see an Italian/English version of Dante. Only it's all in our language. Now, I can maybe understand this for Middle English texts for the common reader, but I really don't think the language has (d)evolved so much that we need that for Shakespeare.
An example: in Othello, just before the title character is going to kill Desdemona, he has a line "Put out the light, and then put out the light."
I'm pretty sure all of those words, meaning intact, are still a thriving part of our modern lexicon. But the "modern" translation decided to translate that as "Put out the light, then put out *her* light," just in case along with an inability to comprehend monosyllabic words the readers also had absolutely no idea what metaphoric language or imagery was.
This text signals a complete lack of faith in people's ability to read heuristically, that is, to discover through immersion and context the meaning of outdated yet poetic language and to encompass any but the simplest texts on the level of events and plot. And, more insidiously, it also gives a stunning vote of no-confidence in people's ability to form hermeneutic, or interpretive, readings--even when they can easily comprehend the heuristic level.
I'm not sure which is worse: the thought that the 'translators' presented the hermeneutics as fact because they thought people who were reading the texts really needed that much interpretive help, or the thought that the 'translators' realized they had so fubared the music, poetry, imagery, and magic of Shakespeare's work that they had to somehow force the interpretations down into the heuristic level of the text. Bad show all around, I say.
However, I have to admit that I like boiling down old texts on the fly in moments of whimsical interpretation. Anyone who has experienced my readings of the KJV Bible or taken Chaucer with me knows this. But personal, ephemeral transformation of archaic texts into readily understandable terms is a sort of educational stepping-stone, an intermediary stage vital to the decoding process of heuristic reading--vital, until things like "forsooth" and "eke" become just as natural a part of one's vocabulary as "sure" and "also."
Something about having someone else's insipid translation, as devoid of personal interpretation as possible, set in stone as the "real" meaning of a work...bleh. It likes me not.
(Trans: I don't like it.)
1. A politician saying that "the people don't care a whip." That'll be whit. Not necessarily Shakespeare, but Middle English etymology is close enough.
2. A letter to the editor, rebuking someone who made a big deal of nothing, which started with the words, "This is a classic case of 'Methinks thy doth protest too much.'"
Set aside for a moment that the grammar there doesn't even make sense. I'm going to wager that this person wouldn't have been able to identify Shakespeare as their ill-quoted source, much less that Gertrude, the Queen in Hamlet, says "Methinks the lady doth protest too much" when watching a staged version of herself.
But you know what, I'm not picky. It's cultural idiom now. I would have settled for the inclusion of a proper subject.
3. And by far the most grievous offender: I noticed something rather upsetting in the bookstore yesterday, namely modern-day "translations" of Shakespeare's plays with the original text on facing pages, much like you would see an Italian/English version of Dante. Only it's all in our language. Now, I can maybe understand this for Middle English texts for the common reader, but I really don't think the language has (d)evolved so much that we need that for Shakespeare.
An example: in Othello, just before the title character is going to kill Desdemona, he has a line "Put out the light, and then put out the light."
I'm pretty sure all of those words, meaning intact, are still a thriving part of our modern lexicon. But the "modern" translation decided to translate that as "Put out the light, then put out *her* light," just in case along with an inability to comprehend monosyllabic words the readers also had absolutely no idea what metaphoric language or imagery was.
This text signals a complete lack of faith in people's ability to read heuristically, that is, to discover through immersion and context the meaning of outdated yet poetic language and to encompass any but the simplest texts on the level of events and plot. And, more insidiously, it also gives a stunning vote of no-confidence in people's ability to form hermeneutic, or interpretive, readings--even when they can easily comprehend the heuristic level.
I'm not sure which is worse: the thought that the 'translators' presented the hermeneutics as fact because they thought people who were reading the texts really needed that much interpretive help, or the thought that the 'translators' realized they had so fubared the music, poetry, imagery, and magic of Shakespeare's work that they had to somehow force the interpretations down into the heuristic level of the text. Bad show all around, I say.
However, I have to admit that I like boiling down old texts on the fly in moments of whimsical interpretation. Anyone who has experienced my readings of the KJV Bible or taken Chaucer with me knows this. But personal, ephemeral transformation of archaic texts into readily understandable terms is a sort of educational stepping-stone, an intermediary stage vital to the decoding process of heuristic reading--vital, until things like "forsooth" and "eke" become just as natural a part of one's vocabulary as "sure" and "also."
Something about having someone else's insipid translation, as devoid of personal interpretation as possible, set in stone as the "real" meaning of a work...bleh. It likes me not.
(Trans: I don't like it.)
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
More on Metatext
Ok, kids, I have a thought:
I think we should read The Davinci Code.
Here are my reasons:
1. I am blessed with a cadre of intimates such that many of you, unlike the rest of the world, and like me, have not yet read this fearsome cultural powerhouse.
2. I am unlikely to read the Davinci Code unless I have someone to snark to about it.
3. It comes in large-print editions, which is the closest you can get to double-spaced in the physically printed world, and is a virtual necessity for the commenting scheme.
4. With due reverence to the classics, the Davinci Code will be much easier for, say, 5 different people to read, comment, and pass along quickly.
5. I read the opening few pages on amazon.com and almost died of snark attack, and yet, found myself compelled to read on, if only to know what foolishness awaited me.
6. There is so much (never thought I'd be using this word again) discourse on this damned book already that it's a particularly apt target for a postmodern attack of metatextuality.
If anyone has already read it, or has vehement feelings against letting slip the snark of war against it, you can protest, but you'll have to come up with a) another title and b) six equally compelling reasons to do that one, one of which is evidence of a large-print edition or one similarly endowed with copious white space.
Regardless of what book we decide on, here's how I'm thinking it'll go:
1. I will buy the book, read it, and put in a few comments. I will mail it to the next person in line with a list of all recipients.
2. The next person reads, comments, and mails on.
3. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
4. The last brave reader mails the book back to me, at which point I will read the fully participatory version.
5. I pick out some of the best commentaries/conversations and either type them up or scan particularly juicy pages to share with you all.
For my beloved friends overseas:
I'm not averse to having a round 2 for overseas folks, but in the interest of time, I might have to keep this one domestic, unless you have other brilliant ideas. Fiore, how fast is $20 airmail to Japan? (Remember: Large-print hardcover.) And Jeff...will we be censored? :P
I think we should read The Davinci Code.
Here are my reasons:
1. I am blessed with a cadre of intimates such that many of you, unlike the rest of the world, and like me, have not yet read this fearsome cultural powerhouse.
2. I am unlikely to read the Davinci Code unless I have someone to snark to about it.
3. It comes in large-print editions, which is the closest you can get to double-spaced in the physically printed world, and is a virtual necessity for the commenting scheme.
4. With due reverence to the classics, the Davinci Code will be much easier for, say, 5 different people to read, comment, and pass along quickly.
5. I read the opening few pages on amazon.com and almost died of snark attack, and yet, found myself compelled to read on, if only to know what foolishness awaited me.
6. There is so much (never thought I'd be using this word again) discourse on this damned book already that it's a particularly apt target for a postmodern attack of metatextuality.
If anyone has already read it, or has vehement feelings against letting slip the snark of war against it, you can protest, but you'll have to come up with a) another title and b) six equally compelling reasons to do that one, one of which is evidence of a large-print edition or one similarly endowed with copious white space.
Regardless of what book we decide on, here's how I'm thinking it'll go:
1. I will buy the book, read it, and put in a few comments. I will mail it to the next person in line with a list of all recipients.
2. The next person reads, comments, and mails on.
3. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
4. The last brave reader mails the book back to me, at which point I will read the fully participatory version.
5. I pick out some of the best commentaries/conversations and either type them up or scan particularly juicy pages to share with you all.
For my beloved friends overseas:
I'm not averse to having a round 2 for overseas folks, but in the interest of time, I might have to keep this one domestic, unless you have other brilliant ideas. Fiore, how fast is $20 airmail to Japan? (Remember: Large-print hardcover.) And Jeff...will we be censored? :P
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Adventures in Metatextuality
I would like a participatory text for Christmas. By this I mean that I thought it would be cool to send around a paper MS of Counterpoise and have some people doodle comments or pictures in the margins and underline stuff, possibly get conversations going between people on the pages in the text.
*sings* "All I want for Christmas is meta-text-tual-ity..."
Yes, I'm a big English major dork.
But I realize that most of you who would be interested in doing this have already read Counterpoise and there's probably not enough time before Christmas to do it anyway.
So I had another brilliant idea: what if some of us got together and picked one real, live, actual published book that we all would read, and insert comments in different color inks as we read? This might be more fun for people farther down the chain of mailing, but I feel like we could send it around again after everyone had had a crack at it...or maybe it would work better in an electronic document, since that would be faster / allow for more conversation?
I got this idea from my love of marginalia in used books. And reading is such a solitary exercise, it would be nice to have a way to have one of my friends "there" with me when I'm reading, and to read and discuss in a tiny way with them as they read. I don't know what kind of book would be best...maybe something light and easily mockable, or alternately a classic that none of the participants has read? Is anyone interested in the possibilities of this crazy idea?
*sings* "All I want for Christmas is meta-text-tual-ity..."
Yes, I'm a big English major dork.
But I realize that most of you who would be interested in doing this have already read Counterpoise and there's probably not enough time before Christmas to do it anyway.
So I had another brilliant idea: what if some of us got together and picked one real, live, actual published book that we all would read, and insert comments in different color inks as we read? This might be more fun for people farther down the chain of mailing, but I feel like we could send it around again after everyone had had a crack at it...or maybe it would work better in an electronic document, since that would be faster / allow for more conversation?
I got this idea from my love of marginalia in used books. And reading is such a solitary exercise, it would be nice to have a way to have one of my friends "there" with me when I'm reading, and to read and discuss in a tiny way with them as they read. I don't know what kind of book would be best...maybe something light and easily mockable, or alternately a classic that none of the participants has read? Is anyone interested in the possibilities of this crazy idea?
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Life is full of wonder
I don't do media-gushes that often, but I have one thing to say right now: Wolf's Rain = Love. I mean, I know some of you guys told me I might like it, and I probably scoffed at the involvement of beasties, but seriously, why didn't you tie me down to a chair and make me watch it?
I haven't liked an anime this much since Last Exile. It just has exactly everything I like. And Tsume and I think exactly the same, except he looks like Billy Idol with a rat tail and a kakkoi chest scar, and even I don't have enough belief to pull that off. And it even has a character whose gender I could only identify by his pronoun usage. And an incredibly goth guy with built-in sexy eye patch who wears say-something hats (or possibly just teases and Aqua-nets his coal black hair into spidery legs?) before he goes out to, you know, do creepy nefarious sexy goth guy stuff. And he has a mask.
Did I mention I loved this show?
Also having the love was Shrek 2, which was good because of Puss, who I quite enjoyed. O_O
I spent too long in Savers the other day, charmed from afar by an 80-year old man who was intently, and rather obliviously, reading the naughty bits in a cast-off romance novel. It filled me with delight.
I haven't liked an anime this much since Last Exile. It just has exactly everything I like. And Tsume and I think exactly the same, except he looks like Billy Idol with a rat tail and a kakkoi chest scar, and even I don't have enough belief to pull that off. And it even has a character whose gender I could only identify by his pronoun usage. And an incredibly goth guy with built-in sexy eye patch who wears say-something hats (or possibly just teases and Aqua-nets his coal black hair into spidery legs?) before he goes out to, you know, do creepy nefarious sexy goth guy stuff. And he has a mask.
Did I mention I loved this show?
Also having the love was Shrek 2, which was good because of Puss, who I quite enjoyed. O_O
I spent too long in Savers the other day, charmed from afar by an 80-year old man who was intently, and rather obliviously, reading the naughty bits in a cast-off romance novel. It filled me with delight.
