Multiple Reading Personalities

A few months ago, I found out that I would be losing my job. It came as no surprise: my company had moved from the New York City area over a year ago, and company policy was that I should either follow to Texas – to which my husband (and I) had said an emphatic “Never!” – or be terminated. In fact, I was fantastically lucky to have very kind managers who allowed to work remotely for over a year… Until a new reorganization also pushed them out. By that point, I was tiring of my job, and tiring of all the travel. A layoff was probably the best solution… And yet, despite the support of my beautiful husband, I couldn’t help but feel terrified that my days were going to be endless deserts of boredom and soul-crunching job seeking.

Not so much, it turns out.

Oh, finding a job in this market is not easy, especially for someone with my type of experience. In fact, I’ve been unemployed for 3 months and still don’t have a new job. But boredom? Ah! I have written a (decent) short story and (terrible) half-novel, on which I’m still writing; decided to go back to school for Comparative Literature in the fall of ’10; researched the schools and their requirements, and started preparing for the GRE; decided to move to Indianapolis with my husband (he has a business partner there, it’s cheap and more conducive to studying that the NYC whirlwind for me); scouted the place and found a fairy tale house with wooden ceilings in one week-end; started organizing a move in two weeks; and of course, I have started this blog to monitor my progress in English and Literature on top of the French blog I keep for my European friends and family.

On the horizon: keep writing, keep reading (and making notes here), finish preparing for the GRE and get ready for the TOEFL, learn how to use Photoshop, learn how to take better pictures, learn how to drive (yes, I’m 32 and I can’t drive…), keep in touch with my loved ones in France and… Find a job in Indy, of course. That’s all in the immediate… Oh, except for planting an herb garden in the new house, discovering the city, loosing ten pounds (I’m not kidding) and making new friends in Indiana!

Meanwhile, the cats hide in the carboard boxes scattered all over our Park Slope apartment, and call to me to relax, calm down, relax…

Time for a cup of tea, I suppose. With a good book!

Currently reading: Beowulf (Seamus Haney translation)
Soundtrack: Tori Amos, Abnormally Attracted to Sin (the entire album!)

“Crois-tu qu’on puisse être bien tendre lorsqu’on manque de pain?”

What has come over the young Chevalier Des Grieux? He is a young, gifted gentleman noted for his virtue and his intellect; yet the moment he sets sight on Manon Lescaut, reason deserts him, and he embarks upon a life as — in turns — a libertine, a cardsharp, a prisoner, a murderer, and finally an exile cast away to the French colonies in America.

L’Abbé Prévost introduces the reader to Des Grieux at a low point in his life: Manon has been sentenced to deportation for immoral behavior, and he is following her – and taking much abuse from her guards while doing it, as he doesn’t have sufficient funds to bribe there anymore. On seeing his state of despair, Renoncour – the gentleman who introduces the story – offers some financial relief which Des Grieux accepts gratefully. They meet again a few years later in Paris: Des Grieux is back from America where Manon died an untimely death, and rewards the generosity of his benefactor with the tale of his life.

Said life appears to be uneventful to the point of blandness until the 17-year old Des Grieux happens on Manon as she is preparing to enter a convent. She too is from a good family, and her parents have decided to shelter her from the worldly temptations she already seems all too likely to succumb to. Des Grieux falls in love at first sight. The pair decides to flee to Paris to get married and start a life together. Alas, they cannot contain themselves and become lovers long before reaching their destination, apparently a major impediment to marriage. They nonetheless decide on living in sin together. It is soon apparent that poverty is threatening, a problem Manon quickly solves by dumping the Chevalier for a richer lover. The Chevalier is betrayed to his father, who arranges to have him kidnapped and sequestered for a while, that he might recover his sense of propriety. The harsh medicine seems to work when Des Grieux takes up studying theology in the hope of a clerical life. Manon however finds him again, and they resume their relationship. This time, Des Grieux realizes how important financial safety is to Manon and stops at nothing to ensure it, becoming a professional grifter. However, when Manon and he get robbed, she once again slips between his fingers to remake their fortune through the generosity of another. The same misadventures is repeated several times, with Des Grieux resorting to more and more dramatic solutions to be reunited with his mistress, until at last Manon is banished and the Chevalier decides to follow her. In New-Orleans, far from the temptations of the world, it seems for a while that they will finally live a life of honor of virtue, but when they seek to crown it with a legal union, the nephew of the governor of the colony seizes the news that Manon is not legally married to claim her hand. Des Grieux and Manon flee, and she dies in the wilderness, finally leaving him free to go back to France, to an honorable life – and to solitude.

Manon Lescaut would seem a fairly inconsequential book but for two innovations in a female character: Manon evolve in the book, and she is a mix of good intentions and weaknesses. That the realization is rather heavy-handed, making her a stilted character, does not alter the historic significance of the intent. Moreover, whether that was the intention of the writer or not, one cannot but be struck by the differences in status of the Chevalier and Manon: despite being of comparable birth (a point one should not underestimate given the casual abuse, including murder, that Prévost, without a second thought, heaps on his less distinguished secondary characters), it is clear at every turn that Manon is lost the minute she flees the convent life, whereas all Des Grieux ever has to do is to give her up to find his old life waiting for him. He is born noble, and is received everywhere and given money and assistance by perfect strangers on this basis; she has nothing but her sexual power, and while she can get extravagantly paid for it, it can just as easily be used to cast her in the worse prisons.

All in all the literary merits of the book are nothing extraordinary, neither in the positive nor in the negative, though I always enjoy a little dose of XVIII century French for sheer exoticism of it, and the morale seems fairly outdated today; it is however a good reminder of where women stood only 3 centuries ago in our very progressive world.

“All I can say is that my new master had collected all the stinginess in the world and was hoarding it”.

As a child, Lazaro de Tormes sees his world destroyed twice, never seeming to think much of it: he is 8 when his father, a miller, is judged and sent to war for stealing grain. He dies in exile, and Lazaro’s mother finds employment in a nearby city; working in a notable’s house, she settles in a relation with a black stable groom and has a second child with him. Some time into the relationship, her lover is discovered to steal from his master for them: they are separated, bodily punished, and she is relegated to a life as a servant in an inn, where she tries to bring up both Lazaro and his mulatto half-brother; finally, a blind beggar offers to take Lazaro in his service, and so he is launched into a thieving life of his own.

Ostensibly presented as a short autobiography written by Lazaro to entertain a patron, the “Excellency” at the service of whom he ends up working a government job, the novel is widely regarded as a genre-founding work, that of the picaresque novel. “Picaro”, meaning “rogue” in Spanish, characterize a variety of “hero” rather rare in classic literature, one who is neither noble of spirits nor punished for his sins. At a time where fiction was seen as excusable only if edifying, this novel depicts a morally bankrupt society where virtue is not only laughed at: it is impossible.

In his adventures, Lazarillo first follows a blind beggar, who turns out to be a good master — not in the way he treats his apprentice, who gets barely enough to eat and plenty enough beatings, but in all the dirty tricks, cheats and thieving tips he witnesses, and in the ones he has to employ to pluck food out of his miserly “uncle’s” hands. After a particularly brutal beating, Lazarillo finally leaves this first master and finds employment with a priest, who though not as dishonest proves even more close-fisted. All the while misdirecting suspicions towards mice and a fantastical snake, Lazaro manages for a while to steal enough bread to survive, but finally gets thrown out of the house when he is discovered. From there he falls in the employ of a Squire, who despite managing to keep face, believes it the honorable thing to do to starve to death rather than work: this master Lazarillo will even have to provide for through begging, before being left behind as a liability. A few others masters follow — a friar of which not much is told except that he walked a lot, a seller of indulgences who finishes Lazaro’s education in “persuasive” selling, a tambourine painter, a chaplain for whom he sells water (the first job providing enough for him to eat to his contentment, and even to save enough money in four years for a set of decent clothes), a constable – a calling too dangerous for our hero’s taste.

Finally comes a function as a town crier, and through it the favor of his master and a moderate fortune in cornering the market for public sales announcements in his city. Further, Lazarillo is rewarded for his services by an arranged marriage to a girl who is apparently to the service of a third personage in more ways than one — a state of things her husband prudently refuses to know anything about, happy only to benefit from the favor of this man.

Overall, Lazarillo is a great read, with vigorous language and comedic situations making it funny at more turns than one. It is also a very direct denunciation of the society of its time, in which someone whose fortune is not made at birth will struggle against almost endless obstacles, and cannot perhaps succeed without artifice. The Church takes the brunt of the criticism, appearing selfish, stingy and exploitative through its various representatives, but the absurd high airs of the impoverished nobility, the credulity of commoners and the general dishonesty of the society does not fare any better. There is not much reflection on the situation of black people, who are briefly pitied with a cliche; women do slightly better. While secondary characters endowed with very little feelings of their own, they often appear in position of self-sacrifice (Lazarillo’s mother) or are slightly more giving than their male counterparts (the neighbors of the Squire). All in all a book which would probably be a minor classic if not for its novelty at the time, but a nice rapid read well worth the time for its entertaining value.

It took a great deal of preparation (3 hours gathering official documents, old bills, financial statements, printing out photos and the like) and quite a little bit of waiting (our appointment was at 9 am, but on our lawyer’s advice we showed up at 8:15, only to be kept waiting until 10, but it went fast once we were there: our interview with the Immigration Services is now behind us.

Since Chris and I have been married less than 2 years, all it will get me is a conditional Green Card, but with it in my pocket, I can now work or live anywhere I want in the United States. This is one more step to that feeling of freedom I felt so deprived of when I was working for the employer that brought me here. Not that they treated me poorly in any way – on the contrary, they were quite good to me – but the knowledge was always there that they could take everything from me if they let me go. Without employment, I would have had no legal ground to stay in the country of the man I knew to be the one from me from very early on. A month to wait for this now, but I already have interim documents, so this should be just a formality.

In the waiting room, I was finished reading through Aeschylus’s Oresteia, which I will summarize here soon. It’s been a surprisingly enjoyable read, full of humor, at complete odds with my expectations of a dreary, verbose classic – though it certainly gets chatty at times. Reading the scene of Oreste’s judgment in Athens, which proclaims the prominence of the marriage bond (patriarchal) over the one of blood (matriarchal), was interestingly timely; that I had been so recently immersed in Kafka and his administrative world was equally amusing.

And this is why I love books. No matter when, or where, or what: they always fit.

The Judgment

A young man, Georg, writes a letter to a friend living far away in St-Petersburg. He had hesitated to announce his upcoming marriage to the friend, as he was reticent to create an obligation to come back for the wedding, but finally decided to do so at the insistence of his fiancée. When he talks about this to his father, whose business he has mostly taken over and developed since his mother’s death, the old man reacts violently, first accusing his son of having invented the friend, then telling him that he has contracted an alliance with the friend against a fiancée depicted as a seductress. Georg tries to defend himself, at first feeling pity, then anger, for his diminished father, but the father wins the confrontation and condemns his son to die drowned – a sentence Georg promptly carries out by throwing himself under the nearest bridge.

The Stoker

For an indiscretion with a maid, Karl has been sent to America by his parents. As his ships docks in the New York City harbor, the young man realizes that he has forgotten his umbrella in his cabin. Leaving his luggage with a ship acquaintance, he rushes back, only to get lost and end up in the cabin of the ship’s stoker. The two men strike a discussion, and Karl decides to support the stoker’s complaint against his officer to the ship captain. The two men find the captain in a large room, with a following of other men, and bring the case to his attention. Unfortunately, the stoker ruins this artful introduction by mangling his explanations, hindering his cause instead of defending it. In the animation that follows, Karl is recognized by a Senator uncle alerted to his presence by a letter from the loving maid. Much to his dismay, Karl is dragged along the man and forced to abandon the stoker to fend for himself.

In the Penal Colony

A tourist visiting a penal colony is required by the new director to attend a ceremony – a complex, almost mystical way to execute a man for a minor offense. The executioner, an officer faithful to the memory of the previous colony’s director, implores him to support his methods to the new director. The tourist, quite disgusted by the method, refuses. The officer then decides to be the last one to die through his machine, but every ounce of dignity is denied to his sacrifice as the machine breaks down and kills him without grace. The tourist flees the colony, followed by an inmate and a guard he barely manages to leave behind.

A Fratricide

This very short story depicts a stabbing in a street, at night, with a cold precision. It could seem very pedestrian but for two elements nagging the reader: one is the presence of a witness, Pallas, who seems to condone the murder but will speak out against the murderer; the second, of much greater interest to me, is the title. Even more radically than with the opening sentence of Metamorphosis, Kafka kills the apparent source of tension in the story, revealing its murderous object before even revealing a single narrative detail; and yet, the motive is never explained, and the fraternal relation between the men neither confirmed nor denied, leaving to the reader free choice to interpret that “fratricide” literally, figuratively, or anything in between.

Gregor, a traveling salesman, is in the clutches of an exploitative boss to whom his father has an important debt. Being a model son and a good employee, Gregor keeps his life is firmly in the camp of hard work and self-sacrifice, his only aspirations being to send his sister to the Conservatory and to one day, all debts repaid, leave his job for a more lenient one.

Inexplicably, Gregor wakes up one day transformed into a repulsive insect and what is worse, late for work. Never thinking to hide his condition, Gregor is rapidly exposed for what he has become, driving away the clerk who came to check on him; his family, more tolerant, will content itself with his exile in his bedroom. His sister Grete even takes it upon herself to feed him to his new tastes, which go to the rotten and the foul, and to clean his bedroom.

Little by little, the situation degrades. The family struggles not only financially (as even with the three of them working, they do not seem to bring in the same income than Gregor used to), but also mentally, as their jobs sap the energy to deal with Gregor. Things come to a first crisis when Gregor’s sister and mother decide to empty his room of furniture so he can crawl on walls more easily; in a fit of attachment to his human past, Gregor tries to protect a picture from their zeal, but his attempt is misunderstood by his mother and scares her so that his father ends up pelting Gregor with apples, one of which becomes embedded and rots in his back.

After this episode, Gregor’s care deteriorates, and when the family takes lodgers, they have no second thoughts about using his room as storage space for anything unwanted. A second crisis occurs when one night Gregor’s sister plays the violin: listening to her, Gregor forgets himself and comes in full view of the lodgers. Driven back to his bedroom, he overhears his family renouncing him. He dies during the night. After a few minutes of mourning, his family regains a dose of optimism, realizing that their hard labor is opening new possibilities to them, especially now that they are free of Gregor.

Notes:

• Why and how does everyone know that the bug is Gregor? Is it really a totally unheard of phenomenon?
• There could be a darker subtitle to Gregor’s family – possibly that they have been consciously exploiting him (the dad looking suddenly weaker when he is around, then proving himself quite capable to work; the money he set aside instead of reimbursing the boss, not mentioning it to Gregor). Similarly, the exploitation of Gregor, which seems extreme even for the time (or when he compares himself to other traveling salesmen, when he says that his colleagues think he makes a lot more money than he does). Is it just an abusive boss emboldened by the debt, or is there some collusion?
• The tendencies in this family to have the children do the dirty work (Gregor’s hard work, Grete’s taking care of him) could lead to a facetious reading of the last lines of the story – a creepy, suspenseful question mark to the project of marrying off Grete now that their “work” with Gregor is done.
• On the other hand… Gregor’s taking the family in charge, and later his mere presence, confines them to being his “parasites”. They find new purpose and strength in his degradation and then death…
• Could it be the aspirations of Gregor that makes him an outcast? (he framed a portrait just before his transformation, which ends up being the cause of the first crisis; he is so attracted to the music played by his sister that it causes the second).
• Is there something to the mom’s feelings than by treating Gregor like an insect, they’re making him become one? The family rejects the idea that he still understands them, though he gives them evidence to the contrary, and little by little convince themselves he is not Gregor anymore.
• Note his inability to feed – “nothing appeals”, nothing nourishes me in what the family has to offer, this sense that there might be “something else”, locked in the pantry, that is refused to him. Does that mirror his new inability to feed his family?
• Physicality of rejection (each time Gregor gets emotionally hurt, it translates physically)

“We admire in her what we are far from admiring in ourselves; in which matter, by the way, she is in full agreement with us.”
Josefine, the Singer, or the Mouse People

The 2007 Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of Kafka’s short stories and novellas covers 20 years of his literary life, from 1904 to 1924. While it includes published fragments of his three unfinished novels (such as Before the Law, which was part of The Trial, or The Stoker, the first chapter of Amerika), it stops just short of anything longer than the Metamorphosis novella.

The collection is organized chronologically, and it is interesting to witness the evolution of the writer as he grows into a more expert storyteller. The early pieces often feel more like exercises, exquisite vignettes depicting an isolated incident without meaning or point-in-time sensations; it is however striking how artful they are already, the writing precise and elegant, the pictures vividly drawn.

In time the fragments expand to short stories, or even novellas, and yet the reader never loses the troubling sensation that something is missing. The explanations are just not to be found, whether it’s Kafka’s way of saying that they do not exist, that they do not matter, or that they’re just absent for the reader that we are, but who knows if another… Another feeling I had was that the stories grew darker. Certainly, the same themes kept reappearing: the call of freedom, the attraction of otherness, the deadly wonderfulness of people, the pragmatic world and its demands not to be denied, the constant judgment characters endure… But where the child in the very first story, Children on the Road, was a first-person hero who broke free of his origins to joyously go become “a fool”, the later characters will not quite so succeed. It is perhaps telling than in the very last story of the collection, Josefine, the Singer, or the Mouse People, the artist is held at a distance from the narrator, considered a little absurd and denied the freedom she requests to better dedicate it to her art.

It would not make sense here to look at every single story, as the collection contains forty of them, but that theme of the artist as an outsider who cannot be completely approved of is probably the one that struck me most. Much has been made of Kafka’s status as a perfect outsider (a man who “consisted of literature”, in his own words, born to a pragmatic and somewhat narrow-minded businessman; German-speaking among the Czechs, Jewish among Germans, and a non-believer among Jews), and he himself probably has added to the image with such pronouncements as “I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe”…  Yet there is something amused in his looking at artistic pretenses; it is Gregor, in Metamorphosis, who gets transformed into a giant insect, not his somewhat predatory parents, and to add insult to injury, this happens just after his menial talents have been put to creative use making a frame for a pretty picture, and just before he can put to execution his plans to send his sister to the Conservatory; it is the free monkey who tries to become a crude human in A Report to an Academy; it is the Hunger Artist, in the eponymous story, who dies disregarded when he finally realizes his art to the fullest; it is Josefine who embodies something un-admirable in her race, which she simply brings to light, feeling full of herself for doing so – and whatever it is that she does, which appears to be indescribable, certainly it is made clear that it should not be excessively valued.

To my current state of mind of wanting to escape the necessities of business to explore my literary side and aspirations, this was an interesting read, id slightly anxiety-inducing at times. To this reader, in this reading, Kafka’s humor remained quite secondary to the anguish seeping from stories such as The Judgment, In the Penal Colony, Metamorphosis or A Country Doctor! And yet it was there, pointed not only at the absurdity of the world but also at the ridiculousness of our pretense, and I cannot think that Kafka excluded himself and his oft-commented life struggles from this amusement. Certainly that makes the task ahead seem a little less daunting: if ever he can be poked fun at, then my own ridicules will be in good company!

[summaries in a different article]