Congealed labor
"Congealed labor"...Maybe Marx is a little more eloquent than I originally perceived. I'm not trying to deny his brilliance; he just doesn't read very well for me. I've read philosophers who have proven that theoretical prose can, in fact, have literary merit.
Its been a weird week: plenty of ups but a whole bunch of downs. Rachel is coming to see me, though, so of course I'm thrilled. I'm actually planning to vacuum my apartment. I anticipate that this last sentence will be met with gasps.
Dr. Cooper's class was definitely the highlight of my week. She's just so damn funny. She also knew than none of us were up on our reading (I myself made some very general guesses concerning thematics and character analysis). I hope to catch up with the book over the next few days. The Secret Agent is beautifully written, but it is that wonderful content that wins me over. She introduced us to the "professor" character, who falls in line with some of those anomaly characters that I've noticed throughout my readings. These characters are generally quirky, to put it lightly, if not downright psychotic. What's interesting about them is that their dialog is basically a quasi-philosophical poetry of psychosis. I'd love to write something scholarly about these observations. I really don't know if they have any merit. They seem to be symptomatic of modernism (surprised?). Nightwood, The Master and Margarita, and The Secret Agent all contain this element. I'd even go so far as to include The Sound and the Fury (Benji) and Mrs. Dalloway (Septimus). There has to been one in Joyce that I haven't found, yet. Anything can be found in Joyce, though.
I've been meaning to go to the library to check out some works of criticism purely to satisfy my own interests. I came back with a huge stack. The two most promising are Boone's Libinal Currents, which charts the sexual development of modernism through a queer lens, and book discussing appearances of the devil in 19th century Russian lit. I really wanted to eventually write a book similar to the latter, but I'm sure I can change the subject enough to make my own work original--I don't think a book has been written about the Devil in modernism. It is a very interesting work, and the incorporation of that fallen guy into that century's literature is quite astounding. The Dostoevsky instances are apparent, but I really didn't know that the motif infiltrated most, if not all, of the major Russian novelists' work. One point that I have to make about this work is that its subject limitations don't allow for one of the most important works about the devil ever written, The Master and Margarita. He only allowed about two pages for a book that could have carried two chapters, at least!
I actually started designing a course that would examine the devil in literature. I've reached new heights in my nerd-dom. It would, of course, begin with biblical references and progress into Marlow, Milton, Goethe, the Romantics (especially Blake and Byron), victorians (Wilde), realists (Dostoevsky), and 20th century (Bulgakov, McCarthy, C. S. Lewis). I'd love to work in A Bright Room Called Day, which gives one of my favorite depictions. An excerpt from the Devil scene would be included at least. I'd probably try to include modern popular works like I, Lucifer, Rosemary's Baby, and the Exorcist. The last two present film viewing opportunities, and the same holds true of Faust and Wilde. I'm really getting ahead of myself, but it is a course that I think students would love. I'd also like to say this about my devil fascination: it is a logical extension of my villain obsession. Devil-oriented books have always been fascinating to me, with works like Paradise Lost and Faust marking some of my first independent voyages into serious literature. I'm not a satanist or anything.
Back to the Boone text referenced. He was the mentor of one my favorite teachers, Dr. Carlston. He excels in queer studies, and his observations are genius and well-grounded. I wanted to look through his book because it starts its modernist exploration in the 19th century with Charlotte Bronte. Modernism's roots have been traced back very far, Melville being the earliest example I've found critics to cite, but Bronte's Victorian heritage doesn't really appear to make her a candidate for early modernist leanings. But, with the queer aspect in mind, Bronte's novels are excellent examples of sexual repression. I haven't read the chapter, but I'll be interested to see how he links the two concepts. I checked the book out primarily to get a serious critical reading of Nightwood, one of the most strikingly poetic, and at the same time philosophical, novels I've ever read. I hope to tackle that text again very soon; it is worth it.
I also checked out Dr. Cooper's book on John Fowles. I'm interested because she's examining him from a post-modern aspect, and his works apparently lend themselves to that light very readily. She has a wonderful sense of where modernism ends and post-modernism begins--and she sanely categorizes the noveau roman as post-modern, unlike some professors I've had.
That's about it from my end of the state. I know my literary tangents are many and make for exceedingly boring reading material. It's just that I'm beginning to think I don't know how to talk about much else.
Its been a weird week: plenty of ups but a whole bunch of downs. Rachel is coming to see me, though, so of course I'm thrilled. I'm actually planning to vacuum my apartment. I anticipate that this last sentence will be met with gasps.
Dr. Cooper's class was definitely the highlight of my week. She's just so damn funny. She also knew than none of us were up on our reading (I myself made some very general guesses concerning thematics and character analysis). I hope to catch up with the book over the next few days. The Secret Agent is beautifully written, but it is that wonderful content that wins me over. She introduced us to the "professor" character, who falls in line with some of those anomaly characters that I've noticed throughout my readings. These characters are generally quirky, to put it lightly, if not downright psychotic. What's interesting about them is that their dialog is basically a quasi-philosophical poetry of psychosis. I'd love to write something scholarly about these observations. I really don't know if they have any merit. They seem to be symptomatic of modernism (surprised?). Nightwood, The Master and Margarita, and The Secret Agent all contain this element. I'd even go so far as to include The Sound and the Fury (Benji) and Mrs. Dalloway (Septimus). There has to been one in Joyce that I haven't found, yet. Anything can be found in Joyce, though.
I've been meaning to go to the library to check out some works of criticism purely to satisfy my own interests. I came back with a huge stack. The two most promising are Boone's Libinal Currents, which charts the sexual development of modernism through a queer lens, and book discussing appearances of the devil in 19th century Russian lit. I really wanted to eventually write a book similar to the latter, but I'm sure I can change the subject enough to make my own work original--I don't think a book has been written about the Devil in modernism. It is a very interesting work, and the incorporation of that fallen guy into that century's literature is quite astounding. The Dostoevsky instances are apparent, but I really didn't know that the motif infiltrated most, if not all, of the major Russian novelists' work. One point that I have to make about this work is that its subject limitations don't allow for one of the most important works about the devil ever written, The Master and Margarita. He only allowed about two pages for a book that could have carried two chapters, at least!
I actually started designing a course that would examine the devil in literature. I've reached new heights in my nerd-dom. It would, of course, begin with biblical references and progress into Marlow, Milton, Goethe, the Romantics (especially Blake and Byron), victorians (Wilde), realists (Dostoevsky), and 20th century (Bulgakov, McCarthy, C. S. Lewis). I'd love to work in A Bright Room Called Day, which gives one of my favorite depictions. An excerpt from the Devil scene would be included at least. I'd probably try to include modern popular works like I, Lucifer, Rosemary's Baby, and the Exorcist. The last two present film viewing opportunities, and the same holds true of Faust and Wilde. I'm really getting ahead of myself, but it is a course that I think students would love. I'd also like to say this about my devil fascination: it is a logical extension of my villain obsession. Devil-oriented books have always been fascinating to me, with works like Paradise Lost and Faust marking some of my first independent voyages into serious literature. I'm not a satanist or anything.
Back to the Boone text referenced. He was the mentor of one my favorite teachers, Dr. Carlston. He excels in queer studies, and his observations are genius and well-grounded. I wanted to look through his book because it starts its modernist exploration in the 19th century with Charlotte Bronte. Modernism's roots have been traced back very far, Melville being the earliest example I've found critics to cite, but Bronte's Victorian heritage doesn't really appear to make her a candidate for early modernist leanings. But, with the queer aspect in mind, Bronte's novels are excellent examples of sexual repression. I haven't read the chapter, but I'll be interested to see how he links the two concepts. I checked the book out primarily to get a serious critical reading of Nightwood, one of the most strikingly poetic, and at the same time philosophical, novels I've ever read. I hope to tackle that text again very soon; it is worth it.
I also checked out Dr. Cooper's book on John Fowles. I'm interested because she's examining him from a post-modern aspect, and his works apparently lend themselves to that light very readily. She has a wonderful sense of where modernism ends and post-modernism begins--and she sanely categorizes the noveau roman as post-modern, unlike some professors I've had.
That's about it from my end of the state. I know my literary tangents are many and make for exceedingly boring reading material. It's just that I'm beginning to think I don't know how to talk about much else.