Category Archives: literature

Graphomania. Compulsive logorrhea.

Margaret Atwood asks why writers write in Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing (2002), sourced here.

These are the three questions most often posed to writers, both by readers and by themselves: Who are you writing for? Why do you do it? Where does it come from? …

Here then is the list:

… To pass the time, even though it would have passed anyway. Graphomania. Compulsive logorrhea. Because I was driven to it by some force outside my control. Because I was possessed. Because an angel dictated to me. Because I fell into the embrace of the Muse. Because I got pregnant by the Muse and needed to give birth to a book …

And ‘to pass the time’ reminds us of Borges who notes:

“I do not write for a select minority, which means nothing to me, nor for that adulated platonic entity known as ‘The Masses’. Both abstractions, so dear to the demagogue, I disbelieve in. I write for myself and for my friends, and I write to ease the passing of time.” — Introduction to The Book of Sand

Sade and graphomania

I’m still viewing Marquis and since it reminded Richard Scheib of Quills who notes that

“Both [Quills and Marquis] get inside de Sade’s urge to write no matter what, using sheets and his own blood, although Marquis makes far less melodramatic fuss about the frustrated creative urge than Quills does.”

I considered Sade’s monomaniacal urge to write and looked up graphomania. I found this interesting quote from Milan Kundera’s 1979 Of Laughter and Forgetting:

Graphomania is not a mania to write letters, personal diaries, or family chronicles (to write for oneself or one’s close relations) but a mania to write books (to have a public of unknown readers). … Graphomania (a mania for writing books) inevitably takes on epidemic proportions when a society devlops to the point of creating three basic conditions:

  1. an elevated level of general well-being, which allows people to devote themselves to useless activities;
  2. a high degree of social atomization and, as a consequence, a general isoalation of individuals;
  3. the absense of dramatic social changes in the nation’s internal life. (From this point of view, it seems to me symptomatic that in France, where practically nothing happens, the percentage of writers is twenty-one times higher than in Israel.

.. The mainspring that drives her to write is just that absence of vital content, that void. But by a backlash, the effort affects the cause. General isolation breeds graphomania, and generalized graphomania in turn intensifies and worsens isolation. The invention of printing formerly enabled people to understand one another. In the era of universal graphomania, the writing of books has an opposite meaning: everyone surrounded by his own words as by a wall of mirrors, which allows no voice to filter through from outside. … One morning (and it will be soon), when everyone wakes up as a writer, the age of universal deafness and incomprehension will have arrived.

This passage has reminded quite a few bloggers of the blogging phenomenon itself.

Coming back to Sade as a maniac writer, I wonder how Sade (2000) by Benoît Jacquot treats this graphomaniac tangent.

What makes a novel unfilmable?

 

Hollywood occasionally attempts to turn supposedly ‘unfilmable’ novels into blockbusters. The Hours, Fight Club, American Psycho, and even Adaptation, were all based on what were said to be unfilmable books; although all were adapted into critically-acclaimed films.

Greencine reports on a flurry of posts relating to the supposed unfilmability of certain novels, some of them prompted by the release of Tom Tykwer’s 2006 Perfume:

There’s Will Gore [With the recent arrival of ‘Perfume: The Story of a Murderer’ in cinemas, perhaps the myth of the ‘unfilmable’ novel can finally be laid to rest] on the concept of the “unfilmable novel” and “The Unfilmables: A List of the Hardest Novels to Film” at Screenhead [including James Joyce’s Ulysses, Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces and J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye].

In 2005 John Patterson already reported on film adaptations of ‘unwieldy’ novels in the Guardian:

“There is,” Norman Mailer once wrote, “a particular type of really bad novel that makes for a really great motion picture.” He might have been referring to such superselling potboilers as Mario Puzo’s The Godfather or Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind or, indeed, any number of middlebrow literary atrocities whose cinematic adaptations have entirely transcended their trashy sources.

In answer to my question ‘What makes a novel unfilmable?’, if I had to make a checklist of what makes novels unfilmable:

  1. plotlessness
  2. philosophical introspection (can be solved with voice-over)
  3. experimental fiction
  4. …………….

More on this later… In the meantime, if you feel like completing the list, please be my guest.

P. S. 1: now is a good time to reread Fuchsia’s comment on the ‘Nature of the 20th century reading experience’ where I asked: can one measure a book’s success by counting the number of film adaptations?

P. S. 2: My entry in the top ten of unfilmable novels:

  1. Time’s Arrow: Or the Nature of the Offense (1991)
  2. Do please submit your candidates in the comments …

P. S. 3: And maybe one last question: which films would resist successful novelization?

I am forced to the appalling conclusion

joanvollmer.jpg

Joan Vollmer

In 1951, William Burroughs shot and killed his wife Joan Vollmer in a drunken game of “William Tell” at a party above the American-owned Bounty Bar in Mexico City.

In the introduction to Queer, a novel written in 1953 but published in 1985, Burroughs states, “I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would have never become a writer but for Joan’s death … So the death of Joan brought me into contact with the invader, the Ugly Spirit, and maneuvered me into a lifelong struggle, in which I had no choice except to write my way out.” (Queer, 1985, p.xxii)

Hatching from a nameless gleam of light I see

Inspired by Richard T Scott’s comment New figurative art

Shadows of a Hand: The Drawings of Victor Hugo (1998)
[Amazon.com]
[FR] [DE] [UK]

Shadows of a Hand: The Drawings of Victor Hugo (1998) features contributions of Luc Sante, who also contributed to a monograph on Guy Bourdin.

Octopus with the initials V. H. (ca. 1866) – Victor Hugo

The great romantic painter, Delacroix, wrote to Victor Hugo that, had he decided to become a painter instead of a writer, he would have outshone the artists of their century. –via here.

Hatching from a nameless gleam of light I see
Monstrous flowers and frightening roses
I feel that out of duty I write all these things
That seem, on the lurid, trembling parchment,
To issue sinisterly from the shadow of my hand.
Is it by chance, great senseless breath
Of the Prophets, that you perturb my thoughts?
So where am I being drawn in this nocturnal azure?
Is it sky I see? Am I in command?
Darkness, am I fleeing? Or am I in pursuit?
Everything gives way. At times I do not know if I am
The proud horseman or the fierce horse;
I have the scepter in my hand and the bit in my mouth.
Open up and let me pass, abysses, blue gulf,
Black gulf! Be silent, thunder! God, where are you leading me?
I am the will, but I am the delirium.
Oh, flight into the infinite! Vainly I sometimes say,
Like Jesus calling out “Lamma Sabacthani,”
Is the way still long? Is it finished,
Lord? Will you soon let me sleep?
The Spirit does what it will. I feel the gusting breath
That Elisha felt, that lifted him;
And in the night I hear someone commanding me to go!

VICTOR HUGO

From ‘Le bien germe parfois…’ (Good Sometimes Germinates…),
from the collection Toute la lyre, first published 1888. via here.

Cette belle suspension d’esprit

From a newly discovered Literary Vocabulary by K. Wheeler:

WILLING SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF: Temporarily and willingly setting aside our beliefs about reality in order to enjoy the make-believe of a play, a poem, film, or a story. Perfectly intelligent readers can enjoy tall-tales about Pecos Bill roping a whirlwind, or vampires invading a small town in Maine, or frightening alternative histories in which Hitler wins World War II, without being “gullible” or “childish.” To do so, however, the audience members must set aside their sense of “what’s real” for the duration of the play, or the movie, or the book.

Samuel Coleridge coined the English phrase in Chapter 14 of Biographia Literaria to describe the way a reader is implicitly “asked” to set aside his notions of reality and accept the dramatic conventions of the theater and stage or other fictional work. Coleridge writes:

. . . My endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic; yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith (quoted in Cuddon, page 1044).

Coleridge may have been inspired by the French phrase, “cette belle suspension d’esprit de law sceptique” from François de La Mothe le Vayer, or by Ben Jonson’s writing where Jonson notes, “To many things a man should owe but a temporary belief, and suspension of his own judgment.” Cf. verisimilitude.

The notion of a canon is 20th-century heresy

Via Greencine comes this introductory chapter, of an abandoned book by Paul Schrader on the notion of a film canon:

The notion of a canon, any canon—literary, musical, painting—is 20th-century heresy. A film canon is particularly problematic because the demise of the literary canon coincides, not coincidentally, with the advent and rise of moving pictures. There is much debate about the canons but no agreement. Not only is there no agreement about what a canon should include, there’s no agreement about whether there should be canons at all. Or, if there is agreement, it is this: canons are bad—elitist, sexist, racist, outmoded, and politically incorrect.

Yet de facto film canons exist—in abundance. They exist in college curriculums, they exist in yearly 10-best lists, they exist in best-of-all-time lists of every sort. Canon formation has become the equivalent of 19th-century anti-sodomy laws: repudiated in principle, performed in practice. Canons exist because they serve a function; they are needed. And the need increases with each new wave of films. What I propose is to go back in order to go forward. To examine the history of canon formation, cherry-pick the criteria that best apply to film, and select a list of films that meet the highest criteria.

The model, of course, is Harold Bloom’s 1994 bestseller, The Western Canon. Mustering a mountain of hubris and a lifetime of close reading, Bloom proposed a canon of Western literature: books and authors who meet the highest “artistic criteria.” The Western Canon is also a screed against “the cultural politics, both of the Left and the Right, that are destroying criticism and consequently may destroy literature itself.” These cultural politicians, whom Bloom dubs “The School of Resentment,” count among their number Feminists, Marxists, Afrocentrists, New Historicists, Lacanians, Deconstructionists, and Semioticians (Bloom doesn’t flinch from making enemies). —Filmlinc

An online listing of Schrader’s 60 films can be read on Jeffrey M. Anderson’s website Cinematical.

More on Schrader’s canon by Donato Totaro here.

after repeated scans of the list I became less shocked at what was missing and began to appreciate what was there. Like the often overlooked Donald Cammell/Nicolas Roeg film Performance. I began to smile and take perverse pleasure at the quirks and oddities of Schrader’s canon. For example, while excluding Eisenstein because his films tell us nothing about “what it means to be human or, to put it in grand terms, ennoble the soul,” he excludes such luminous humanists as Roberto Rossellini, Vittorio De Sica, and all of neo-realism, while including such Italian films as Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, one of the most cynical and nihilistic westerns ever made (but which I thought was one of Schrader’s most inspired selections), The Conformist, Bernardo Bertolucci’s bleak, terrifying account of Italian Fascism, and La Notte, Michelangelo Antonioni’s paean to emotional fragility and human alienation amid Italian modernity (and by far the most pessimistic of Antonioni’s alienation tetralogy). I wondered how he could insist that the bar be raised as high as possible (“The higher the better”), and then include The Big Lebowski at number 40! While disappointed that there was not one horror film in the canon, from someone who has directed two (The Cat People, Dominion: Prequel to The Exorcist), I was surprised to find out that there are five westerns in his canon. With the inherent possibility of such contradiction and inconsistency, it became evident that canon formation is not for the feint of heart. Schrader should be applauded for providing a reference point for further generations to contest. After all, what type of a canon would it be if it did not? –Donato Totaro

Pierre Klossowski at Dennis Cooper’s

Pierre Klossowski special at Dennis Cooper’s.

I think his writings — esp. the novel trilogy The Laws of Hospitality (Roberte Ce Soir, The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and Le Souffleur,) and his books on Sade (Sade, My Neighbor) and Nietzsche (Nietzsche and the Vicious Circle) are very worth your attention. –Dennis Cooper

Imaginary gardens with real toads in them

Grotto in the Bomarzo gardens, Italy

At this moment someone in Uzbekistan or in Zimbabwe is writing a book which reveals more about life on earth than one year of television or a ton of newspapers …The Scream by Munch or a story by Kafka predict more than a thousand futurologists, a chapter by Proust reveals more than a hundred analytical sessions, a page of Kawabata tells more about eroticism than 10 Kinsey reports. Poetry, fiction, imagination, it’s always about – as Marianne Moore has stated inimitably – imaginary gardens with real toads in them, and try catching those. — The Abduction of Europe (1993) – Cees Nooteboom

Soft knocks at the door

The Tenant (1964) – Roland Topor
[Amazon.com]
[FR] [DE] [UK]

The Tenant chronicles a harrowing, fascinating descent into madness as the pathologically alienated Trelkovsky is subsumed into Simone Choule, an enigmatic suicide whose presence saturates his new apartment. More than a tale of possession, the novel probes disturbing depths of guilt, paranoia, and sexual obsession with an unsparing detachment. With an introduction by Thomas Ligotti. The novel was adapted to film by Roman Polanski in 1976.

The above is a new edition of the 1964 The Tenant, a novel by Roland Topor which is better known in the film adaptation by Polanski.

Topor is one of my canonical artists for his satirical wit and his unique crosshatched drawing style which is somewhat reminiscent of that of Alfred Kubin. His ‘nodes’ are just as interesting as his work, he is connected to Fernando Arrabal, Alexandro Jodorowsky, Roman Polanski, Daniel Spoerri and René Laloux.

Amazon’s similar items connects him to Thomas Ligotti, Theodore Sturgeon, William Hjortsberg, Clark Ashton Smith, Ramsey Campbell, Alfred Kubin and William Browning Spencer, none of whom are familiar to me.