As everyone knows, one of my favorite things is postulating (after the manner of Balzac) categories that are so specific that they barely fit anything other than the single instance they are describing.
So, describing DANIEL DERONDA to Talya, I said, "It's one of those later works by an author that is still great, of course, because it is developing ideas that were already-present, but too ambitious to be purely enjoyable." And then the only other work I could think of to put in this category was ...And Justice for All, by Metallica.
[Yet another, still interesting, but broader, category would be: works obviously after an artist has peaked, but still worth having.]
Here's the one I'm working with today. Totally definitive generic works. The single most obvious example to demonstrate a genre. Not the "best," but maybe the least idiosyncratic while still rising above mediocrity. "Generic" therefore in the best sense. (Basically unambiguous.)
I encourage comments.
FILM----
Hollywood Western: Shane
Spaghetti Western: Big Gundown
Noir: Out of the Past (which I don't care for), or The Postman Always Rings Twice
MUSIC:
Grindcore: Terrorizer "World Downfall"
Youth Crew: Project X 7"
UK82: Partisans "Police Story"
Thrash Metal: Metallica "Kill Em All" or Megadeth "Peace Sells"
Country Rock: Byrds "Sweetheart of the Rodeo"
Glam: David Bowie "Ziggy Stardust"
NWOBHM: Diamond Head "Lightning to the Nations"
Goth: Sisters of Mercy "First and Last and Always"
British Invasion: I have a record in mind from a previous conversation but I can't remember what I think the answer to this one is.
Oi: Blitz, "Voice of a Generation"
Black Metal: Ulver, "Nattens Madrigal"
Shoegaze: My Bloody Valentine "Loveless"
name some more...
Books:
Tragedy: Oedipus Rex
Epic: The Aeneid
Romanticism: Tintern Abbey
Realist novel: Also couldn't think of one here. Something by Trollope maybe?
In a way, there shouldn't be "argument" about this, because the very premise is "We all agree that this is what XXXX genre is, therefore we should agree on its exemplification in YYYY work." But I haven't read/heard/seen everything; there might be a way more normative oi! album that "Voice of a Generation," for instance...
Friday, May 04, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Reading on the Subway, con't.
Elm Rock City has a good post up right now about a topic near and dear to our hearts, and recently discussed (below): what makes people read or not read great books?
[Addition: in many of the comments to said post, there is what amounts to a disparaging of reading as something not special, something "untimely" and impractical. But if that is how one feels, you've already played your hand as to whether people should be reading classic literature. If it is something to do with calculation, efficiency, maximized returns on one's time, and immediate relevancy, literature will lose every time. It is only when literature takes us outside of that part of our lives which does not have time for it, that we learn to make time for it.]
I worked at a bookstore all through high school, and last year, and this is what people buy (in Texas, at least):
Still, I have to admit, in New York people *do* read more than anywhere else. Case in point: hipster folk band Effi Briest. In any other town, Rainer Maria (qua reference) is probably over people's heads...much less a novel by the mega obscure Theodor Fontane.
Eventually I am going to write something about philosophy and reading on my other blog, but I do believe that reading is (or can be/should be) thinking, and that there is no substitution for it, and that learning is not valuable despite the time it takes, but because of the time it takes: the inefficient, the inconvenient, are so for a reason--"consumption" is alien to the lasting qualities of these works. (Take Dickens for instance; the idea that Dickens is stuffy or hard or anything but pure entertainment would have been laughable a hundred years ago: that he has become so seems not co-incidental.)
I do not understand someone wanting to finish (be "done with") Proust, Milton, Sterne... don't you just want these things to keep going?
[Addition: in many of the comments to said post, there is what amounts to a disparaging of reading as something not special, something "untimely" and impractical. But if that is how one feels, you've already played your hand as to whether people should be reading classic literature. If it is something to do with calculation, efficiency, maximized returns on one's time, and immediate relevancy, literature will lose every time. It is only when literature takes us outside of that part of our lives which does not have time for it, that we learn to make time for it.]
I worked at a bookstore all through high school, and last year, and this is what people buy (in Texas, at least):
- self-help books
- Christian self-help books
- cookbooks and bargain books
- NY Times-approved things like READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN
- Harry Potter books
- THE LIFE OF PI, BEE SEASON, WHITE TEETH, etc.
Still, I have to admit, in New York people *do* read more than anywhere else. Case in point: hipster folk band Effi Briest. In any other town, Rainer Maria (qua reference) is probably over people's heads...much less a novel by the mega obscure Theodor Fontane.
Eventually I am going to write something about philosophy and reading on my other blog, but I do believe that reading is (or can be/should be) thinking, and that there is no substitution for it, and that learning is not valuable despite the time it takes, but because of the time it takes: the inefficient, the inconvenient, are so for a reason--"consumption" is alien to the lasting qualities of these works. (Take Dickens for instance; the idea that Dickens is stuffy or hard or anything but pure entertainment would have been laughable a hundred years ago: that he has become so seems not co-incidental.)
I do not understand someone wanting to finish (be "done with") Proust, Milton, Sterne... don't you just want these things to keep going?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Summer Reading List
Unlike most people, I read novels "for a living," so my summer reading has a lot of the critical/philosophical/psychoanalytic books that I don't get to read during the school year. The point of posting this is if anyone else is reading these things, get in touch and we can read them together. Particularly the Beckett novels and "The Wolf Man."
PICKWICK PAPERS (Dickens)
VANITY FAIR (Thackeray)
DANIEL DERONDA (Eliot)
WOMAN IN WHITE (Collins)
SODOM AND GOMORRAH (Proust)
BLUE AND BROWN BOOKS (Wittgenstein)
INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS (Freud)
FUNDAMENTALS OF LANGUAGE (Jakobson)
DECEIT DESIRE AND THE NOVEL (Girard)
FOUR FUNDAMENTALS OF PSYCHOANALYSIS (Lacan)
CRITIQUE OF PURE REASON (Kant)
DIALOGIC IMAGINATION (Bakhtin)
MARXISM AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE (Bakhtin)
MOLLOY, MALONE DIES, THE UNNAMEABLE (Beckett)
THE WOLF MAN (Freud)
THE WOLF MAN'S MAGIC WORD (Torok, Abraham, Derrida)
PICKWICK PAPERS (Dickens)
VANITY FAIR (Thackeray)
DANIEL DERONDA (Eliot)
WOMAN IN WHITE (Collins)
SODOM AND GOMORRAH (Proust)
BLUE AND BROWN BOOKS (Wittgenstein)
INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS (Freud)
FUNDAMENTALS OF LANGUAGE (Jakobson)
DECEIT DESIRE AND THE NOVEL (Girard)
FOUR FUNDAMENTALS OF PSYCHOANALYSIS (Lacan)
CRITIQUE OF PURE REASON (Kant)
DIALOGIC IMAGINATION (Bakhtin)
MARXISM AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE (Bakhtin)
MOLLOY, MALONE DIES, THE UNNAMEABLE (Beckett)
THE WOLF MAN (Freud)
THE WOLF MAN'S MAGIC WORD (Torok, Abraham, Derrida)
Monday, April 30, 2007
a demonstration
Here is something further on the point I was just making.
It's a poem by Tennyson, called "St. Simeon Stylites." It's about how ascetic and devoted this monk is, but (in true Lacanian fashion) he fails to give away the excess (of devotion, saintly ambition) of his desire, so he is circling around what *cannot* finally be renounced: renunciation.
But the real problem is that it is a dramatic monologue; ie: he is talking about himself, how "base" he is, and you'll see it just rubs you the wrong way. [Astute readers will make the connection to psychoanalysis' "talking cure"--we can't STOP "making meaning" about ourselves, even in our flattest justifications.]
Altho’ I be the basest of mankind,
From scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin,
Unfit for earth, unfit for heaven, scarce meet
For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy,
I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold
Of saintdom, and to clamour, mourn and sob,
Battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer,
Have mercy, Lord, and take away my sin.
Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,
This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years,
Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,
In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold,
In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes and cramps,
A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud,
Patient on this tall pillar I have borne
Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow;
And I had hoped that ere this period closed
Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest,
Denying not these weather-beaten limbs
The meed of saints, the white robe and the palm.
O Lord, Lord,
Thou knowest I bore this better at the first,
For I was strong and hale of body then;
And tho’ my teeth, which now are dropt away,
Would chatter with the cold, and all my beard
Was tagg’d with icy fringes in the moon,
I drown’d the whoopings of the owl with sound
Of pious hymns and psalms, and sometimes saw
An angel stand and watch me, as I sang.
The silly people take me for a saint,
And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers:
And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here)
Have all in all endured as much, and more
Than many just and holy men, whose names
Are register’d and calendar’d for saints.
The end! the end!
Surely the end! What’s here? a shape, a shade,
A flash of light. Is that the angel there
That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come.
I know thy glittering face. I waited long;
My brows are ready. What! deny it now?
Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. So I clutch it. Christ!
’Tis gone: ’tis here again; the crown! the crown!
So now ’tis fitted on and grows to me,
And from it melt the dews of Paradise,
Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense.
Ah! let me not be fool’d, sweet saints: I trust
That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven.
It's a poem by Tennyson, called "St. Simeon Stylites." It's about how ascetic and devoted this monk is, but (in true Lacanian fashion) he fails to give away the excess (of devotion, saintly ambition) of his desire, so he is circling around what *cannot* finally be renounced: renunciation.
But the real problem is that it is a dramatic monologue; ie: he is talking about himself, how "base" he is, and you'll see it just rubs you the wrong way. [Astute readers will make the connection to psychoanalysis' "talking cure"--we can't STOP "making meaning" about ourselves, even in our flattest justifications.]
Altho’ I be the basest of mankind,
From scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin,
Unfit for earth, unfit for heaven, scarce meet
For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy,
I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold
Of saintdom, and to clamour, mourn and sob,
Battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer,
Have mercy, Lord, and take away my sin.
Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,
This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years,
Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,
In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold,
In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes and cramps,
A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud,
Patient on this tall pillar I have borne
Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow;
And I had hoped that ere this period closed
Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest,
Denying not these weather-beaten limbs
The meed of saints, the white robe and the palm.
O Lord, Lord,
Thou knowest I bore this better at the first,
For I was strong and hale of body then;
And tho’ my teeth, which now are dropt away,
Would chatter with the cold, and all my beard
Was tagg’d with icy fringes in the moon,
I drown’d the whoopings of the owl with sound
Of pious hymns and psalms, and sometimes saw
An angel stand and watch me, as I sang.
The silly people take me for a saint,
And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers:
And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here)
Have all in all endured as much, and more
Than many just and holy men, whose names
Are register’d and calendar’d for saints.
The end! the end!
Surely the end! What’s here? a shape, a shade,
A flash of light. Is that the angel there
That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come.
I know thy glittering face. I waited long;
My brows are ready. What! deny it now?
Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. So I clutch it. Christ!
’Tis gone: ’tis here again; the crown! the crown!
So now ’tis fitted on and grows to me,
And from it melt the dews of Paradise,
Sweet! sweet! spikenard, and balm, and frankincense.
Ah! let me not be fool’d, sweet saints: I trust
That I am whole, and clean, and meet for Heaven.
Proust, Paradise Lost, this blog
Here's a maxim you can have.
There's no way to say something positive about oneself and not come off badly.
Have you read IN A BUDDING GROVE? Proust tries to present himself as this precocious adolescent, and just comes across as self-absorbed and cocky.
Here's a question, though. Why should I take umbrage at Proust being cocky, at knowing how smart and witty he is? I think he is the smartest and the wittiest. I should be nodding in assent; "Yes, you *are* so great." Because, apart from this novel, that is how I feel. But, when he says it, it strikes a false note.
Milton uses this device against Satan in PARADISE LOST: Satan pretty much only talks about himself (CS Lewis calls it "incessant autobiography"), and so after a while, you kind of hate the guy, even though he starts off with all your sympathies.
This is also the premise of PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN. Any reader who *likes* Stephen has to be a total asshole. Or, at least, someone who sympathizes with precocious, self-absorbed adolescents. We can assume this would extend to other (self-absorbed) adolescents.
Anyways, my last few posts contained references to myself that were undeniable, stone-cold facts: I like these things, I read these books at a certain age, I do such and such for a living, etc. And like, as a rule of style, no matter what, those things, which admit of no contradiction, probably irked some people at least stylistically.
Have you ever read Ayn Rand novels? They are full of people who don't understand this point. People who, because they are successful, can't understand why everyone else is not interested in them as much as they are interested in themselves.
OK, that was a trick. I actually just wrote that last paragraph to demonstrate a point. When I wrote, "people who, because they are successful", the obvious implication is, that's me, and I would like to not be under the same delusion as these characters, *while* being successful. Now, no one wants to hear that I think I am "successful," although by the strictest definition, I imagine that I am. More than that, you don't even want me to align myself with a negative example of (fictional) successful types. And it's not because you don't like me, or because you would prefer that I not be or consider myself happy or successful.
No, nothing like that. It's just a rule of writing and psychology. But here's the literary part: it's why, for a while in PARADISE LOST, we can't stand God. Because he knows he's right. Now, that is tautological, because God IS rightness in its essence, and yet we would still prefer that God be a bit humbler. This is stupid of us, yes, but you know what? I just compared myself to God. I bet you are furious.
There's no way to say something positive about oneself and not come off badly.
Have you read IN A BUDDING GROVE? Proust tries to present himself as this precocious adolescent, and just comes across as self-absorbed and cocky.
Here's a question, though. Why should I take umbrage at Proust being cocky, at knowing how smart and witty he is? I think he is the smartest and the wittiest. I should be nodding in assent; "Yes, you *are* so great." Because, apart from this novel, that is how I feel. But, when he says it, it strikes a false note.
Milton uses this device against Satan in PARADISE LOST: Satan pretty much only talks about himself (CS Lewis calls it "incessant autobiography"), and so after a while, you kind of hate the guy, even though he starts off with all your sympathies.
This is also the premise of PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN. Any reader who *likes* Stephen has to be a total asshole. Or, at least, someone who sympathizes with precocious, self-absorbed adolescents. We can assume this would extend to other (self-absorbed) adolescents.
Anyways, my last few posts contained references to myself that were undeniable, stone-cold facts: I like these things, I read these books at a certain age, I do such and such for a living, etc. And like, as a rule of style, no matter what, those things, which admit of no contradiction, probably irked some people at least stylistically.
Have you ever read Ayn Rand novels? They are full of people who don't understand this point. People who, because they are successful, can't understand why everyone else is not interested in them as much as they are interested in themselves.
OK, that was a trick. I actually just wrote that last paragraph to demonstrate a point. When I wrote, "people who, because they are successful", the obvious implication is, that's me, and I would like to not be under the same delusion as these characters, *while* being successful. Now, no one wants to hear that I think I am "successful," although by the strictest definition, I imagine that I am. More than that, you don't even want me to align myself with a negative example of (fictional) successful types. And it's not because you don't like me, or because you would prefer that I not be or consider myself happy or successful.
No, nothing like that. It's just a rule of writing and psychology. But here's the literary part: it's why, for a while in PARADISE LOST, we can't stand God. Because he knows he's right. Now, that is tautological, because God IS rightness in its essence, and yet we would still prefer that God be a bit humbler. This is stupid of us, yes, but you know what? I just compared myself to God. I bet you are furious.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
What qualifies as "interests"?
I will post more on this later, but I was reading some dumb Village Voice article in which the author, recounting a conversation with a boyfriend who wanted her to be something she wasn't, has this inward moment of befuddlement:
I was devastated. Couldn't he see I was into the same things he was—Dostoevsky, early '90s shoegazer music and Indian food?
Now that we have the internet to prominently display our interests on social networking pages, presumably this isn't a problem any more. Although, my blogger profile lists my interests as: "iced coffee." Talya has "coffee", "snacks" and "showers". Well, that's almost as bad as Dostoievski (yeah you can spell it however you want) qua "interest."
In that Village Voice list, erhaps nothing is as weak as "Indian food" as an interest. What does that mean, that someone likes to cook Indian food? go out to Indian restaraunts? discuss Indian food? Even worse: "I was into the same things he was." Honey, EVERYONE loves samosas. This is not a bonding agent.
Recently I was half-jokingly telling someone how easy it would be to date me because I have such varied interests: Italian cinema, Victorian novels, French critical theory, German philosophy, Hollywood westerns, Jamaican reggae, Finnish hardcore, etc.
Now, I said this was "half-jokingly," and I hope you see why, but let's first say why I wasn't joking. 1) Those are interests. 2) My mom and her siblings, or my roommates, or most random people, don't have interests like this. 3) I think it's a good list. And I have Top 10 lists for each one.
More apparently, though, I was joking. Here's why:
1) Whether it is easy to date me is up for debate, but certainly "He has so many interests!" is far from being either the final word, or even necessarily positive.
2) The list is in a joke format: [Country/time period]--[genre].
3) In a way, it's really all the SAME interest to someone who doesn't care. Like, when I lived in Austin, no matter WHAT band shirt I was wearing, d-bags would be all, "Oh you like liiiive music? You must love livin' in Austin." [Which is kind of the Austin take on everything: "You like XXXX? You must love livin' in Austin."] So, my infinitely discriminating taste in various genres is ultimately irrelevant to anyone who doesn't have that same interest. Or, say: I love French New Wave films, but I would never offer that up as saying anything about myself. Because that is moronic. What would it say about me? That I am a cinephile? A francophile? A fan of classic noirs? A fan of Jerry Lewis films? An avid reader of Cahiers du Cinema?
4) As you can see, I have no idea what interests are, or why they might matter to someone else.
I'll get back to this topic in a bit (do I ever leave it) but I want to say, since we don't live in a romantic comedy, we need better shit than Dostoievski, indian food, and Pavement to qualify as an interesting person. (And I like Dostoevski and Indian food more than most things).
I was devastated. Couldn't he see I was into the same things he was—Dostoevsky, early '90s shoegazer music and Indian food?
Now that we have the internet to prominently display our interests on social networking pages, presumably this isn't a problem any more. Although, my blogger profile lists my interests as: "iced coffee." Talya has "coffee", "snacks" and "showers". Well, that's almost as bad as Dostoievski (yeah you can spell it however you want) qua "interest."
In that Village Voice list, erhaps nothing is as weak as "Indian food" as an interest. What does that mean, that someone likes to cook Indian food? go out to Indian restaraunts? discuss Indian food? Even worse: "I was into the same things he was." Honey, EVERYONE loves samosas. This is not a bonding agent.
Recently I was half-jokingly telling someone how easy it would be to date me because I have such varied interests: Italian cinema, Victorian novels, French critical theory, German philosophy, Hollywood westerns, Jamaican reggae, Finnish hardcore, etc.
Now, I said this was "half-jokingly," and I hope you see why, but let's first say why I wasn't joking. 1) Those are interests. 2) My mom and her siblings, or my roommates, or most random people, don't have interests like this. 3) I think it's a good list. And I have Top 10 lists for each one.
More apparently, though, I was joking. Here's why:
1) Whether it is easy to date me is up for debate, but certainly "He has so many interests!" is far from being either the final word, or even necessarily positive.
2) The list is in a joke format: [Country/time period]--[genre].
3) In a way, it's really all the SAME interest to someone who doesn't care. Like, when I lived in Austin, no matter WHAT band shirt I was wearing, d-bags would be all, "Oh you like liiiive music? You must love livin' in Austin." [Which is kind of the Austin take on everything: "You like XXXX? You must love livin' in Austin."] So, my infinitely discriminating taste in various genres is ultimately irrelevant to anyone who doesn't have that same interest. Or, say: I love French New Wave films, but I would never offer that up as saying anything about myself. Because that is moronic. What would it say about me? That I am a cinephile? A francophile? A fan of classic noirs? A fan of Jerry Lewis films? An avid reader of Cahiers du Cinema?
4) As you can see, I have no idea what interests are, or why they might matter to someone else.
I'll get back to this topic in a bit (do I ever leave it) but I want to say, since we don't live in a romantic comedy, we need better shit than Dostoievski, indian food, and Pavement to qualify as an interesting person. (And I like Dostoevski and Indian food more than most things).
Friday, April 27, 2007
To clarify:
A couple points about the previous post; or, THE points of the previous post.
1) Cultural knowledge is an endeavor you cannot fail at.
2) Cultural knowledge (of whatever kind), and our own history, are our imperatives as human beings.
My "big problem" with the world, then, is that if we MUST do this, and we CAN'T fail at it...then...you know...what the fuck, man?
1) Cultural knowledge is an endeavor you cannot fail at.
2) Cultural knowledge (of whatever kind), and our own history, are our imperatives as human beings.
My "big problem" with the world, then, is that if we MUST do this, and we CAN'T fail at it...then...you know...what the fuck, man?
Reading on the Subway
What people read on the subway is a kind of infinite topic, but yesterday I was really annoyed by these high school kids (who weren't reading anything, and were behaving really badly) on the train. They were just dumb. And I thought, well, here I am reading PARADISE REGAINED, and here they are just kind of babbling and swearing, and it just sucks to be surrounded by idiots while I'm trying to get work done. But then I thought about it for a while and came to rather a different conclusion.
Because, (to borrow some italics from "Grindhouse") I was reading. They weren't. By which I mean, I have prioritized my own reading since I was in 2nd grade. I was fucking precocious. I was reading THE ILIAD in 2nd grade, and from then on I was reading about six years ahead of my grade level, which meant that I had to read everything twice: BEOWULF, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, JULIUS CAESAR, THE STRANGER, HERODOTUS, THE INFERNO, etc, all in middle school. I know, for instance, that Talya was like this as well.
It is hard to say which is the cause or effect. I made it a priority to read PETER PAN and ALICE IN WONDERLAND when I was really young, because I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy them as much when I was older. That's weird! But actually the whole idea of "reading at one's grade level" is messed up, because I was reading: none of the other kids on my school bus were. It's not like when I was reading DON QUIXOTE, they were trying to catch up. Kids just didn't read.
In a way, I don't which I should prefer: to just BE smart or to have accomplished it myself. Obviously it's a bit of both, but let's just say I worked on it. And the moral here is, not that stupid people don't exist, or that everyone could eventually be as smart as everyone else, but that we always give up the game too early. I started reading very early, I still read. I read all the time. And unless someone is only reading trashy mystery books or airport fiction, if you can find someone who can say the same thing, I bet they are not an abject moron either. [They may not be cute and sweet like me, but that's another question.]
And here, either you agree with me, or your position is like, "dumb people know their place; why should they force themselves to read FAUST when they just want to read Allure?" I'm not okay with that question, since to me, there is obviously a class issue here: my parents were college graduates, they prized these things, they imbued me with a love of reading, and maybe everyone doesn't get to Foucault--that's fine. But it seems to me the question is always ceded *far* too early.
There are two corollaries to this:
1) In the academic world, after a certain point, it doesn't matter how smart you are. The person doing "interesting work," who has committed themselves to worthwhile values, to a rigorous methodology, to a love of literature over careerist aims, to pedagogy rather than name-dropping, to books instead of trends, may not be any smarter than someone else: but this work will be worth reading, and other stuff, perhaps written by more intelligent people, won't.
2) Cinema literacy: I got a head start on this early, too. I think everyone should. It should be taught in high school. Talya just watched "The Bicycle Thief" the other day. I had to watch that in a class in high school, and I'm all the better for it. (It's about man's search for dignity).
To be honest--a love of learning, a love of culture, having principles, etc., these things stand above raw intelligence: in my world they are the only things that matter.
And, this makes almost the entire world one extended major bum-out.
Because, (to borrow some italics from "Grindhouse") I was reading. They weren't. By which I mean, I have prioritized my own reading since I was in 2nd grade. I was fucking precocious. I was reading THE ILIAD in 2nd grade, and from then on I was reading about six years ahead of my grade level, which meant that I had to read everything twice: BEOWULF, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, JULIUS CAESAR, THE STRANGER, HERODOTUS, THE INFERNO, etc, all in middle school. I know, for instance, that Talya was like this as well.
It is hard to say which is the cause or effect. I made it a priority to read PETER PAN and ALICE IN WONDERLAND when I was really young, because I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy them as much when I was older. That's weird! But actually the whole idea of "reading at one's grade level" is messed up, because I was reading: none of the other kids on my school bus were. It's not like when I was reading DON QUIXOTE, they were trying to catch up. Kids just didn't read.
In a way, I don't which I should prefer: to just BE smart or to have accomplished it myself. Obviously it's a bit of both, but let's just say I worked on it. And the moral here is, not that stupid people don't exist, or that everyone could eventually be as smart as everyone else, but that we always give up the game too early. I started reading very early, I still read. I read all the time. And unless someone is only reading trashy mystery books or airport fiction, if you can find someone who can say the same thing, I bet they are not an abject moron either. [They may not be cute and sweet like me, but that's another question.]
And here, either you agree with me, or your position is like, "dumb people know their place; why should they force themselves to read FAUST when they just want to read Allure?" I'm not okay with that question, since to me, there is obviously a class issue here: my parents were college graduates, they prized these things, they imbued me with a love of reading, and maybe everyone doesn't get to Foucault--that's fine. But it seems to me the question is always ceded *far* too early.
There are two corollaries to this:
1) In the academic world, after a certain point, it doesn't matter how smart you are. The person doing "interesting work," who has committed themselves to worthwhile values, to a rigorous methodology, to a love of literature over careerist aims, to pedagogy rather than name-dropping, to books instead of trends, may not be any smarter than someone else: but this work will be worth reading, and other stuff, perhaps written by more intelligent people, won't.
2) Cinema literacy: I got a head start on this early, too. I think everyone should. It should be taught in high school. Talya just watched "The Bicycle Thief" the other day. I had to watch that in a class in high school, and I'm all the better for it. (It's about man's search for dignity).
To be honest--a love of learning, a love of culture, having principles, etc., these things stand above raw intelligence: in my world they are the only things that matter.
And, this makes almost the entire world one extended major bum-out.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Gay Marriage, A Questionable Enterprise
[Preemptive note: read the whole post before you start arguing with me.]
Consider the implications of this editorial from the NY Times.
Mr. Spitzer is right to be fighting for gay marriage. Civil unions and domestic partnerships are an important recognition of gay relationships by a state. But they still represent separate and unequal treatment. One federal study identified more than 1,100 rights or benefits that are accorded only to the legally married. That means that even in states recognizing civil unions and domestic partnerships, gay couples often have to use legal contortions to protect their families in ways that married couples take for granted. Gay couples may also be discriminated against when it comes to taxes and pension benefits.
The argumentative blocks of this paragraph are as follows:
1) Many states recognize civil unions and domestic partnerships.
2) Although these fall short of "marriage," they are well-intentioned.
3) However, these good intentions neglect the practical "discriminations" against those who are not fully and legally married.
4) Therefore, NY should pass a law legalizing gay marriage as opposed to these half-measures.
This logic is specious at best, because it ALSO assumes the following:
1) Gay people should want to buy into the institution of marriage
2) Only gay people are being "discriminated against" by marriage laws (taxes, pensions, etc).
3) That it is easier to promote gay people to marriageable citizens rather than dismantling an obviously-prejudicial pro-marriage system.
I would have to be really naive not to see that gay marriage is a hot issue for reasons other than those having to do with pensions; and obviously straight people who choose not to get married are in a different situation: BUT REALLY, MARRIAGE IS DUMB. Anything the Catholic Church and George Bush are so keen on defending, which is THE institution for reinforcing RHN (reproductive heteronormativity), that is (even in this pro-marriage editorial) an instrument of discrimination, socially compulsory, homophobic, patriarchal, etc. etc. etc.
So, gay marriage. Excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm about it. In my mind, it will only ever be (gay) marriage. And as long as the issue of homosexuality is an issue about "tolerance" and "the other," these are the sorts of ultimately irrelevant battles that will take place (over constitutional amendments): ones that ultimately supports "the system" and self-ascribes to degrading legalisms, etc. In short, marriage IS homophobic; why try to play their game?
Consider the implications of this editorial from the NY Times.
Mr. Spitzer is right to be fighting for gay marriage. Civil unions and domestic partnerships are an important recognition of gay relationships by a state. But they still represent separate and unequal treatment. One federal study identified more than 1,100 rights or benefits that are accorded only to the legally married. That means that even in states recognizing civil unions and domestic partnerships, gay couples often have to use legal contortions to protect their families in ways that married couples take for granted. Gay couples may also be discriminated against when it comes to taxes and pension benefits.
The argumentative blocks of this paragraph are as follows:
1) Many states recognize civil unions and domestic partnerships.
2) Although these fall short of "marriage," they are well-intentioned.
3) However, these good intentions neglect the practical "discriminations" against those who are not fully and legally married.
4) Therefore, NY should pass a law legalizing gay marriage as opposed to these half-measures.
This logic is specious at best, because it ALSO assumes the following:
1) Gay people should want to buy into the institution of marriage
2) Only gay people are being "discriminated against" by marriage laws (taxes, pensions, etc).
3) That it is easier to promote gay people to marriageable citizens rather than dismantling an obviously-prejudicial pro-marriage system.
I would have to be really naive not to see that gay marriage is a hot issue for reasons other than those having to do with pensions; and obviously straight people who choose not to get married are in a different situation: BUT REALLY, MARRIAGE IS DUMB. Anything the Catholic Church and George Bush are so keen on defending, which is THE institution for reinforcing RHN (reproductive heteronormativity), that is (even in this pro-marriage editorial) an instrument of discrimination, socially compulsory, homophobic, patriarchal, etc. etc. etc.
So, gay marriage. Excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm about it. In my mind, it will only ever be (gay) marriage. And as long as the issue of homosexuality is an issue about "tolerance" and "the other," these are the sorts of ultimately irrelevant battles that will take place (over constitutional amendments): ones that ultimately supports "the system" and self-ascribes to degrading legalisms, etc. In short, marriage IS homophobic; why try to play their game?
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