goethe, julian, faulkner, and clark gable ~

[lookingland]

Mathematicians are like Frenchmen:
whatever you say to them,
they translate it into their own language,
and forthwith it means something entirely different.

~ Goethe

~ * ~

i'm reading Julian of Norwich sort of on the side of everything else. just as a daily meditation thing. it's been very cool. i ought to share some of the bits and fritters ~ if i stop being too lazy to type them, i will.

~ * ~

for the last two days i've been trying to sit down and write an outline, but i just don't feel like doing it. there's such a bunch of marbles rolling around in my head at the moment (which, i suppose is better than it being empty ~ but it makes concentrating on work rather difficult).

i have been circling around The Unvanquished like a vulture around a dead mule. i keep meaning to pick it up to read it, but it seems to ask so much energy of me. so i poke it with a stick on the edge of my desk and that's about the extent of our relationship at the moment. perhaps things will improve this weekend.

ruminating on Faulkner, i wanted to post a couple things. first, a piece of his writing from his first novel Soldier's Pay which is so ripely bad it's encouraging to us lesser mortals (there is hope, never fear), and second, an amusing anecdote i came across at William Faulkner on the Web.

first, the quote from the book:

Mahon was asleep on the veranda and the other three sat beneath the tree on the lawn, watching the sun go down. At last the reddened edge of the disc was sliced like a cheese by the wistaria-covered lattice wall and the neutral buds were a pale agitation against the dead afternoon. Soon the evening star would be there above the poplar tip, perplexing it, immaculate and ineffable, and the poplar was vain as a girl darkly in an arrested passionate ecstasy. Half of the moon was a coin broken palely near the zenith and at the end of the lawn the first fireflies were like lazily blown sparks from cool fires.

wow. it's so purple it glows. i love the disc being sliced like a cheese. the image is untintentionally hilarious. and then after it's a slice of cheese, it becomes a "coin broken palely" (palely ~ wow). i don't mean to tear him down, but this is just amazingly awful writing (and he would have agreed, i think).

and then the anecdote, which is very amusing:

In 1932 Faulkner went dove hunting with Howard Hawks and a friend of his, an actor named Clark Gable. Hawks began talking with Faulkner about books, during which Gable remained silent. Finally, Gable asked Faulkner who he thought were the best living writers. After a moment, Faulkner answered, "Ernest Hemingway, Willa Cather, Thomas Mann, John Dos Passos, and myself."

Gable paused for a moment and said, "Oh, do you write?"

"Yes, Mr. Gable," Faulkner said. "What do you do?"

and all of this just a mindless exercise in avoiding writing that outline.

i guess i ought to go do that.

: o p

Comments

[sistermeg.livejournal.com]

The Unvanquished is by far my favorite Faulkner, and one of my favorites of all time. It is worth the attempts to decipher the first chapter ;)

[lookingland.livejournal.com]

that's very encouraging ~ !

i haven't even cracked the book to be honest. i saw it glower at me and am waiting for it to be more receptive.

i'm glad for the vote in its favor!

: D

[scarlite.livejournal.com]

I too have the Unvanquished, and, much like you, I sort of walk around it, poke at it, and then leave it alone. So, good luck on that. :)

And I must say, I agree with you on the quote from the book... Wow. So so bad. I think the only line that might be salvagable is "and at the end of the lawn the first fireflies were like lazily blown sparks from cool fires.". I don't know, but I like the imagery there. Other than that... Ug.

I'm also trying to avoid the outlines I'm working on. *Sigh*

[lookingland.livejournal.com]

hahaha ~ i love reading bad writing from famous authors. you can always see the vestiges of their greatness, but it's always like a parody of themselves because they haven't quite found their wings.

man ~ outlines. what's up with this. we have nice weather today. i think i will go write in the park.

p.s. look at your penguin! he's dancing, he's dancing! hahahahaha ~

: D

[pithhelmet.livejournal.com]

After being assigned The Sound & The Fury as assigned reading as an undergrad, I fled from Faulkner for years. However, years later, I came across The Unvanquished and absolutely loved it. It is still my favorite Faulkner novel.

You may have already seen it already, but here is my favorite Faulkner quote:

"For every southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances . . . that moment doesn't need even a fourteen year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the gold dome of Washington itself . . .
--William Faulkner

[lookingland.livejournal.com]

thank you for chiming in ~ ! i'm looking forward to reading the book, just trepidatious (in case i hate it ~ hahahaha) ~ but i'm much encouraged by the response here.

it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin

i do so love this line. it makes me sigh.

: )