Saturday, November 02, 2013

Pattern Recognition - William Gibson




















Pattern Recognition (Blue Ant #1)
by William Gibson
Hardcover, 356 pages
Published February 3rd 2003 by Putnam Adult (first published 2003)
ISBN 0399149864 (ISBN13: 9780399149863)
Edition language:  English
Series:  Blue Ant #1
Characters:  Hubertus Bigend

Literary Awards:  Locus Award Nominee for Best Science Fiction Novel (2004), Arthur C. Clarke Award Nominee (2004), British Science Fiction Association Award Nominee for Best Novel (2004)

Pattern Recognition's major theme considers humans' tendency to see order out of chaos, patterns when there are none.  Other themes include branding, marketing, and consumerism, among others.  The multiple themes that require abstractions on top of abstractions left me cold and not invested.   I am empathetic to the dangers of consumerism, branding, and the post-modern marketing conceit wherein you are designated as "cool" and being a rebel for using a certain product.  Of course, if you use that product, you are possibly succumbing to the marketing and not cool or a rebel.  David Foster Wallace discussed this in his essay "E Unibus Pluram:  Television and U.S. Fiction."  DFW cites the (now almost forgotten) Sprite campaign "Image is Nothing!  Thirst is Everything!"  From the essay:  "Above all, of course, the audience is not supposed to recognize the absurdity of products being billed as distinguishing individuals from crowds in order to sell to huge crowds."  I am also simpatico with the main theme that our advanced primate evolution doesn't get us beyond seeing Mother Mary on the surface of a squash.  That's a crude way to put it - in other words, humans want order and organization in their lives and sometimes events, people, etc., simply can't be ascribed order and that's a source of anxiety.  We then find order out of randomness to help dispel this anxiety.

It's a coincidence (is it?  Or is Gibson reading my mind?!  Ahem.) that just today Gibson tweeted an article from Psychology Today about apophenia - the tendency of humans to see patterns in randomness.  After reading this, I probably shouldn't wax flippant about our advanced primate evolution - it's far better (from an evolutionary standpoint) to find patterns when there are none vs. not finding a pattern when there IS one.

Despite my affinity for these themes, I simply don't think Gibson's combination and explication of them makes a good story.  All of the underlying themes are quite interesting, but I learn more from the non-fiction material concerning these concepts and therefore find the non-fiction material also more engaging.

His prose is always very good, but I also must admit that it felt too... precious(?) at times - "The spent match makes a tiny ceramic sound when he drops it into the ashtray. "

Perhaps the book is too smart for me and I just don't "get" it.  In any event, moving on, and debating whether or not I want to read the other books in the "Blue Ant" or "Bigend" series.


Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Upon a Dying Lady - W.B. Yeats

I am on vacation and I promised myself I would get reacquainted with poetry and W.B. Yeats in particular. I'd like to share an explication of his collection of poems entitled "Upon a Dying Lady."

UPON A DYING LADY

I

HER COURTESY

WITH the old kindness, the old distinguished grace
She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair
Propped upon pillows, rouge on the pallor of her face.
She would not have us sad because she is lying there,
And when she meets our gaze her eyes are laughter-lit,
Her speech a wicked tale that we may vie with her
Matching our broken-hearted wit against her wit,
Thinking of saints and of Petronius Arbiter.

II

CERTAIN ARTISTS BRING HER DOLLS AND DRAWINGS

Bring where our Beauty lies
A new modelled doll, or drawing, 
With a friend's or an enemy's
Features, or maybe showing
Her features when a tress
Of dull red hair was flowing
Over some silken dress
Cut in the Turkish fashion,
Or it may be like a boy's.
We have given the world our passion,
We have naught for death but toys.

III

SHE TURNS THE DOLLS' FACES TO THE WALL

Because to-day is some religious festival
They had a priest say Mass, and even the Japanese,
Heel up and weight on toe, must face the wall
--Pedant in passion, learned in old courtesies,
Vehement and witty she had seemed--; the Venetian lady
Who had seemed to glide to some intrigue in her red shoes,
Her domino, her panniered skirt copied from Longhi;
The meditative critic; all are on their toes,
Even our Beauty with her Turkish trousers on.
Because the priest must have like every dog his day
Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon,
We and our dolls being but the world were best away.

IV

THE END OF DAY

She is playing like a child
And penance is the play,
Fantastical and wild
Because the end of day
Shows her that some one soon
Will come from the house, and say--
Though play is but half-done--
"Come in and leave the play."

V

HER RACE

She has not grown uncivil
As narrow natures would
And called the pleasures evil
Happier days thought good;
She knows herself a woman
No red and white of a face,
Or rank, raised from a common
Unreckonable race;
And how should her heart fail her
Or sickness break her will
With her dead brother's valour
For an example still.

VI

HER COURAGE

When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place
(I have no speech but symbol, the pagan speech I made
Amid the dreams of youth) let her come face to face,
Amid that first astonishment, with Grania's shade
All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot
That made her Dermuid dear, and some old cardinal
Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot
Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath--
Aye and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim all
Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.

VII

HER FRIENDS BRING HER A CHRISTMAS TREE

Pardon great enemy,
Without an angry thought
We've carried in our tree,
And here and there have bought
Till all the boughs are gay,
And she may look from the bed
On pretty things that may
Please a fantastic head.
Give her a little grace,
What if a laughing eye
Have looked into your face--
It is about to die.


Originally published in Yeats’s 1917 collection “The Wild Swans at Coole,” The collection of poems “Upon a Dying Lady” visits the larger collection’s theme of life, love, and death – an elegy to a young woman whose life dramatizes the tension between passion, play, and responsibility (mainly vis a vis religion).  An adoring, admiration-filled acquaintance is the speaker of this poem who is visiting a dying, unnamed woman.  We know from Yeats’s letters that the woman in question is Mabel Beardsley, a young actress and friend whose long, brave battle with cancer gave Yeats a muse through which to examine bravery and mortality.  (Unterecker, pp. 145-146). 

In the first poem, “Her Courtesy,” the poet describes her kindness, her grace and her “lovely, piteous head.”   The poet’s admiration of the woman’s strength comes from her strength in the face of her mortality.  Her “laughter-lit” eyes, her “wicked” tale, contrast with the poet’s “broken-hearted wit.”  This character brings about the last line, echoing both the saints and the mischief of Petronius Arbiter, a compatriot of the Roman emperor Nero, purported to write “The Satyricon” and a teller of ribald tales. (Johanides)

The second poem, “Certain Artists Bring Her Dolls and Drawings,” relates how the young lady receives gifts of dolls and drawings, and the last lines “We have given the world our passion / We have naught for death but toys” conjures a darkly humorous moral of spending all of our passion in life so that we only have our insignificant trinkets to offer when Death appears.

The third poem, “She Turns The Dolls´ Faces To The Wall” conveys a satirical view of religion as even inanimate objects must show respect during mass and describes the priest as “baying at the moon,” contrasting this with the playful nature of Longhi, a Venetian artist who had a number of paintings depicting Venetians at play.[i]  Yeats echoes this vision of Venice throughout, especially costume and galas, the “domino”[ii] (the half-mask worn over the eyes), the “red shoes,” etc., the last line culminating in the wistful notion of taking refuge in play, leaving the world behind.

The fourth poem, “The End of the Day,” continues the play motif, but darkens when Death, the parent, calls the child in. 

The fifth poem “Her Race” further exemplifies the poet’s admiration of the young lady.  She does not decry the pleasures she’s experienced and uses her example of her brother to be strong in the face of Death.   In Yeats’s letters, he writes that Mabel describes her brother as being the one to introduce her to Heaven, although “they might not appreciate the introduction” and that he had a “passion for reality.”  (Unterecker,  p. 146).

The sixth poem “Her Courage” wishes that when young lady gets to her “pre-destined dancing place” she is visited by various persons of myth and history who exemplify her character.  These include Grania[iii], a passionate heroine from Irish mythology, and Diarmuid[iv] (Grania’s lover).  There is a priest who with “half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot” is murmuring about the Italian painter Giorgione[v], whose paintings were notably void of devotional themes.   This image contrasts with the earlier priest baying at the moon and the backs of dolls – rather, this is a man getting beyond his strict devotion to appreciate the tactile and the beauty of art unrestrained.  There is Achilles, the famous Greek warrior, Timor and Babar, fearless Mongolian leaders, and Bahram, a hunter in “The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám” These and others are “all who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.”[vi]  (Unterecker, p. 146), (Khayyám and Fitzgerald, p. 251)

The seventh and final poem, “Her Friends Bring Her a Christmas Tree” begins by asking Death a pardon so that the poet and his friends can bring in a Christmas tree to please her and then asks Death to give her a little grace as she looks him in the face with her laughing eyes.

Yeats contains multitudes.  He has a bright spirit, a kind heart, a sharp wit and a keen intellect.  I enjoyed reading this poem and learning its references and history immensely.


Bibliography

Johanides, Milton. "Poetry analysis: Upon a Dying Lady, by William Butler Yeats." Helium.com 13 January 2012. www. http://www.helium.com/items/2279739-upon-a-dying-lady-yeats-critique
Khayyám, Omar and Edward Fitzgerald. Edward FitzGerald, Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám: A Critical Edition. Ed. Christopher Decker. University of Virginia Press, 1997. Google Books. http://books.google.com/books?id=nihvj8fPztEC&dq=bahrain+rubaiyat&source=gbs_navlinks_s
Unterecker, John Eugene. A Reader's Guide to William Butler Yeats. Syracuse University Press, 1996. Google Books. http://books.google.com/books/about/A_Reader_s_Guide_to_William_Butler_Yeats.html?id=D8Yl3rr5xZwC


Monday, September 16, 2013

Jonathan Franzen on Karl Kraus

Jonathan Franzen, unafraid to post his own unpopular opinions, wants to bring light to Karl Kraus - a "fin de siècle" thinker, who was also wrote challenging, abrasive opinions about culture and was read by many prominent thinkers at the time. Both writers reflect my own growing fear about modern culture, especially the dark side of the internet.

An excerpt from the article follows - find the entire article here.

In his (Kraus's) essay "Apocalypse", a few years earlier, he'd written: "Culture can't catch its breath, and in the end a dead humanity lies next to its works, whose invention cost us so much of our intellect that we had none left to put them to use. We were complicated enough to build machines and too primitive to make them serve us." To me the most impressive thing about Kraus as a thinker may be how early and clearly he recognised the divergence of technological progress from moral and spiritual progress. A succeeding century of the former, involving scientific advances that would have seemed miraculous not long ago, has resulted in high-resolution smartphone videos of dudes dropping Mentos into litre bottles of Diet Pepsi and shouting "Whoa!"

A book of Kraus's essays, "The Kraus Project," edited by Franzen, is due out October 1.

Saturday, August 31, 2013

The River Swimmer - Jim Harrison

This book contains two novellas - one concerning an aging art professor and the other explores a gifted, young swimmer whose wisdom belies his years.

Harrison seems to use his characters as proxies of himself lately and these two novellas are no different - lustful outdoors-men who enjoy their whiskey, wine and food. At first I was scared that this his writing was beginning to become a parody of itself, but even if these tropes show up often, his insights and prose lay the parody notion to rest. Mr. Harrison, please keep writing about struggles of the heart, the mysteries of life and if whiskey, women and French cheeses seem to often appear in the mix, so be it. What a ridiculous complaint, eh?

Saturday, August 17, 2013

No Country for Old Men - Cormac McCarthy

Although the "Aw shucks, this country is going to hell" theme got on my nerves by the end, McCarthy's prose is amazing:

"The raw rock mountains shadowed in the late sun and to the east the shimmering abscissa of the desert plains under a sky where raincurtains hung dark as soot all along the quadrant."1

It took me a couple of rereads and a dictionary to parse that sentence. It's impressive.

The plot shouldn't be examined too closely - let the prose and a villain for the ages pull you through this.

1Mccarthy, Cormac (2007-11-29). No Country for Old Men (Vintage International) (Kindle Locations 517-518). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

Reamde - Neal Stephenson

There must have been SOMETHING for me to finish a 1000+ page book, but this was exposition upon exposition. I cannot think of anything more boring than reading hundreds of pages concerning the economy of a FICTITIOUS MMORPG.
I'm an action nut, so I kept going, but shame on me.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

The Flamethrowers - Rachel Kushner

Chapter 3, in its entirety, is a study in beautiful language. I dug the motorcycle parts. I didn't dig the art parts. I dig her obvious love of language. I didn't dig her obvious overuse of language.

This is another "flawed genius" book. It's worth the pretense and, let's be honest, I think it's impossible for any artist not to be ostentatious as part of the process of creation. Two of William Blake's proverbs of hell come to mind: "You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough, " and "Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity."

Albeit the pretentiousness, Kushner is a tremendous talent whom I hope can replicate what amount of language is "just enough" more often.

Monday, June 17, 2013

The Steel Remains - Richard K. Morgan

Richard K. Morgan wrote, possibly, my favorite sci-fi novel, "Altered Carbon." This is his first fantasy novel. Morgan has ignored many fantasy conventions with "The Steel Remains." There is a gay protagonist, aliens, and gay sex between the protagonist and the alien. The sex is told with the usual Morgan detail, that is, the sex sections are basically pornography. It's a very brave route and I applaud Morgan for the bravery, but it also seemed ridiculous - more on this shortly.

It has the other Morgan touches as well - excellent descriptions, prose, structure, and a taste for the ultra-violent.

There's a mind-bending time-space continuum portion that's a little over-the-top and goofy, but Morgan again uses a deft writing hand to navigate his readers through it.

Ultimately, my final take is that this is, in many ways, an amazing book, but, yet, I simply didn't enjoy reading it that much. Ringil (the gay protagonist) is something of an ass and you could argue that it's because he's had to be. All the characters seemed a little thin and I can't completely get past the notion that he's breaking the rules of fantasy for the sake of breaking the rules. The homosexual/alien dynamic strikes me as goofy even though Morgan executes it well, but only in retrospect. Upon the initial reading, it was a you-have-to-be-shitting-me moment. It's difficult to discuss the homosexual component - it certainly strikes me as odd, gratuitous and, at first, seemed to detract from the story and seem somewhat implausible. However, in retrospect, it's a better book than my initial impression. Morgan provides answers and motives. I just wish that Morgan would have written a novel that brings in its readers as well as Ringil crosses swords.

Monday, June 03, 2013

A Visit from the Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan

I'm already conflicted by this book, so I'm taking the lazy way out and merely listing my reactions as I posted them on Goodreads:

"This seems too clever for its own good. I kind of hate it so far. I'm sticking with it, but find the encapsulation of a subject's life in a single paragraph annoying. Is this just one stream of consciousness intertwining characters together in what amounts to short stories? Fine, if it resonates." 05/28 page 85

"And just that quickly... I've been horn-swaggled into thinking this might be without merit. The "X's and O's" chapter - a (the?) Scotty chapter - is amazing. Jonathan Franzen said (or wrote - don't have the original source) that a writer should write in the third person unless a distinctive first-person voice offers itself. I hoped that these short stories intertwined would resonate and Scotty's first-person narration of meeting an old friend, his isolation, etc., certainly has resonated with me."

This is a deeply-flawed work of genius. I rank Egan in a club with Paul Thomas Anderson, David Foster Wallace, and Lev Grossman (to name a few).

In all of these, my admittedly amateur critique sees brilliance in prose indelibly marred by something else- too clever technique (Wallace, Egan), overlong (Anderson) or derivative (Grossman).

All of these artists have equally indelible gifts, all of them having the prose and insight to quickly establish a human condition.

I'm so confused I don't know whether to rate this a 1 star or 5 star. So, 3.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace - D.T. Max

D.T. Max has written a level-headed biography of DFW. The navel-gazing into the theory and meaning of DFW's works vis-à-vis his mental state strikes me as pretentious. However, I admit to being something of a simpleton when it comes to literary theory. It's probably just over my head.

Taken as a whole, Max's writing is compelling and highlights include snippets of DFW's correspondence with Don DeLillo and Jonathan Franzen.

Max's neutral approach and mostly straightforward writing failed him at probably the most crucial part - the end. In fact, the last paragraph and last sentence specifically, pisses me off:

"The story of 'David Wallace' was now first. In his final hours, he had tidied up the manuscript so that his wife could find it. Below it, around it, inside his two computers, on old floppy disks in his drawers were hundreds of other pages— drafts, character sketches, notes to himself, fragments that had evaded his attempt to integrate them into the novel over the past decade. This was his effort to show the world what it was to be 'a fucking human being.' He had never completed it to his satisfaction. This was not an ending anyone would have wanted for him, but it was the one he had chosen."

For fuck's sake, man. You couldn't pass on that last sentence when it popped in your head? The sentiment is fine, but you couldn't pass on that little trick of a phrase after spending a significant amount of time discussing Wallace's wish for genuine, "single-entendre" writing?

Read this, anyhow.

Monday, May 20, 2013

I Married a Communist - Phlip Roth

This is the first book I've read penned by Philip Roth, and my expectations were off-kilter. I see his genius with the pen, but man, oh, man this book was a slog to get through. In my eyes, this book is summed up well in a couple of brilliant paragraphs:

"There was one song she (ed. Lorraine, Murray's daughter) especially loved. It was beautiful, too, a stirring, mournful, hymnlike folksong called 'Dubinushka,' a simple song sung with a balalaika in the background. The words to 'Dubinushka' were printed in English on the inside of the album cover, and she learned them by heart and went around the house singing them for months.

Many songs I have heard in my native land - Songs of joy and sorrow But one of them was deeply engraved in my memory: It's the song of the common worker.

That was the solo part. But what she liked best to sing was the choral refrain. Because it had 'heave-ho' in it.

Ekh, lift up the cudgel, Heave-ho! Pull harder together, Heave-ho!"

… In the dark we listened, though now neither I to him nor her to me but both of us to "Dubinushka." It was just as Murray had described it: beautiful, a stirring, mournful, hymnlike folksong. Except for the crackle off the worn surface of the old record - a cyclical sound not unlike some familiar, nocturnal night noise of the summer countryside - the song seemed to be traveling to us from a remote historical past. It wasn't at all like lying on my deck listening to the radio to the Saturday night concerts live from Tanglewood. "Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" was out of a distant place and time, a spectral residue of those rapturous revolutionary days when everyone craving for change programmatically, naively - madly, unforgivably - underestimates how mankind mangles its noblest ideas and turns them into tragic farce. Heave-ho! Heave-ho! As though human wiliness, weakness, stupidity, and corruption didn't stand a chance against the collective, against the might of the people pulling together to renew their lives and abolish injustice. Heave-ho.

I didn't appreciate 320 pages of two characters talking about a third character. Mamet once wrote in a memo to screenwriters that "ANY TIME TWO CHARACTERS ARE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT." To be fair, Mamet was referring to TV drama, and not a novel, but this ENTIRE NOVEL IS TWO CHARACTERS TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, and it caused the same boredom in me that Mamet warns about.