There Will Come a Soft Rain

Notes on things I've read and what I got out of them.

Doubling Over: Sylvia Plath’s College Thesis

                  

This weekend I had the opportunity to read Sylvia Plath’s college thesis on Doubles(The Magic Mirror: A Study of the Double in Two of Doestoevsky’s Novels)  in the work’s of Dostoevsky. I requested it through ILL from the state library, and expected to get a reprinted version. Instead I got a copy from the Smith Library, house of Plath’s archives, which is a mimeographed copy of the original types manuscript, including hand written sections where the typewriter letters are too light to read. It smells as musky as a book that’s been on the shelf for a half century should.

I was interested in reading her thesis because I love her use of doubles and shadows and splitting in her work. I thinks it is what draws me too it. There is a Cartesian violence at play in her words, a self that is traumatically divided and forced back together. I was hoping her thesis would give some insight into this aspect of her poetry.

The thesis itself is not very original. It’s a solid A-, B+ paper, but not something that would indicate the artistic genius of its creator. Basically, it’s a very proficient college thesis, which makes its points, quotes it’s source material, cites authority, and concludes without adding much new to the dialogue. The paper examines Doubles in two works of Dostoevsy, The Double and The Brothers Karamazov (Ivan and Pavel, Ivan and the Devil).

Her fundamental point, that Doubles enable the author to examine aspects of a characters through their extremes and obverse manifestations, is astute, and she provides plentiful examples. I was a little surprised that she agreed with critics who found The Double to be an artistic failure because it didn’t clearly delineate hallucination and reality, but this was more an acquiescence to sources than an argument she really expresses.

What is most interesting, however, is what she wants to do with the work, but fails to. She seems to be trying to mix anthropology, modern (at the time) psychoanalysis, and literary theory. She cites the Golden Bough, which would figure in some of the symbolism of her work, as well as Otto Ranks The Double as Immortal Self. The thesis shows an early interest in some themes that would recur in her work, and a capable critical mind when reading great writing. She writes about the fundamental dualistic nature of man, and the paradoxes within men, and how literary doubles help illuminate these natures. Her selection of Dostoevsky, known for the great internal nature of his writing, is also telling considering the deeply personal and psychological nature of her own poetry.

She also briefly touches on modern psychoanalysis and schizophrenia, although as someone who wrote a similarly un-original college thesis debunking popular conceptions of schizophrenia, I found her comments about the scientific evidence about psychoanalysis to be concerning. If anything, it was the least scientific of the psychological disciplines, even if it was the dominant paradigm of the time. Jung and Freud wouldn’t know a double blind study if they walked into it.

Overall I thought reading her thesis was an worthwhile exercise, if for no other reason than the excitement of holding her original work. There is a power in objects. As hokey as it sounds, I feel that rare books have a certain mystical resonance. Also, seeing the lesser early work of a great artist always makes me feel better about my own efforts. I think if I want to continue looking into Plath perhaps reading her poetry in light of her source material for this thesis, may be an interesting way to approach her work. But for now, I have other things to read.

I am becoming increasingly fascinated with the “sport” of Mensur, in which is a form of fencing in which men try to scar each other without responding to their wounds. I can find no greater metaphor for the physical performance of masculinity.

I am becoming increasingly fascinated with the “sport” of Mensur, in which is a form of fencing in which men try to scar each other without responding to their wounds. I can find no greater metaphor for the physical performance of masculinity.

Who wants to play the new NES video game Don Draper’s Punchout? With Pete as the new Little Mac?

(Source: eiramisu, via drtuesdaygjohnson)

Another Albany Poem - November 2nd, Midnight, Price Chopper

November 2nd, Midnight, Price Chopper


Halloween is a distant memory now
Night shift is on listening to a black tape recorder
At a fold up table hidden in the back
out of sight of cameras,
between spartan offerings of chicken breasts
and a cooler filled with freezer-burned offal
ice crystals forming colonies on purple hearts and white suet
A skinny man stands at the checkout line
with a gallon of OJ and a pack of American Spirits
nestled under shaking fingers
wearing a full knights armor
bright silver like cheap foil wrapping.
giant circular besagews in front of each shoulder
glimmering television blue
under the flickering fluorescent light.

Bill Murray Poetry Competition

So while I think the Bill Murray poetry contest may be a scam, I am still damn proud of my entry.



Tonight Only: Ghostbusters on Both Screens

I saw a man sitting on the concrete stoop
In front of the DSS office on Washington street
In a white jumpsuit like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man
Starring at a pile of scratch tickets with his
Bill Murray eye. You know the kind.
With all the pain of an American Pierrot
Not knowing in the play he is the buffoon.

Back Seat Windows Up: Dybeck, Flaubert, and Porter take semi-public transportation

              train

I learned about the author Stuart Dybeck through an interview with Andrew Porter I read online. Porter has mentioned Dybeck’s Coastline of Chicago in several interviews as a major inspiration. I was very impressed with Porter’s recent book of short stories, The Theory of Light and Matter, which had a strong voice, an ability to knock me on my ass, and deftness with non-linear narrative I rarely see. Granted most people don’t write in a straight line, but his work shows a true mastery of psychological ordered narrative, which reveals aspects of the story in order of how they would be remembered by a person emotionally impacted by them. There were  a few missteps here and there, one short story told entirely as prolepsis that came across flat for a number of reasons, but overall it resonated with me in a way that first books of short stories rarely do (it would be in good company with Self-Help).

Impressed as I was by his work I was eager to take his advice. And if Coastline of Chicago was his go to book, I had to read it immediately. I was not disappointed. It is fantastic. Dybeck is a fantastic writer, able to juxtapose emotional heartbreak next to hilarious interactions in a way that comes right off the page. Coastline is a series of interlinked short stories, published in 1981, about kids growing up in immigrant neighborhoods around Chicago. These stories are longer in nature and interposed with short vignettes, one to three pages. There’s an almost magical quality to the work, although with one exception (the one story I didn’t like) it maintained a grounded realism found in all night dinners, dilapidated buildings, and old rail bridges.

He has a similar story telling method as Porter, the connections are clear, but a little more skill in his use of humor and illustrations of the numinous nature of the everyday.  Character disappear into the pages, dead or gone to war, miracles happen out of tragedies, music played in blizzards and blackouts drape the world in their spiritual power, and couples find and loose each other with heartbreaking regularity.

A funny thing happened to me as I left the Coastline of Chicago. The last story, Pet Milk (one of Porter’s purported favorites) is about a young couple in their early twenties falling in love at the same time they know that life will tear them apart. It as if the relationship exists in the liminal space between childhood and adulthood, between the Chicago of magic and the Chicago of dive bars and faltering employment. The last scene with them has them getting oysters and champagne, pantomime adulthood, at a restaurant the regular. So overcome are they by passion, toasting to their possible futures (Peace Corp and Grad School) that they tear out of the diner looking for the closest place to make love. Mind you this is never stated. There is nothing pornographic or even overt. Their only option, given roommates and public decency, is to jump on a train to the girls apartment. While making out in the back of the car they find an empty conductors room, and slip in. The boy slips up her skirt, and then the scene switches to his description of the stations they pass and the looks on the faces of the people that catch sight of them.

He revisits his whole childhood, his whole life, in the passing images of station. Places he’s known, places he’s lived, places he knows he will soon have to leave. At the very end a teenager waiting at a platform catches sight of them, smiles and waves at him. He then reverses his position, imagines what it would be like for him as the teenager, and how much he would have loved to see something like that.

It is an amazing scene. Erotic without anything explicit, making it even more so because of what is left out. And the way the stations are passed, the excitement in how he calls them out to himself and how he leaves his past and childhood behind is absolutely stunning.

What is interesting is after I left Chicago I picked up a book I’ve been working on, Madam Bovary. I used a gift card to get the new Lydia Davis translation and have been reading it over the past couple of weeks alongside other books. Coincidentally enough when I picked it up I read a scene very similar to Pet Milk. Mme. Bovary reconnects with her old flame, Leon, and the two decide to meet at the Notre Dame church for a rendezvous. The site of the meeting is humorously sacrilegious, and Mme. Bovary is desperate not to consummate the relationship so decides to pray then go on a tour of the church. Leon, consumed by passion and years of unconsummated love is tortured by this. The scene plays as a humorous counterpoint to the agricultural fair, where Rodolphe seduces her as they watch pompous speeches about farming (the agriculture fair being about fertility of the land, the church chastity of the body).

Eventually he can take it so more, drags her outside and hails a taxi (the horse drawn carriage variety with the driver on the outside of the cabin). She refuses but is then convinced when he says “this is how it is done in Paris”. Mme., who longs to live a bohemian life, is convinced by this pronouncement. They then get in the cab and direct the driver to wander aimlessly around Paris. Nothing of their coupling is mentioned, just the facts of the carriage traveling around Paris and the driver, when he seeks directions receiving the angered response “Straight on” or “Keep going”. It is filthy without ever uttering a word, a landscape transform to erotic metaphor.

Side by side the scene from coastline and Bovary seem ideal lessons in how to write an amazing love scene, without writing a love scene. These are about so much more, without ever feeling like the pornographic postcards overly descriptive scenes about sex can sometimes feel like. And the use of transportation, the danger and thrill of it, as well as the urban rhythm of it, is wonderful. Even though these are different books for different times both of these scenes work in a similar way, which illustrates that good writing is timeless, and good transportation (with a modicum of privacy) is priceless.