3.18.2004
literary masochism
i stumbled across this fun article the other night, which appears to have been written shortly after the lydia davis translation of proust's rememberance of things past was published.
(what comes next will be more relevant if you read the article first, but whatever...)
...this piece was really appropriate to me because i'm totally guilty of the sort of thing he's (humorously) arguing against. the problem with me is this: i love books, but i hate reading. not entirely true, but it has a nice ring to it. like most of us, patience is not something that comes easy (insert reference to flux-of-imagery-in-a-hyper-mediated-world here). and while i agree that reading proust is "a trackless, opiated pleasure," as mr. sadler argues (with great sass), it still hasn't helped me finish swann's way in any of my three attempts.
for me, the problem with "dense" or "difficult" reading is often in the structure, rather than the content. when i've attempted swann in the past, i found myself constantly fading into my own little world of evocations. pleasurable? yes, but frustrating when you've been sitting with a book in your lap for an hour and you've only managed to work your way through 4 pages, having re-lived 14 seperate smells from your childhood (or whatever). i'm not used to what's expected of me in a novel like swann. i'm used to some semblance of a plot, with its occasionally dull punishment-and-reward system of investigations. and when i do come across something free-form and open, it's rarely written with the gentlemanly restraint of ol' marcel.
i'd argue that this kind of literary masochism can be quite good, actually. the self-inflicted torture of difficult reading isn't neccessarily a penance or an ego trip (though it can be both). often it's simply the discomfort of adjustment. and i think that some of the best things i come across (books or otherwise) come from difficult places, and require unfamiliar approaches. i think it is in areas like this that a passive experience (i.e. sitting and reading) becomes active... and "active" is often the best way to go into something.
that said, here is
five good books i never finished, but one day plan to finish:
1. the magic mountain by thomas mann: got three hundred fucking pages in (!!!) and bailed... it was all those looong medical descriptions. couldn't keep it up.
2. powers of horror by julia kristeva: read the opening chapter about ten times (really useful to my paintings/drawings, actually), and scattered bits and pieces throughout (stuff on totem and taboo, etc.)... i actually breaked to read some celine with the intention of going back to it. that was, alas, about four years ago...
3. sentimental education by gustave flaubert: i have no good excuse for this one. it's not really that tough of a read, even. i had just finished madame bovary about two years back when i went into it. eventually, i think i just needed a break from all the realism. it's good though. i'll get around to it.
4. the phenomenology of spirit by hegel: still eyeing me from the shelf...still only halfway through... so much to chew on... so dense... makes me miss being in school. this one is HIGH on the list of getting-back-to.
5. invisible cities by italo calvino: ok, i'll end on a bright note... i've been reading this book for honestly about five or six years. i read it like it's a book of poetry. i pick it up, read a page or two, smile, and put it back down. i'm currently very close to the end. but i sorta never want to finish it. seems like a book that should never be finished. i mean that as a compliment.
(what comes next will be more relevant if you read the article first, but whatever...)
...this piece was really appropriate to me because i'm totally guilty of the sort of thing he's (humorously) arguing against. the problem with me is this: i love books, but i hate reading. not entirely true, but it has a nice ring to it. like most of us, patience is not something that comes easy (insert reference to flux-of-imagery-in-a-hyper-mediated-world here). and while i agree that reading proust is "a trackless, opiated pleasure," as mr. sadler argues (with great sass), it still hasn't helped me finish swann's way in any of my three attempts.
for me, the problem with "dense" or "difficult" reading is often in the structure, rather than the content. when i've attempted swann in the past, i found myself constantly fading into my own little world of evocations. pleasurable? yes, but frustrating when you've been sitting with a book in your lap for an hour and you've only managed to work your way through 4 pages, having re-lived 14 seperate smells from your childhood (or whatever). i'm not used to what's expected of me in a novel like swann. i'm used to some semblance of a plot, with its occasionally dull punishment-and-reward system of investigations. and when i do come across something free-form and open, it's rarely written with the gentlemanly restraint of ol' marcel.
i'd argue that this kind of literary masochism can be quite good, actually. the self-inflicted torture of difficult reading isn't neccessarily a penance or an ego trip (though it can be both). often it's simply the discomfort of adjustment. and i think that some of the best things i come across (books or otherwise) come from difficult places, and require unfamiliar approaches. i think it is in areas like this that a passive experience (i.e. sitting and reading) becomes active... and "active" is often the best way to go into something.
that said, here is
five good books i never finished, but one day plan to finish:
1. the magic mountain by thomas mann: got three hundred fucking pages in (!!!) and bailed... it was all those looong medical descriptions. couldn't keep it up.
2. powers of horror by julia kristeva: read the opening chapter about ten times (really useful to my paintings/drawings, actually), and scattered bits and pieces throughout (stuff on totem and taboo, etc.)... i actually breaked to read some celine with the intention of going back to it. that was, alas, about four years ago...
3. sentimental education by gustave flaubert: i have no good excuse for this one. it's not really that tough of a read, even. i had just finished madame bovary about two years back when i went into it. eventually, i think i just needed a break from all the realism. it's good though. i'll get around to it.
4. the phenomenology of spirit by hegel: still eyeing me from the shelf...still only halfway through... so much to chew on... so dense... makes me miss being in school. this one is HIGH on the list of getting-back-to.
5. invisible cities by italo calvino: ok, i'll end on a bright note... i've been reading this book for honestly about five or six years. i read it like it's a book of poetry. i pick it up, read a page or two, smile, and put it back down. i'm currently very close to the end. but i sorta never want to finish it. seems like a book that should never be finished. i mean that as a compliment.
