Greetings, Fellow Bookmen--
While searching online for the definition of a particularly obscure (to me, anyway) reference in our current novel, I found a "m-m-m-most m-m-m-marvelous site"--as dear Anthony Blanche might describe it, though of course he would never need it! Anyway, I commend it to you all:
http://www.abbotshill.freeserve.co.uk/AmContents.html by David Cliffe
You can even search the British and American editions (which I haven't done yet, but one day hope to do).
Cheers, Steve
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
The Last of the Wine
Mounting the Acropolis for the first time last month, it occurred to me to reread Mary Renault's The Last of the Wine. I'd read all of her historical novels and this had always remained in my memory as her best. It was her first (historical novel), written in 1956, after her initial six lesbian/hospital series, and immediately after her unique contemporary gay novel, The Charioteer (which we read some years ago). It covers the last thirteen years of the Peloponnesian War and the full run of the pederastic relationship of the narrator Alexias, from boyhood to manhood. "Gay" characters (I of course use the term loosely) occur in all her historical novels but this is the only one that centers on a relationship of classical pederasty.
What I particularly like about Renault's historical novels is that they are not costume dramas. Her characters are not Englishmen traipsing about in sandals and chitons. Her historical novels read as though that bourgeois concoction was in use some 2200 years before its invention in the eighteenth-century. Her style can seem elusive, even cryptic, but that's usually because of her fidelity to her characters' mentality and times. Some things are glossed over because any contemporaneous reader would need no explanation; others are touched on only lighty because none would be wanted. Additionally, Renault herself often writes allusively and laconically. An incident briefly mentioned on one page can be significantly alluded to a hundred pages later. One has to be attentive.
Looming behind the historical events in Athens and the fictive stories of Alexias and his lover Lysis is the figure of Socrates and the themes of courage and virtue. It is no sin for Lysis and Alexias to have sex (and you might not even realize they have when you read about it) but it's a falling off from their ideal, like going on a bender when you only meant to go out for a drink.
Part of the pleasure of reading a historical novel is being put into the mindset of another age. Another part, if one knows the details of that age, is simply (simple-mindedly?) checking them off as one comes upon them, somewhat akin to one's experience in reading a novel that takes place in a city one knows well ("oh yes, there's such and such and a few blocks on they come to that infamous locale" etc). I'm sorry not to recommend The Last of the Wine for group discussion (we've already read two Renault's, The Charioteer, and the weak middle of the Alexander triology), for I would like to hear, among other things, how well others who are not so familiar with the period enjoyed reading it as a novel. Purists of the old school could get quite persnicketty about these extra-literary elements but like the paradox of the heap the line dividing the literary from the extra- can be arbitrary or vague. If you know the extra-literary elements, your enjoyment of the work may be enhanced, and if others know them and enjoy them as well, you have a community of readers.
For the record I might state that the one competitor for Renault's best historical novel might be Fire from Heaven ... but I'll have to wait till I've visited Pella to reread that.
What I particularly like about Renault's historical novels is that they are not costume dramas. Her characters are not Englishmen traipsing about in sandals and chitons. Her historical novels read as though that bourgeois concoction was in use some 2200 years before its invention in the eighteenth-century. Her style can seem elusive, even cryptic, but that's usually because of her fidelity to her characters' mentality and times. Some things are glossed over because any contemporaneous reader would need no explanation; others are touched on only lighty because none would be wanted. Additionally, Renault herself often writes allusively and laconically. An incident briefly mentioned on one page can be significantly alluded to a hundred pages later. One has to be attentive.
Looming behind the historical events in Athens and the fictive stories of Alexias and his lover Lysis is the figure of Socrates and the themes of courage and virtue. It is no sin for Lysis and Alexias to have sex (and you might not even realize they have when you read about it) but it's a falling off from their ideal, like going on a bender when you only meant to go out for a drink.
Part of the pleasure of reading a historical novel is being put into the mindset of another age. Another part, if one knows the details of that age, is simply (simple-mindedly?) checking them off as one comes upon them, somewhat akin to one's experience in reading a novel that takes place in a city one knows well ("oh yes, there's such and such and a few blocks on they come to that infamous locale" etc). I'm sorry not to recommend The Last of the Wine for group discussion (we've already read two Renault's, The Charioteer, and the weak middle of the Alexander triology), for I would like to hear, among other things, how well others who are not so familiar with the period enjoyed reading it as a novel. Purists of the old school could get quite persnicketty about these extra-literary elements but like the paradox of the heap the line dividing the literary from the extra- can be arbitrary or vague. If you know the extra-literary elements, your enjoyment of the work may be enhanced, and if others know them and enjoy them as well, you have a community of readers.
For the record I might state that the one competitor for Renault's best historical novel might be Fire from Heaven ... but I'll have to wait till I've visited Pella to reread that.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Boys in the Band — DVD
Quite apart from William Friedkin's effective filming of the play, this new DVD is worth renting for the features—on the play, on the movie, on the aftermath—which have been bundled together by CBS Home Entertainment (though there's little chance of your seeing them on WUSA even at two o'clock in the morning). Watching it, I'm struck by this famous passage of Harold's, cooly responding to Michael's "warning":
What is this game? the game of annihilation? No doubt that's a game Michael plays and, as it turns out, Harold can play too, and better, but is there any reason to suppose it's Harold's game the way it is Michael's? What's more, Michael doesn't push him further, yet Harold rounds on him shortly thereafter and demolishes him. Doesn't quite add up to my mind.
Are you now? Are you warning me? Me? I'm Harold. I'm the one person you don't warn, Michael. Because you and I are a match. And we tread very softly with each other because we both play each other's game too well. Oh, I know this game you're playing. I know it very well. And I play it very well. You play it very well too. But you know what, I'm the only one that's better at it than you are. I can beat you at it. So don't push me. I'm warning you.
What is this game? the game of annihilation? No doubt that's a game Michael plays and, as it turns out, Harold can play too, and better, but is there any reason to suppose it's Harold's game the way it is Michael's? What's more, Michael doesn't push him further, yet Harold rounds on him shortly thereafter and demolishes him. Doesn't quite add up to my mind.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Elio as narrator
As I said at the meeting, I read Call Me by Your Name eighteen months ago. It had been given to me by my X, ever vicariously nostalgic for my high-school romance. I enjoyed reading it but thought it most interesting and memorable for its last section, the coda. It was only this I reread before the meeting, not feeling the urge to revisit the main story and wanting to wait and hear what others had to say about it.
Though almost everyone at our meeting liked it, many seemed to have vague reservations, something along the lines of the whole failing to be more than the sum of its parts, or even of not clearly adding up at all. In rereading the penultimate third section I'm inclined to agree.
I mentioned at the meeting that it is not merely Elio's story, it is told in Elio's voice, and that we shouldn't simply fault Aciman for details Elio chooses not to tell us, such as what he's been doing the last twenty years, what his present occupational status is, etc (even less so his failure to rhapsodize on the beauties of Liguria).
I had noted in my first reading that the first night in Rome is the last time Oliver and Elio "make love" (the passionate, public kiss on the via Stanta Maria dell' Anima) but had failed to appreciate, until somebody mentioned it, how bizarre it is that nothing further is said about this in the remainder of the book. What does it say about Elio and his experience, his story, that he relates nothing about their last two days in Rome?
Much of Elio's silence(s) may speak volumes about him but I have lost faith in Aciman that this is artistically conceived. It's either a cheap trick at dimension, a failure of imagination, or meer authorial laziness. In any event, for all the intriguing silences in Elio's narrative, I'm inclined to feel now that it doesn't add up and that the whole is less than the sum of its parts.
I'm even beginning to have darker feelings about this novel being deeply (cheaply?) exploitative of gay experience in the guise of a romance for straight (women?) readers and gay (romantic?) men.
Nevertheless, it's well-written (though Steve may yet reveal how mistaken we all are in this view) and thought provoking, and I'm sure that in the fullness of time—even perhaps in the foolness that remains of my life—I will spend another summer on the Italian Riviera.
Though almost everyone at our meeting liked it, many seemed to have vague reservations, something along the lines of the whole failing to be more than the sum of its parts, or even of not clearly adding up at all. In rereading the penultimate third section I'm inclined to agree.
I mentioned at the meeting that it is not merely Elio's story, it is told in Elio's voice, and that we shouldn't simply fault Aciman for details Elio chooses not to tell us, such as what he's been doing the last twenty years, what his present occupational status is, etc (even less so his failure to rhapsodize on the beauties of Liguria).
I had noted in my first reading that the first night in Rome is the last time Oliver and Elio "make love" (the passionate, public kiss on the via Stanta Maria dell' Anima) but had failed to appreciate, until somebody mentioned it, how bizarre it is that nothing further is said about this in the remainder of the book. What does it say about Elio and his experience, his story, that he relates nothing about their last two days in Rome?
Much of Elio's silence(s) may speak volumes about him but I have lost faith in Aciman that this is artistically conceived. It's either a cheap trick at dimension, a failure of imagination, or meer authorial laziness. In any event, for all the intriguing silences in Elio's narrative, I'm inclined to feel now that it doesn't add up and that the whole is less than the sum of its parts.
I'm even beginning to have darker feelings about this novel being deeply (cheaply?) exploitative of gay experience in the guise of a romance for straight (women?) readers and gay (romantic?) men.
Nevertheless, it's well-written (though Steve may yet reveal how mistaken we all are in this view) and thought provoking, and I'm sure that in the fullness of time—even perhaps in the foolness that remains of my life—I will spend another summer on the Italian Riviera.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
The Votes Are In!
Fall 2008-Spring 2009 Bookmen DC Reading List
9/17 Between Men: Best New Gay Fiction, pp. 163-250
10/1 A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood
10/15 Men of Mystery, pp. 117-184
11/5 Dude, You’re a Fag by C.J. Pascoe
11/19 Freedom in this Village, pp. 255-330
12/3 Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
12/17 Between Men, pp. 251-330
2009
1/7 Mississippi Sissy by Kevin Sessums
1/21 Men of Mystery, pp. 185-275
2/4 Gay New York by George Chauncey
2/18 Freedom in this Village, pp. 331-444
3/4 The Wild Boys: A Book of the Dead by William Burroughs
3/18 The Man with Night Sweats by Thom Gunn
4/1 Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima
4/15 The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
9/17 Between Men: Best New Gay Fiction, pp. 163-250
10/1 A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood
10/15 Men of Mystery, pp. 117-184
11/5 Dude, You’re a Fag by C.J. Pascoe
11/19 Freedom in this Village, pp. 255-330
12/3 Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
12/17 Between Men, pp. 251-330
2009
1/7 Mississippi Sissy by Kevin Sessums
1/21 Men of Mystery, pp. 185-275
2/4 Gay New York by George Chauncey
2/18 Freedom in this Village, pp. 331-444
3/4 The Wild Boys: A Book of the Dead by William Burroughs
3/18 The Man with Night Sweats by Thom Gunn
4/1 Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima
4/15 The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Great discussion of "Call Me by Your Name"!
Greetings, Colleagues--
Ten valiant Bookmen, a near-record turnout, gathered last night (9/3/08) to discuss Andre Aciman's novel "Call Me by Your Name." There was clearly a wide range of reactions to the work, but I think it would be safe to say that we all found it well worth reading and enjoyed a particularly lively discussion.
As someone who was less impressed by the novel than most of those present (though I did enjoy it), I have been challenged by a fellow reader to cite some passages that I found memorably infelicitous (so bad they're good? :-). I want to take a little time to sort through the many worthy contenders for that distinction before posting a few; but first, in the spirit of fair play, let me share a passage from the final few pages that I thought was truly wonderful:
"I tried to picture his happy family, boys immersed in homework, or lumbering back from late practice, surly, ill-tempered thumping with muddied boots, every cliche racing through my mind. This is the man whose house I stayed in when I lived in Italy, he'd say, followed by grumphy harrumphs from two adolescents who couldn't be bothered by the man from Italy or the house in Italy, but who'd reel in shock if told, Oh, and by the way, this man who was almost your age back then and who spent most of his days quietly transcribing The Seven Last Words of Christ each morning would sneak into my room at night and we'd fuck our brains out. So shake hands and be nice." (p. 243)
Other than correcting "bothered by" to "bothered with," I wouldn't change a word. :-)
Cheers, Steve
Ten valiant Bookmen, a near-record turnout, gathered last night (9/3/08) to discuss Andre Aciman's novel "Call Me by Your Name." There was clearly a wide range of reactions to the work, but I think it would be safe to say that we all found it well worth reading and enjoyed a particularly lively discussion.
As someone who was less impressed by the novel than most of those present (though I did enjoy it), I have been challenged by a fellow reader to cite some passages that I found memorably infelicitous (so bad they're good? :-). I want to take a little time to sort through the many worthy contenders for that distinction before posting a few; but first, in the spirit of fair play, let me share a passage from the final few pages that I thought was truly wonderful:
"I tried to picture his happy family, boys immersed in homework, or lumbering back from late practice, surly, ill-tempered thumping with muddied boots, every cliche racing through my mind. This is the man whose house I stayed in when I lived in Italy, he'd say, followed by grumphy harrumphs from two adolescents who couldn't be bothered by the man from Italy or the house in Italy, but who'd reel in shock if told, Oh, and by the way, this man who was almost your age back then and who spent most of his days quietly transcribing The Seven Last Words of Christ each morning would sneak into my room at night and we'd fuck our brains out. So shake hands and be nice." (p. 243)
Other than correcting "bothered by" to "bothered with," I wouldn't change a word. :-)
Cheers, Steve
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