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Run Rabbit
Jan. 31st, 2009 05:42 pmI think that one has to admit a certain emptiness in one's life when the most interesting thing one can think of doing is leaving the mobile phone uncharged even though it only has one bar left, just to see how long it takes (unused, of course, no-one ever phones me on it) for the phone to either beep a low-battery warning or, perhaps, just die silently.
It's not sadness. Actually, I'm feeling quite mellow, content. I just don't feel like going out, or anything, Maybe I'll read a bit more of A Handful Of Dust. Though I kind of like the early Waugh that I've been reading, I fear that it seems rather lightweight. Interspersing this with Auster's Leviathan made comparisons between the two inevitable, and Auster achieved a win in perhaps the most important area — page-turnability.
My PhD supervisor phoned me up the other week, out of the blue. It was nice to talk to him. He's retired 10 years now. He has no TV, no computer, and no fridge. Upon retirement apparently they have some counselling/planning process during which he was asked "Now, let's get some plans together for what you will do after you retire. What do you like doing?"
"I like doing nothing", my supervisor replied.
"Oh, well, you'll be fine then".
This reference to literature is brought on, of course, by the death of John Updike, seen as one of the four giants of American literature in the second half of the 20th century (with Mailer, Bellow and Roth). I never really 'got' Updike, although perhaps I should try again. But, thinking about it, I nevere really appreciated any of these supposed giants of the literary stage. Auster and Dick were far more my cup of tea.
I'm a sucker for short little phrases that encapsulate something about society, and I read a beauty this morning in the Financial Times. Referring to the Kate Winslet character in Revolutionary Road, the review continues
"A faith in their right to the keys of paradise." If that doesn't sum up the attitude of so many people these days, I don't know what does. They certainly don't wasn't to hear the Birks motto "Life sucks, and it gets worse as you get older". No, there seems to be some kind of belief that, not only is perfect happiness somewhere round the corner (with or without material worries), but also that it is a basic human right to achieve it. The perfect partner, the perfect job, the perfect body, the perfect life. Yes, all of these can be yours. Just read my book, buy my product, join this club, join this religion. Whatever. (Implicit in all these messages is the subext: "By the way, if you don't, and you aren't perfectly happy, well, that just goes to show what a piece of shit you are for not believing us. Sign up now!")
One of the strongest characters in the film Crash, which I think deserved its Oscar, btw, was the Sandra Bullock character who was well off but was unhappy and was desperately unhappy because she was unhappy. Me, I get unhappy, but I'm not unhappy about my unhappiness, because I know the world sucks. Sandra Bullock's character felt (a) betrayed and (b) a failure, because she was not happy.
The "great four" American authors tried to address this and other such questions about America, but I wonder if the novel is the right form for such questions to be addressed. Satire, film, even comic books, perhaps make a better job of it.
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It's not sadness. Actually, I'm feeling quite mellow, content. I just don't feel like going out, or anything, Maybe I'll read a bit more of A Handful Of Dust. Though I kind of like the early Waugh that I've been reading, I fear that it seems rather lightweight. Interspersing this with Auster's Leviathan made comparisons between the two inevitable, and Auster achieved a win in perhaps the most important area — page-turnability.
My PhD supervisor phoned me up the other week, out of the blue. It was nice to talk to him. He's retired 10 years now. He has no TV, no computer, and no fridge. Upon retirement apparently they have some counselling/planning process during which he was asked "Now, let's get some plans together for what you will do after you retire. What do you like doing?"
"I like doing nothing", my supervisor replied.
"Oh, well, you'll be fine then".
This reference to literature is brought on, of course, by the death of John Updike, seen as one of the four giants of American literature in the second half of the 20th century (with Mailer, Bellow and Roth). I never really 'got' Updike, although perhaps I should try again. But, thinking about it, I nevere really appreciated any of these supposed giants of the literary stage. Auster and Dick were far more my cup of tea.
I'm a sucker for short little phrases that encapsulate something about society, and I read a beauty this morning in the Financial Times. Referring to the Kate Winslet character in Revolutionary Road, the review continues
"She thinks they are a special couple. Actually they are just neurotics with a faith in their right to the keys of paradise".
"A faith in their right to the keys of paradise." If that doesn't sum up the attitude of so many people these days, I don't know what does. They certainly don't wasn't to hear the Birks motto "Life sucks, and it gets worse as you get older". No, there seems to be some kind of belief that, not only is perfect happiness somewhere round the corner (with or without material worries), but also that it is a basic human right to achieve it. The perfect partner, the perfect job, the perfect body, the perfect life. Yes, all of these can be yours. Just read my book, buy my product, join this club, join this religion. Whatever. (Implicit in all these messages is the subext: "By the way, if you don't, and you aren't perfectly happy, well, that just goes to show what a piece of shit you are for not believing us. Sign up now!")
One of the strongest characters in the film Crash, which I think deserved its Oscar, btw, was the Sandra Bullock character who was well off but was unhappy and was desperately unhappy because she was unhappy. Me, I get unhappy, but I'm not unhappy about my unhappiness, because I know the world sucks. Sandra Bullock's character felt (a) betrayed and (b) a failure, because she was not happy.
The "great four" American authors tried to address this and other such questions about America, but I wonder if the novel is the right form for such questions to be addressed. Satire, film, even comic books, perhaps make a better job of it.
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