He had about 120 more plate appearances, but he had 6 more HRs, 43 more hits, 28 more RBIs, and added 23 points to his batting average. Suffice to say, Year 2 was better than Year 1 for Seiya, and Year 1 wasn't all that bad. Seiya's 2023 is a story in the three parts: Part 1 - resume Year 1 performance and add a small slump allocation; Part 2 - sit out for a week or two, mentally reset, and rejoin the everyday lineup to enjoy his greatest successes in the MLB yet, go on an absolute tear for 2 months and hoist the team on your shoulders (with Bellinger alongside supporting as well) and convince the front office to make additions rather than deletions; Part 3 - suffer a humiliating "curse moment" and not let it destroy your morale for the remainder of the season, even though it basically did end postseason fantasies.
Wednesday, October 11, 2023
Chicago Cubs 2023 Year in Review
He had about 120 more plate appearances, but he had 6 more HRs, 43 more hits, 28 more RBIs, and added 23 points to his batting average. Suffice to say, Year 2 was better than Year 1 for Seiya, and Year 1 wasn't all that bad. Seiya's 2023 is a story in the three parts: Part 1 - resume Year 1 performance and add a small slump allocation; Part 2 - sit out for a week or two, mentally reset, and rejoin the everyday lineup to enjoy his greatest successes in the MLB yet, go on an absolute tear for 2 months and hoist the team on your shoulders (with Bellinger alongside supporting as well) and convince the front office to make additions rather than deletions; Part 3 - suffer a humiliating "curse moment" and not let it destroy your morale for the remainder of the season, even though it basically did end postseason fantasies.
Wednesday, October 4, 2023
The Grand Inquisitor - Fyodor Dostoevsky (Transl. Constance Garnett; Introduction by Anne Fremantle) (1880; 1956; 1984; 2004)
Dostoevsky is a blind spot for me. I haven't really read of much of anything he's written, and so I cannot speak as an authority on him. "The Grand Inquisitor" is a chapter from The Brothers Karamazov and this slim volume was assigned to me in a course on Tyranny, Totalitarianism and Terror, about 20 years ago. It is barely 20 pages long and ultimately serves as a parable.
I decided to read it ("again") because of the previous selection. Both books quite clearly portray Christ as a supernatural phenomenon while maintaining credence to the historical details. I felt this would be a fair venue for a type of short essay on Catholicism, faith and the cyclical nature of history. I also need to read Dostoevsky, period. Only in revisiting this did I decide on three big books that I hope to one day cover on this blog: Moby Dick, War and Peace and The Brothers Karamazov. These are due by about 2030.
This chapter of the novel consists of a dialogue between Ivan and Alyosha, which is mostly Ivan telling Alyosha the story with intermittent commentary and questioning. Ivan refers to it as a poem. It is not written in verse, but there are a few italics that appear to serve as gloss, and I am uncertain whether they occur in the original text. They are: (1) The three temptations foreshadowed the whole subsequent history of mankind; (2) The first temptation: the problem of bread.; (3) The second temptation: the problem of conscience.; (4) The third temptation: the problem of unity.; (5) Summary: the Inquisitor's Utopia.
Quite clearly, I think, these are glosses. They are not there for the benefit of Alyosha, but the modern-day students that need to write 1,000-word essays dissecting the translated text to "prove" some "original" thesis. In a way, these past 2 reviews (to say nothing of countless other reviews on this blog) may serve as a college essay. I claim no copyright over said ideas, but I always appreciate, of course, proper credit.
This will not, however, be a comparison of Between Heaven and Hell and "The Grand Inquisitor." One selection simply inspired the other. No question that this is the essential text, if one must pick between the two. It is, after all, a portion of one of the greatest novels in the history of the world, or so I have been told. People often put the Bible in similar territory, i.e. every true scholar must read the Bible, for it is also the greatest "novel" of all time, the greatest story ever told, etc. As far as biblical authority goes, and as far as any "updates" go, this stands alongside the monumental Paradise Lost, which, like the Bible, is also in verse (though more verse, if that makes sense; it is sometimes called an epic poem, which the Bible is often not).
The Spanish Inquisition lasted from 1478-1834, so it ended just 50 years before this tale was written. However, it appears to take place closer to the beginning:
"'" But Thou didst think too highly of men therein, for they are slaves, of course, though rebellious by nature. Look around and judge; fifteen centuries have passed, look upon them. Whom hast Thou raised up to Thyself? I swear, man is weaker and baser by nature than Thou hast believed him! Can he, can he do what Thou didst? By showing him so much respect, Thou didst, as it were, cease to feel for him, for Thou didst ask far too much from him--Thou who hast loved him more than Thyself! Respecting him less, Thou wouldst have asked less of him. That would have been more like love, for his burden would have been lighter."'" (12)
Thee/Thou/Prisoner/Jesus is set to be executed the next day, but not before he is admonished and interrogated by the Grand Inquisitor. No answers are provided. Instead, the Grand Inquisitor lays out the institution's r'aison d'etre: subjugate and enslave the masses, for they do not know what is best for them. Follow the example of "the wise spirit, the dread spirit of death and destruction," not Jesus. Give them happiness in slavery, rather than unhappiness in freedom.
Dostoevsky meant to criticize the rise of Russian socialism, which bent towards atheism, nihilism, and rationalism, and away from true Christian faith. Socialism is often decried in the culture today as one step removed from a communist state, and embraced by many that regard our present-day capitalist framework as a different type on enslavement.
Regardless, evangelism remains in vogue in conservative ideology. Morality is used as a cudgel for delegitimizing dissent and casting doubt on self-actualization. Women lose autonomy over their bodies and identity politics become a flashpoint. The Church stands impassive, and makes tentative steps towards a more inclusive stance. But that is inconvenient for the election of certain representatives, who see authoritarianism as the most efficient path towards unification and economic prosperity.
There is no question that the Church has diverged from the path that Jesus prescribed and led others to follow. Whether Jesus believed in proselytization remains a subject of debate, as with many other precepts from the Bible: they can be shifted according to the motivations of the speaker. It would seem clear to me, as a person that spent 10 years in a Catholic school, that he would not believe in it, that he would not force his way onto anyone, that he would simply live as he found best, and leave others to follow his example and decide for themselves. Indeed, the Grand Inquisitor bemoans Christ for failing to give bread to man, for allowing man to retain his conscience, and for failing to establish his own sovereignty.
In short, Jesus' teachings are inconvenient for the Inquisition, and since 15 centuries have passed, the people have forgotten, and the Church's interpretation of the teachings have become Gospel; to see Christ resurrected in the flesh, performing miracles again, potentially exposing the fraud inherent in the institution, is an intolerable risk for the Grand Inquisitor: it threatens to upend the enterprise.
There is some application of this parable to present day, and perhaps there always has been, yet it is felt most clearly in the totalitarian systems of government in the past. This is merely the background for one side of debate, the side that has an ulterior motive (query whether both sides have separate ulterior motives). Yet in a way, the Grand Inquisitor's ideology makes sense: it truly does seem that much of the time, the great masses are susceptible to suggestion, triggered by perceived wrongs that do not align with their values. They need to be effectively managed, and letting them think for themselves can destabilize the regime in power.
The ending of the parable, however, provides some measure of comfort: the prisoner offers no response but a kiss on the lips of the Grand Inquisitor, and he is allowed to escape into the night and avoid an auto-da-fe. The Inquisitor will hold to his views, while privately knowing that he has been further disproven. Perhaps one day, such Inquisitors will resign their posts, become "whistleblowers" of a type, and renounce their ways. The Inquisition did ultimately end, and the Soviet Union did ultimately come into being and did ultimately end, and the Church has been "Reformed," and continues to be further reformed, still. History ultimately bends towards humanity, but the truth is never apparent until the highest authority has acknowledged their errors, lies, cruelties, and general mismanagement. That generally means giving up power, and that only tends to happen when power is no longer theirs. Such renunciation, however, is less persuasive when offered from that perspective of diminished power.
Wednesday, August 2, 2023
Between Heaven and Hell - Peter Kreeft (1982; 2008)
The world recently lost Sinead O'Connor (she was 56). Last night, I watched a documentary on her. I was ten years old in her heyday, and my experience of her largely centered around comparisons between our hairstyles: I often opted for buzz cuts at the time and people often chided me that I looked like her. I might have seen her rip up the photo of John Paul II on SNL, but the meaning of the action was lost on me at the time.
On the last day of last year, it was Pope Benedict XVI's turn (he was 95), and the documentary seems to indicate that both Popes played roles in covering up the rampant sex abuse in the Catholic Church. I always considered John Paul more respectable than Benedict, and the documentary does pause for a moment to acknowledge more specific actions by Benedict, but neither seem nearly infallible as our current Pope who, while not perfect, is certainly the most admirable in my lifetime thus far.
However, I still read Benedict's obituary in the Wall Street Journal. For better or worse, I waded into the comments, and certain elements of his philosophical views were discussed. For there are different shades to Christianity and Catholicism that may lead to vastly different views on what it means to live a Good Life.
One person mentioned Between Heaven and Hell, perhaps comparing Benedict's ideology with that of C.S. Lewis, in this book. I can't recall and I have nothing further to say on Benedict, but this is how I came to reserve this book at the library.
***
This book is 115 pages long and was renewed from the library 8 times. Like Aliss at the Fire, that should be all you need to know about how compelling I found it. The conceit, or concept, however, was compelling enough that I wanted to check it out.
In essence, this book is a 3-person play. It might be more interesting to see it performed as a play, but then again I would probably find it maddening. For this is not a story, per se; rather, a dialogue between famous personages in a certain setting.
The setting is purgatorio and the date is November 22, 1963 and the players are John F. Kennedy, Aldous Huxley and C.S. Lewis.
That alone was compelling. Particularly since November 22 remains a date of many birthdays in my circle. I recently found out that my younger brother will turn 44 on 11/22/33 and I considered this some sort of numerological omen. This year will bring the 60th anniversary of that date, and so a review of this book seems timely.
We all know that President Kennedy was assassinated on 11/22/63. Many of us know that Aldous Huxley died that same day (a hero to just as many of us as Kennedy was). However, I did not know how Huxley died, and so one of the more titillating parts of the book arrived in the epilogue:
"The three deaths were as different as the three lives had been, and providentially perfect templates of the three philosophies of life that had motivated them. Kennedy was murdered by an assassin; for he who lives by politics may die by politics, as 'he who lives by the sword will die by the sword' (Matthew 26:52). Huxley died of an LSD overdose while experimenting with mystical experience; for he who lives by man-made mysticisms will die by man-made mysticisms. Lewis died of bone disease, a few years after he had taken the pain of his dying wife's bone cancer out of her body and into his, beside her bedside; for he who lives by the Way of Exchange will die by the Way of Exchange. Like Christ, he offered God his own life for hers, and on November 22, God accepted the offer." (122)
That excerpt lets the cat out of the bag: it is clear that Kreeft ascribes to the viewpoints expressed by C.S. Lewis in this text. Now then, I had no idea that C.S. Lewis also died on this same day (nor that he was also known as "Jack" by his friends), and I have very little knowledge of him in general. A friend had recommended The Screwtape Letters to me, many years ago, and that is something I've been meaning to get around to for years, and hopefully one day will. I see him like I see J.R.R. Tolkien (whom I also haven't read), but further towards philosophy than fantasy on the storytelling spectrum.
I'm not aware of Huxley's religious affiliation but it seems clear that Buddhism is his lodestar. It's worth noting that Huxley is far more incidental in this book than the other two. The primary dialogue in this book is between JFK and Lewis; there is a second dialogue between Huxley and Lewis that is quite a bit shorter, and probably also the best part of the book, though that isn't saying all that much (for me, personally).
*
One problem I had with this book was the epilogue, for it revealed the book to be Christian propaganda. Now I am raised Roman Catholic and went to Catholic School for 10 years and I am a lapsed Catholic but I greatly enjoyed seeing the Vatican and felt that there should be some kind of birthright trip in order to bolster participation in the Church and to redeem itself from its sordid history--for that sordid history is quite probably the most damning lie over the past 2,000 years of human progress. We believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ, and we expect him to forgive us all our sins--so I guess that means we can do some of the most horrible things imaginable, go to confession, and get a clean slate, and we're all good? It's a convenient way out of personal accountability. It's a license to behave badly. Nobody is perfect, and believe me, I am not perfect, but this purported forgiveness of sins is problematic insofar as it can lead to a delusional sense of morality. Now of course, we do not encourage people to sin, we encourage them to love their neighbors as themselves, to love God and hold Jesus up as a role model and try to exhibit the goodness that he represents. But we fail and they all know we are going to fail and they all know they fail, quite inveterately. And they want money, lots of it. There's the aspirational part of the Catholic Church and there's the functional part of the Catholic Church and while there is a certain sense that they have acknowledged this "problem" and are taking steps to stop such crimes from happening in the future, some of the hypocrisies of the Church temper such encouraging feelings. Pope Francis, however, has been about as good a Pope as he can be, working within the political framework of the Institution.
Kreeft may not have had any idea that such things were happening in 1982, but most certainly should have in 2008. I believe this is conveniently ignored in the epilogue. Then again, this is not exactly a recommendation to convert to Catholicism because it is the One True Way (though it feels that way).
Really, Kreeft wanted to write a philosophical dialogue, much like Plato did for Socrates. Socrates did not author any works, nor did Jesus, and they are lumped together in this book as "sages" (along with Buddha, Confucius and perhaps Lao Tzu). Other people have to tell their story. Kreeft considers Plato to be singular: "It is surely an almost clumsily obvious piece of divine providence that the father of all philosophy, who wrote nothing of himself (like Jesus and like Buddha), should have history's greatest philosophical poet, Plato, as his biographer." (120)
In Between Heaven and Hell, C.S. Lewis plays the role of Socrates, and JFK/Huxley play the role of Glaucon, albeit more challenging "pupils." The dialogue itself is a Platonic dialogue for beginners on the purported divinity of Christ. There are dialectics in it, and it is not like reading a play. It is not really entertaining. It is somewhat informative. It is an educational tool. The pages have glosses on them that summarize the main point of that section of dialogue ["Jesus, the guru to the Jews?"; "Six crucial differences between Jesus and the gurus"; "(1) God as personal"; "(2) God as Creator"; "(3) God as knowable"; "(4) God as good, not 'beyond good and evil'"; "(5) What must I do to be saved?"; "(6) Hell."]
I don't know what else to say about this book. Based on the above, you can decide for yourself if you want to read it. I don't really recommend it, unfortunately. If you haven't read Brave New World, please, do yourself a favor and read that instead. I also read The Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell (ironic that the title for this book is so similar; its debt is owed to Lewis, not Huxley) and would recommend those over this. And you need to read Republic or perhaps other things by Plato to "get" this. In short, there are many other texts that one could read that will offer the same or similar revelations.
This is, however, the type of book that can be assigned in high school or college-level philosophy courses. It is useful in its own way. It's short enough that it can fit easily into any syllabus. And the famous people ostensibly add a layer of human interest to the proceedings.
But ultimately it is propaganda. Though Lewis's argument ultimately "wins" the debate at hand, the debate is fixed from the start. Credit Kreeft for examining Christianity through a philosophical lens and offering up his own Defense of Christianity, but know that he reveals himself to be a zealot in the epilogue and post-script. Fortunately, the players do not opine on the sin-status of homosexuality, but perhaps if written today, the issue would find its way into the text.
One excerpt to give a flavor, on knowing that miracles can't happen:
"Lewis: I might ask you what Professor Kirke asked Peter: How do you know that? Has science proved that miracles can't happen? But I've put that line of argument into another of my books, Miracles....No, I didn't think you had read it...and I'd rather follow out the psychological line of argument now. The point of my reference to Lucy was to show that like Lucy and like Buddha, Jesus says incredible things, and like Lucy and like Buddha, Jesus is a credible person. So we must either believe his unbelievable claim or disbelieve his believable personality, his personal credibility.
Kennedy: Let's examine his personality, then, though I'm not sure where it will take us. I do know something about human nature, and human history, and great men of the past. I too wrote a book, you know, Profiles in Courage. No? You haven't read mine either? Well, we're even then. But go ahead with the argument.
Lewis: Let us divide all people into four categories....
Kennedy: Oh, oh. Here we go again. Black-or-white thinking.
Lewis: But surely there are categories. The only question is whether they are appropriate, fitting to the real.
Kennedy: I don't like divisions among people.
Lewis: But all categories are divisions, classifications, outlines.
Kennedy: Putting people into classes has done immense harm throughout human history.
Lewis: Really dividing people, yes. But not mentally dividing them. For instance, to mentally distinguish male and female is good, and necessary (how confused we would be if we couldn't, or wouldn't, as some seem to nowadays). But to really divide them, to isolate them, is usually bad. In fact, to unite them most fruitfully, you must mentally divide them most clearly: vive la difference, and all that. (52-53)
That is one of the more entertaining sections of the book, so be aware that it is not always as intriguing. Miracle is an odd word. It can refer to a miracle performed by Jesus (turning water into wine) or an unbelievably good event. It is not a miracle that the Cubs won in 2016 but many people referred to it as such. It is a miracle when terminal illness is cured, and such situations have been known to occur (exceedingly rare and improbable as they are). There are miraculous survivals, and there are miraculous achievements, but a true Miracle--well, to witness one would be the greatest proof of divine forces at work in this world.
*
Once many years ago during sailing school, I had been put in an Optimist, which is a 1-person boat. The bay was rather rough that day, and while I agreed to take an Optimist, I was very scared. I didn't tell anyone and I kept it to myself and wanted to be brave and prove to myself that I could handle the rough conditions, that my boat wouldn't capsize, but I prayed in my head that something would prevent me from being forced into that situation.
Fortunately, someone soon offered me the alternative of getting into a Beatle-Cat instead. I accepted that offer, and crewed the boat with two other people, and saw a few other schoolmates in Optimists, bailing water out of their vessels. I felt that God had answered my prayers and saved me from a dangerous situation.
*
In hindsight, I was easily convinced. I was still technically in Catholic School at the time, and after going away to boarding school, alone, I did not attend nearly as many services. Many of my classmates were Jewish, and other religious viewpoints entered into my worldview. By the end of high school I defined myself as Agnostic (and I still do, from a certain angle).
Shortly before college, then, a certain incident of running into a certain person at a certain specific time, under rather improbable circumstances, a coincidental encounter of the highest kind, convinced me of proof of divinity in this world. People bandy about the phrase "butterfly effect" and we cannot know how real it is, but ultimately, that is the more accurate explanation for the reality of our existence. Cause and effect, intentional choices, accidents, conflicted decision-making---all affect how we move through this world and comprise the substance of our experience. Perhaps God put everything in place at the beginning, and let human beings do what they would, and that is about as far as I am willing to go.
In other words, Kreeft (and Lewis, really) did not convince me to embrace Catholicism wholeheartedly and without reservation. I wasn't looking for that from this book; I was looking for a modern philosophy book. And while this is a simplified and streamlined version of one, there are other texts that may impart wisdom that do not quite feel like a fait accompli from the start. As a "reboot" and variation of the Platonic dialogues from a more modern perspective, it is not a failure.
Grade: C+
Monday, June 26, 2023
The Shards - Bret Easton Ellis (2023)
Flying Houses is no longer a book review blog; it is a blog devoted to reviewing the books of Bret Easton Ellis. I kid, but this is just our third [book review] post of 2023, and the first post was for Glamorama. In that review, I suggested that Glamorama was, in fact, BEE's greatest novel, and upon re-reading, I had second thoughts. I revised that opinion to Less Than Zero. And right when I posted that review, The Shards was released, and I saw that it was longer than Glamorama, and I knew it had something to do with his earlier life, around the time he was putting the pieces of Less Than Zero together, while still in high school.
I had also listened to this podcast and recalled certain nefarious details of violent crimes being committed in Los Angeles around that time that reached closer towards Ellis's social circle. I do believe there was a serial killer on the loose, but will need to relisten to reference this with any kind of specificity. I will say that this podcast is interesting to listen to both before and after reading The Shards, because the host tends to conflate the characters in Less Than Zero with friends and acquaintances from Ellis's life. While that may have been true, The Shards takes that as a cue to present a more extreme example.
It is not unlike Lunar Park, in this respect, which is Ellis casting himself as the protagonist. Unlike Lunar Park, it takes place in the past, and at first blush, it is far more believable.
I might as well just come out and say it: for the first 200 pages or so, I felt completely convinced that this was Ellis's greatest novel. It basically is Less Than Zero, writ-large, and four hundred pages longer. But by page 400, that feeling started to wane. At its conclusion, I had to place it in slot #2 behind Less Than Zero. I feel confident in stating it is his 2nd best, and LTZ is only #1 because of its rapid-fire style and cultural/industry impact. By contrast, The Shards is the epitome of a slow burn.
***
Over the first 200 pages, Ellis does the best work in his career. This is saying something. Because it felt like he "lost it," really, since Glamorama, and that is now *twenty-five-years* in the past. But Glamorama is still a really fucked up book, and arguably he had "lost it" since Rules of Attraction, which was a follow-up that walked along similar lines as Less Than Zero, and now here, The Shards has as well. Ellis was a baby when he wrote those first two books. Now he is approaching senior citizenship, and while still one of the most famous American authors, this is the "comeback" that he hasn't ever particularly cared about making. He still has it, he never lost it, even though White made it seem like he had become a cranky old man and mostly interested in "yelling at clouds."
He didn't "lose it," but his r'aison d'etre shifted. Things changed after Glamorama. Lunar Park is a truly bizarre novel, far from an abject failure, but an attempt at a genre exercise, or rather a nudge in the direction of genre fiction. It was his ode to Stephen King, and so too The Shards owes a certain debt to King. While Lunar Park mined quiet domestic bliss with a hazy undercurrent of nameless dread, it felt more suggestive than visceral. It would fall into the horror genre, but it was not an aggressive example of such. (Note: I haven't read Lunar Park more than once, I used to have a copy in 2006 or so, but I think I lent it and never got it back; so my memory of it is "hazy," too.)
After that, there was Imperial Bedrooms, the sequel to Less Than Zero, but similarly, a genre exercise--this time "detective fiction" or "crime noir." It was enjoyable and fun, amusing, but felt like something of a truc, somewhat slight, almost like he was writing it to cash in on previous success. Then he apparently did work in film, most notably The Canyons, which I barely recall seeing. Then there was White, which was his first book in 10 years, a collection of essays, a good portion of them previously published. And now finally in the opening pages of The Shards, he pulls back the curtain to explain this career trajectory:
"After that night [which involved a panic attack and ambulance ride in 2006] I abandoned the project and instead wrote two others book during the following thirteen years, and it wasn't until 2020 that I felt I could begin The Shards, or The Shards had decided that Bret was ready because the book was announcing itself to me--and not the other way around. I hadn't reached out to the book because I spent so many years pushing myself away from the dream, from Robert Mallory, from that senior year at Buckley; so many decades spent pushing away from the Trawler, and Susan and Thom and Deborah and Ryan, and what happened to Matt Kellner; I had relegated this story to the dark corner of the closet and for many years this avoidance worked--I didn't pay as much attention to the book and it stopped calling out to me. But sometime during 2019 it began climbing its way back, pulsing with a life of its own, wanting to merge with me, expanding into my consciousness in such a persuasive way that I couldn't ignore it any longer--trying to ignore it had become a distraction. This particular timing had coincided with the fact that I wasn't writing screenplays anymore, that I had decided at a certain point to stop chasing that game--a decade of being well compensated for TV pilots and scripts for movies that would mostly never be made--and I briefly wondered if there was a connection between the book beckoning to me and the new lack of interest in writing for Hollywood. It didn't matter: I had to write the book because I needed to resolve what happened--it was finally time." (6-7)
The book thus introduces itself in grand fashion, and its propulsive energy does not abate until roughly the halfway point. It gets a lot of mileage out of autofiction. Autofiction can be a cheap, lazy device, not unlike voice-over narrative in film--but I have a soft-spot for voice-over narrative in film, and so too for autofiction, because it can sometimes best explore the artist's intent and motivation, and offer the most profound insights they've uncovered over the course of their career. It can feel lazy if you are trying to write a 5 paragraph essay on symbol and metaphor in this book, when you need to do literary detective work and interpret the "text" through a pre-determined lens (Feminist, Queer, Marxist, etc.). You can't do that with this book. It's like a big piece of candy. Less Than Zero is basically a pixie stick, and The Shards is basically a giant pixie stick. While the characters and motifs here are all "arch" and have a certain intellectual underpinning (primarily Ellis's admiration for Joan Didion), it is lurid, graphic, gory, prurient, and yes, cliched.
But what separates it from the rest of his oeuvre, like Less Than Zero, is the era, and his ability to create atmosphere out of it. Ellis was the same age, or even younger than the characters in Less Than Zero when he wrote it. He writes this about 40 years later, and he inhabits that same perspective brilliantly.
There are two novels here: one is a coming-of-age novel about a senior year in high school and getting ready to get away from everyone and starting a more authentic life; the other is an 80's slasher flick about teenagers doing drugs and having sex and getting slaughtered by a killer on the loose. The magic of the novel is that Ellis ties them together seamlessly. He does this so well that the reader will constantly question whether it is really autobiographical. At least this was the case for me.
I will do my best to avoid spoilers here but the novel is at its best when it is working from this perspective: Ellis knows his own notoriety and presence as a faded literary icon, and he fashions an origin story befitting that perfectly. The narrative detail from the period is so precise and intricately observed that one cannot discount its veracity.
***
This does, however, lead to my sole criticism of the book, which is that it moves slow. This is probably intentional. I didn't mind all that much. But others have criticized this book for some of the dialogue, that it becomes inane and cliched and devolves into "basic" tropes. Yes perhaps, but so did all 80's movies, and while I do think this is a Great Novel, I have trouble putting it on the Best Books list.
This a book of two halves, similar to Glamorama being three "parts" of varying quality. The first half of this book is just stellar. It really does announce itself as being the book that everyone should be reading as their 2023 summertime beach read. Maybe it wouldn't get shortlisted (or even longlisted) for the Booker Prize, but it's a lot better than Gone Girl (which I liked too!). There is actually more in common with that book than appears at first glance. BEE hasn't had a "hit" since American Psycho, to put it mildly incorrectly--a Glamorama film could be a dazzling misunderstood classic if adapted, like some people sometimes say about Southland Tales (that odd Donnie Darko 2007 follow-up that is mostly forgotten but which may be sort of brilliant) . The Shards finally would make for the best adaptation for a multitude of reasons (including societal repression in the early 80's vis-a-vis mainstream depictions of gay/bi relations; the movie would have no audience in 1985 with an "openly closeted" narrator; in 2023, it is practically required that award-winning films must focus on some marginalized identity, though yes, these are rich white kids, so maybe it's a no-go) because it is a pure genre exercise that has a real human story underpinning it.
This review is getting bogged down in parentheticals and comparisons and box office musings and semi-colons; suffice to say, it's the most mainstream thing he's done so far, and while it may be less ground-breaking than Less Than Zero was at the time, it doesn't come off as "padded" or "parasitic" as some might have considered Imperial Bedrooms, which even though I liked it a lot, definitely mines Less Than Zero for all it is worth in an attempt to re-ignite interest in oeuvre and work. That didn't come off in a way that made a dent in the larger cultural conversation.
And this probably won't either, but it's a much better candidate. I will lament that more people will not read this novel, because they won't know what they are missing. It's got to be made into a movie (it already is "in development" as an HBO series, actually)--the only problem is that BEE is also the main character and I can't recall a big movie where the author writes about themselves (in this particular way) and also has a movie made about that. There are memoirs, for sure, but this isn't a memoir.
***
PLOT: 1980's Los Angeles, serial killer on loose, paranoia, "numbness," Quaaludes, stereotypical high school politics, secret gayness. CAST: Bret, Thom (jock, prom king), Susan (prom queen, class President), Debbie (girlfriend to Bret, daughter to Terry, major film producer/"open secret" married gay), Matt (harmless stoner/slacker, "close" with Bret); Ryan (sidekick to Thom, also on football team, "close" with Bret); and Robert (the new kid that drives the majority of the action of the novel).
[Would like to pause here for one moment to acknowledge a small detail about Robert: it is often remarked that he was in a "facility" just outside of Jacksonville, IL. I doubt that many people reading this post (or book) have been to Jacksonville but I have. It's such a weird detail. I wonder if BEE has been there. It's not a place I'm anxious to revisit, but there's more there than in some of the surrounding towns (Florence--pop. 9, where I stayed in a ABNB that Abe Lincoln allegedly stayed at in the late 1850s; Pittsfield, more charming and bigger than Florence, but empty)--though it's all chains and big box stores on a strip. It's the middle of nowhere basically. But Robert also went to school in Evanston, IL and moved to L.A. for confusing reasons that are ultimately explained (by his aunt, whom he stays with and mildly disturbs).]
Most of the characters are students at Buckley, a famous fancy private high school, which seems like the L.A. equivalent to the Dalton School in NYC. It's not a boarding school, crucially, and it is often observed how much freedom they all had when they were 16 or 17 and had a car to drive around L.A. They live at home with parents, but parents are never there, or if they are, they seem to let their kids do whatever they want. Bret's parents are separated, and details about his father are glossed over. His mother, too, for she spends the entirety of the novel on a seemingly endless trip to Europe, and Bret lives alone in a house in Sherman Oaks with their dog (Shingy) and a maid that comes by on weekdays (Rosa).
Of course, it's not an endless trip to Europe, as the novel seems to concern two months in particular--September and October--though it may be November by the end of the novel.
This is the only scene with Bret's mother:
"I grabbed my mother and fell into her arms weeping when she appeared at Laurie Wright's house early Tuesday morning to take me back to Mulholland in a black limousine that was waiting curbside in front of the residence on North Hillcrest." (572)
BEE has always been a writer very concerned with specific time and place, and again, anyone that has lived in L.A. for any limited amount of time will be able to envision the events more clearly. This may annoy some readers, however, as certain stretches of the novel read more like Google Map directions than a literary thriller.
This is forgivable, as are many other aspects. Yes, BEE's high school experience is rather basic and feels lifted out of a John Hughes film except set in L.A. But, after re-listening the podcast, it is quite clear that this novel is very true to life in a certain sense. Just to hear him talk about his girlfriend at the time, and her father, and the two classmates that he got "close" with--the experience feels directly transposed onto the novel. Robert Mallory is essentially a plot device and really the entire novel is just Bret being suspicious of him.
From a certain angle, there can be a lot to take apart, and it doesn't feel like the work of a literary master, but if we consider Stephen King that, this is every bit as good as anything King has ever done.
Ellis writes about his love for King in this book, and his attendance at an opening day screening of The Shining figures as a crucial detail throughout the novel. King's villains are not often serial killers but demonic spirits and "triggered" humans. While here, there definitely is a serial killer, and graphic descriptions of their "offerings," his experience of that is mostly through Los Angeles Times reporting, not his own detective work. He suspects Robert is the killer (I don't think that's a spoiler) and he undertakes his own detective work on him, but not as directly on the murders themselves (apart from one of the victims).
I'm wary of spoiling anything here, but the spoilers are mostly about who dies when, and shifts in relationships between characters. Ellis takes the opportunity to depict a "me too" experience and essentially minimizes the hurt and pain that many victims express in the wake of such "casting couch" incidents. He does this by writing about himself in that position, and it may be disingenuous, or maybe not.
Many times, authors write thinly-veiled autobiographical novels, and readers and critics subtly acknowledge the elements that appear taken from their own lives. But when one writes an "openly autobiographical" novel, it gives one license to write about more questionable behavior and avoid moral opprobrium. No, one cannot call Ellis a "me too" apologist, because as a victim (whether or not he actually was--and I don't think anyone wants to presume that he was not, for it certainly lends credence to the idea that his early literary stardom was a byproduct of said incident, though this seemingly only relates to a screenplay deal, not a book deal), we must believe, or at least give the benefit of the doubt (even rich white male ones).
Writing a novel like this also takes a "quiver" out of the critics' arrows: we don't analyze that Debbie is real-life Ellis's girlfriend, because we know she was, after what he said in the podcast (this must be intentional--all of Ellis's work, including what he says about himself on podcasts, is all of the same part). Instead, we analyze how much of this book really is autobiographical, and after reading, we should know.
The ending, while somewhat anticlimactic, despite having a real climax that probably would be good on film, also leaves some unanswered questions, including a rather chilling one. There are things I like and don't like about the ending, but on balance I see it as "adequate." It's not an Ernest Hemingway ending (i.e. significantly better than the rest of the novel). It's not as puzzling as the ending to Glamorama, but feels vaguely unsatisfying, maybe because it feels a little unrealistic (i.e. how easily and simply it ends, with such little investigation).
I am not sure it belongs on the Best Books list, but it is very close and I think I probably would put it on there. On that note, I now need to read yet another Ellis book, so I can have an actual review of Less Than Zero on FH, and truly assess if it is still his best novel. Both might go on the list, and while this may not be better, it is a close second, and probably better than The Rules of Attraction, which I now hope will get similar treatment, and a book-length exploration of his time at Bennington College.
It's one of the limited few books (along with Why We Sleep) that I checked out from the public library, needed to return, and felt comfortable purchasing for the personal library (which is not very large--as the personal library is Flying Houses itself--and most books are rented and not bought, here). That is the last thing I can say as a testament to its quality.
Grade: A-
Wednesday, March 15, 2023
Aliss at the Fire - Jon Fosse (Transl. Damion Searls) (2004; 2010; 2022)
This book is 74 pages long and I received it as a gift on New Year's Eve and it took me 71 days to read.
I should have finished it sooner. I took it with me to Spain, and I spent most of that time reading The Shards, not this. I feel guilty about this, and so the only thing I can do is explain myself. I try to pride myself on having wide-ranging tastes, and being open-minded towards more experimental literature, but in reality, my imagination is rather limited. I tend to be self-obsessed and look for personal connections in art to elevate (or justify) my own experience as a human being in this world. I would like to try to understand others better so that I can be more compassionate towards their sensitivities and struggles, but I also have my own, and they are not often considered "worthy" of transmogrification in art. Here, that struggle may be "grief," or perhaps death itself, which is something that all of us share, and so this should mean something to us all--but the method of communication has to fit the message. Unless there really isn't one.
This is a really strange little book. It bears something of a resemblance to the final section of Ulysses. It has no punctuation, save for question marks (and more limited exclamation points--but see below). New sentences are denoted by capitalization, but these are generally lines of dialogue, and beyond that, only proper nouns are capitalized. So there are no sentences, really. Someone compares it Waiting for Godot in a praise blurb on the back (technically, "The Beckett of the twenty-first century" - Le Monde) and that is a fair estimation of its plot. Except instead of Godot, Signe (?) is waiting for Asle to return.
I thought it was Aliss that was waiting for Asle to return but looking back at the first page it does appear the protagonist of this novella is Signe, the woman, who is looking out the window of her home on some Thursday in 2002, thinking back to a date in 1979 when her husband went out to the fjord near their home in a flimsy rowboat. He never returned (I think) and so she continues to wait, 23 years later.
The book might have been a little more interesting if she had taken edibles or acid or mushrooms or something, because it does become "trippy." It essentially consists of an extended hallucination where the woman (I will call her that because the book mostly just says "she") looks through the window and see various things, generally closer to the shore, that appear to be distant events from the past. (If you don't mind, I'm going to read the wikipedia page now, because sometimes we need cliffs notes to confirm uncertain understanding.)
Before that, though, the translator's note does offer some clues, and may "sell" the book better than this review:
"The Norweigan title of this novel is Det er Ales, which means 'That's Ales' or 'It's Ales'; the woman's name in the original is Ales, not Aliss. Unfortunately, this Norweigan name coincides with the English word for a type of beer, and would certainly be interpreted that way in a title without other context: It's Ales would come across as a very different book than the one Fosse wrote. Since publishing this book in 2004, Fosse has written a Trilogy and Septology with multiple characters named Asle and Ales, so the decision might have been different now, but a dozen years ago I decided I needed to change Ales's name and the book's title. This second edition follows the first English translation, published in 2010, but readers should know that Aliss is another one of Fosse's characters named Ales." ([77])
Not much more helpful, though the 2nd paragraph of the note may be more illuminating:
"Back then I emailed Fosse to ask what the name Ales meant to him and what he wanted the title to convey. I had noticed that the book's first burst of short sentences, after forty or so pages flowing by without a full stop, included the sentence 'Det er Ales,' so the title should refer to that moment in the book, but what else? Fosse told me that Ales was a very old-fashioned name, 'maybe your grandmother might have known an old woman names Ales'. He himself had a great-great-grandmother named Ales who was known as a 'wise woman', a healer. She really did heal people, and the sick came to see her from far and wide; at one point she was called in to see a local priest, to talk about her 'practice', but there was no punishment. About the title, Fosse said: 'It means Ales is spreading out over the whole universe.'" ([77])
So it appears there are actual sentences. Let me try to find them:
I'm super proud of myself now:
".....and she takes the stick over to the fire and she puts the stick with the sheep head on it into the flames and while the boy dangles in her arm she moves the sheep head back and forth in the flames, and then its wool catches fire and blazes up and then a burnt smell goes up, burning, and then she dips the sheep head in the water of the fjord before she puts it back into the flames, and again that burnt smell, and then she moves the sheep head back and forth, back and forth in the flames. That's Aliss, he thinks, and he sees it, he knows it. That's Aliss at the fire. That is Aliss, he thinks, his great-great-grandmother, he is sure of it. It's Aliss, he was named after her, or rather after her grandson Asle, the one who died when he was seven, the one who drowned, he drowned in the bay, his Grandpa Olaf's brother, his namesake. But that is Aliss, in her early twenties, he thinks. And the boy, about two years old, that's Kristoffer, his great-grandfather, the one who would later be Grandpa Olaf's father and also the father of the Asle he was named after, his namesake, the one who drowned when he was just seven years old, he thinks and he sees Kristoffer start to cry dangling there in Aliss's arm and she puts down the stick with the sheep head on it and then she sets Kristoffer down on the shore and he stands up and stands there unsteady on his little legs, and then Kristoffer takes one careful step, and he stands, and then he takes another step, and then he falls on his side and shrieks and Aliss says no, why do you have to try to stand up, can't you just sit quiet, Aliss says, and she puts down the stick and she picks up Kristoffer and holds him tight to her chest
You good little boy, you're a good little boy, Aliss says
Don't cry now, don't cry anymore, that's a good boy, she says
and Kristoffer stops crying, gives a little sob, and then he's happy again and Aliss puts him down on the same stone as before and she picks up the stick with the sheep head again and starts to burn it, moves it back and forth in the flames. And again Kristoffer stands up. And again he takes a careful step forward. And then another. And Aliss stands there, moving the stick with the sheep head on it back and forth in the flames. That is Aliss." (33-34)
Actually, the sentences continue onto page 35, but end there. I excerpt something so long to provide a flavor of the text and perhaps you can see why it was difficult for me to summon the will to ensconce myself within it.
The wikipedia page is not much help because it does not exist, but there is one for Jon Fosse, which notes that he suffered a serious accident at age 7 that brought him close to death and significantly influenced his later writing.
And so perhaps Aliss at the Fire is a puzzle one has to solve: it must be semi-autobiographical in some form or shade, Asle (the great-grand-uncle) died at age 7, I think, and Aliss is portrayed as something of a healer, in the vision that Signe/Asle has.
Yes, the book shifts perspectives between Signe and Asle at a certain point, and then there is later Brita (who I think is ancestor-Asle's mother, or current-Asle's great-great-grand-aunt), who gives a boat to Asle for his 7th birthday (Kristoffer, Asle's older brother, is apparently there too).
To say this book is enormously difficult and confusing is an understatement. It is extremely boring, to a ridiculous degree.
I said some of these things to my friend that gave it to me as a gift, and he told me that Fosse's masterpiece is 700 pages long and very similar in style and tone to this, and opens up with an image of a person watching paint dry, presumably drawn out over several hundred pages. So this all feels intentional but something of a cruel joke on readers.
Yet this is High Art, and does tend to lend credence to a fractural and mystical reality. Asle may have drowned too, like his great-grand-uncle, but he has also lived in the same house that his ancestors lived in, and so this may be considered a ghost story. It also bears a certain resemblance to a short story that I wrote a five paragraph essay on in high school called "Yellow Wallpaper." I got a C- on that paper. That story is about the frayed mental health of a subjugated woman; this story is not necessarily about madness, but a vision, seeing things that aren't there, or might be there, and the reality of things we experience when we are alone, in a house, we hear certain noises and see certain flashes of things and our experience is the only reality of them, as no other person is there to witness them or confirm that reality--it may just be in our minds.
So perhaps Aliss at the Fire is a success, because it made me think all of these things, and I do think its "message" (if it has one) may be profound. Yet on the metric of 'le plaisir du texte,' it did not provide an enjoyable experience. Perhaps neither does grief, or dying, but still, this is not a cogent meditation, this is an experiment in language and form, and the translation lends it a further air of mystery. Yet perhaps it is all too real, if one lives alone in a house in Norway, looking out at a fjord, waiting for a missing person while the hope of their return is all but lost.
























