Severian_Silk on 7/10/2016 at 15:45
Quote:
finally got started this summer on Marcel Proust's monumental piece about things past. It's basically the very epitome of purple prose (or purple prose in a nutshell -- a very large and lusciously described nutshell, or "purple prose like hell, man"); if it had been written today, 50 percent or more would have been cut (condensed into like three books instead of seven), which I sometimes regret it weren't, because if I'm not in the right mood, each page is like an impenetrable wall of words, but, then again, if I am in the right mood, it can really be an enjoyable read, even humorous at times (I think I just read the earliest description of hipsters I've seen so far), and the wall of words becomes less of a wall and more of a lover's generous embrace to sink into, like a warm and welcoming respite from the woes of the modern world, but, even then, I have to sometimes reread a sentence after having gotten lost in exactly how the grasshopper sounds throughout the day, suddenly interrupted by how the clock tower was built and how it affected the young author, because said grasshopper happened to land on its base, and what was served for dinner the other day, how it was cooked, where the ingredients were bought, then a long clause about the cook's relationship with the author's grandmother, a catalog over the social ranking of everyone in town, and, finally, back to Monsieur Sauterelle again, who got tired of being neglected and had disappeared into the high grass surrounding the clock tower, because the handyman, who would otherwise keep everything in perfect order, had had to go into town and buy new shoes on the day normally scheduled for tending to the church garden's grass, green as the feathers of the parrot belonging to the sensuous marquise de Lorange, whose estate could be reached taking the path from the back of the garden instead of the one at the front, which instead lead to the small town, over which the clock tower could be seen as an exclamation mark after the sentence which was the town square, albeit not the same garden, mind you, in which the young author was often found in its most distant corner, reading one of his favourite novels, of which there were many, hidden away from the rest of the world -- all in just one sentence.
tl;dr: Madeleine cakes taste pretty good (I recently made some) and can make you remember stuff.
Great and funny summary, captures Proust's masterpiece perfectly ;) . I love those goddamn books.
qolelis on 11/10/2016 at 17:30
Hehe, thanks! :cool:
He's now switched from the endless descriptions of nature and, well, the more or less mundane, activities in and around it, to Swann's affair with Odette, which seems more than a little unhealthy, but human nature is interesting that way. I wouldn't say I love these goddamn books, but they are growing on me. It's also an opportunity to learn a few new words (because with so many of them, there ought to be some I haven't heard yet :p). I'm still reading Swann's World (or Swann's Way as I think it's called in English), so I haven't gotten very far yet.
So, what makes you love these goddamn books?
qolelis on 22/10/2016 at 11:27
To be perfectly honest, though: I am struggling with it. The part about Swann and Odette felt kind of relevant about how love is blind and can make you do and tolerate shit you wouldn't otherwise, although it was at the same time annoying to see how much of a doormat Swann turned into at the end, before he finally moved on. Now that I write about it, it reminds me of Kar-Wai Wong's In the Mood for Love, not the doormat part, but in how the world relentlessly moves on -- and does it quite easily if you let it -- but that movie did it so much better, and was as beautiful as also purple prose can be (yes, I do know I'm comparing different mediums here, which might not be fair).
The conclusion I meant to arrive at was lost now, though: what I meant to say was that while the part about Swann and Odette made me give at least some damn, everything has now gone back to normal again and I cannot escape the feeling of "why should I care even the slightest about any of this?" and it kind of makes me sad.
The way memory works sometimes is interesting, but I don't know if reading about it -- while it's happening -- is something I want to keep on doing. The sceneries and surroundings so tediously described would probably be a delight to visit, and my senses do get tickled sometimes, but seven full books about nothing? No. One might even say that it's like a Starlet novel for rich republicans with a "taste for the finer things in life", but who really just don't want to get caught red-handed, but that's probably just some nonsense I made up on the spot to make me sound more edgy and relevant in today's society.
It could also be that this particular translation (into Swedish) doesn't do the (alleged) full beauty of the original prose justice, but it's hard to tell since I don't have anything to compare with. I got the four first books cheap, maybe too cheap, and I'm set on finishing them, but I'm pressed to admit that I'm not looking forward to it and, if things continue as they started, I won't get the rest.
Edit:
There is also the subject of social hierarchies and keeping up appearances and so on, which I've seen up close and how petty and outright ridiculous, even damaging, it is, but it's just something that is briefly touched upon and described just as aloofly as everything else.
Yakoob on 23/10/2016 at 02:54
Just started on Connie Willis' To say nothing of the dog and it's back to the time-travel shenenigans of the excellent Doomsday Book. Some of the character are making a comeback (ah sweet sweet Mr. Dunworthy). Enjoy so far.
demagogue on 23/10/2016 at 06:13
I was trying to read Cryptonomicon, and I accidentally flicked the screen and skipped ahead a few dozen pages, and I couldn't even find my way back because the story is all over the place and nothing is really sticking. Granted I'm reading it at a slow place, but this is worse than Nostromo was for getting the plot rolling.
On the side I'm reading a big fat book of articles on Moral Theory.
demagogue on 25/10/2016 at 13:52
Right. So today was a grim day with the new TWD season, the first Black Mirror episode, and early voting starting in the US. It's easy to be down on humanity.
There's one thing that's been keeping me going, and today I made some great progress on it. And it is related to the last book I read. I figured out a possible way to apply that neuroeconomics book I mentioned recently (Glimcher) to language acquisition and have been spending the last few weeks pounding out a whole framework for it. I mean I already had the concept worked out and knew that book and the literature it points to was going to be a key piece. It's why I read it in the first place. But now that I've absorbed it, I can start putting the pieces together.
I'm way beyond giving zero fucks that it's heretical to the Chomskian orthodoxy. And whether anybody else gives it any attention or not, to me, this is important work and I get flashes sometimes that this is the revolution, if it's done right. If the world wants to burn, it can go ahead, but I feel like I've got the philosopher's stone within my grasp and can already see the first rays of sunshine over the horizon of a new consciousness.
Pyrian on 25/10/2016 at 17:42
Quote Posted by demagogue
I'm way beyond giving zero fucks that it's heretical to the Chomskian orthodoxy.
I thought orthodox Chomsky-ism was already dead - largely falsified.
demagogue on 25/10/2016 at 23:32
Linguistics textbooks and classes still start with the poverty of stimulus argument for Universal Grammar (kids don't hear enough to learn grammar), grammar is still separate from pragmatics, etc. The difference now is there are viable alternatives like Cognitive Linguistics. Depends on who you ask I guess.
qolelis on 29/10/2016 at 12:59
Onward: book number two. :sweat:
On the side I'm reading Jung: one about his dream interpretations, and one about his underlying theories about the human psyche. To me, these two represent two different sides of Jung: the mystic and the scientist. The former for how he reads way too much into dreams -- kind of like a teenager who've read a few books and now wants to show it off by applying it to everything, although in Jung's case it's not only a few: if it is indeed possible to be too well read, then Jung might be a candidate -- but it's still an interesting read, if only for the cool dream fiction. The latter for the more serious work on trying to explain the origins of the human psyche, which is what I'm mainly focusing on.
His style of writing is as much poetic as it is scientific, and I really like the images it often inspires. It's also chock-full of references (literary, theological (even to the point of talking about "like some crazy monk in a cave somewhere, of whom only a handful of the most dedicated theologians of the time had heard"), mythological (he spent a lot of time researching myths from all over the world in order to find the common denominators) and so on). It is a fascinating read, but it takes time understanding what he's actually talking about, having to check all the references. I really need to start taking notes, continuously check the references, and then reread.
The concept of the collective unconscious is what first got me into Jung. It's not as mysterious as the name might imply, but, as my interpretation goes, rather a pretty down to earth theory about the origins of the human psyche and what makes us all human (no matter whence we stem). There are more mysterious interpretations out there (or should I say "out-there" ;) ), but I won't get into those right now (although they are compelling in their own right -- not necessarily true, but thought-provoking).
On the side of the side I'm reading Richard Ford's Rock Springs, a collection of short stories. It's not Proust.
