Q: Et tu, Jonathan? A: Read. Read some more. Buy Red Bull.
|
|
| The Patient Etherized Q: Et tu, Jonathan? A: Read. Read some more. Buy Red Bull. |
|
|
Tuesday, April 26, 2005 Ah, fickleness! The older I get the more it seems that I fight to maintain a steady opinion of what's happening in my life and what my past is about. When I was being mopey a while ago I had longings for the past that have all but disappeared now that I'm content with my single life and momentary flirtations. I don't think this current state of things means that I was any less right than I was before. I just don't feel any overwhelming desire to get into a serious relationship, especially one as restrictive and crazy as before. Nor do I feel the need to seek out a long term relationship like in college, though that feeling is for much different, less oppressive reasons than the first decision. Went on a bit of a date last night, which was actually really fun. This whole dating thing is still a little odd after previous relationships that basically began with hookups and talks about what those hookups meant (or more to the point: the hooking up in the past meant that some of the taboos and insecurities of sexual tension were mollified so we could be more honest about what we wanted). But my philosophy is to go into these things without too much analyzing. I guess I don't really think about the whole acting aspect of it that Trent recommends in Swingers ("You don't want to be the nice guy that girls like to talk with; you want to be the guy in the R-rated movie, who's a little dangerous and you don't really know what he's going to do next"). As Mikey responds to him near the end of the movie, "Look I've got it covered myself." Hopefully this doesn't mean I'm all growns up :-) I still have that American literary theme of the aversion of loss of innocence. That theme has been an ongoing conversational topic of mine since the beginning of college. I'd like it to have a little life left. I should: 1) stop playing Snood, which is like a disease that takes over my free time 2) finish LaDitAN today -- have about 150 pages left. 3) apply to the futures conference 4) get ready for New York posted by Jon | 12:06:00 PM Monday, April 25, 2005 Providence. Another College Upon a Hill, and Notes Went to Providence yesterday to look at more properties. College Hill is almost sickeningly pretty, in a much more manicured way than Dartmouth -- the campus itself has a lot of neatly mulched areas with rhododendrons and azaleas in bloom. The colonial era houses of course add to this feel. The house we're looking at is right off Benefit St. and is about a five block, seven minute walk to the English department. Dartmouth is just one big sprawling common space and it's clear enough that it's not in the city. There's definitely a Haight-Ashbury feel to parts of East Providence, what with herb shops, murals, and flyers on every telephone pole for upcoming concerts. Had to deal with some serious turmoil between the parents on settling the financial issues of the house. That's always fun as hell and I had to act as the go-between, which is even better... It made me definitely want some space to myself for a while and the thought of retreating to New York for a few days did come into my head. I don't think I'll do it, but having free lodging always is an attractive option for running away from home, which is what it amounts to. Plus I want to go to the Whitney Museum and maybe also to get a tour of the old Jewish tenements on the lower east side. * I've been exercising more -- 50 situps, 30-40 leg lifts, 30 jumping squats, 30 pushups running three times a week, and miscellaneous lifting -- even though I did strain my neck last week and it's been annoying me since. Plus I've been having some god awful protein shakes. ** I ordered another shirt from threadless.com. Buying semi-funky, semi-bizarre tshirts has definitely become my new hobby. I'm definitely wearing my mermaid shirt if I get it today. *** Obsessed with a few songs too: The Talking Heads' The Big Country, and Lou Reed's Satellite of Love. There's something about David Byrne's obsession with how much middle class suburbia sucks that I like -- I got obsessed with his solo song from In Good Company, Glass, Concrete, and Stone earlier this year. Maybe it's just because it connects with the urban alienation (and creativity, sometimes) that I wrote about for my thesis. **** Speaking of writing, I have about a week more before I start reading Baldwin and preparing for work on him. I need to read a book of Henry James' prefaces, The Art of the Novel, which I was lucky enough to find in the Brattle Street Bookshop the other day (yay for 4$ books). Reading James is a little bit like meeting with an aunt you don't necessarily want to see but do out of obligation. Currently Reading: Love and Death in the American Novel by Leslie Fiedler, the book that reads like a precursor to modern criticism and its use of theory. Slow moving -- I can only read about 100 pages a day . posted by Jon | 9:16:00 AM Wednesday, April 20, 2005 Rough Review of Ellison and Menand I've spent the last twelve days reading non-fiction (The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison and then The Metaphysical Club, by Louis Menand). Ellison's essays are a mixed batch, and a lot of them emphasize the same points and the same incidents in his life. I won't fault him for using personal narratives to make a point, but I might fault the editor for including so many essays that repeat themselves. Ellison at first seems like an older liberal because he emphasizes form before politics, and believes that the African American should be viewed as quintessentially American. I appreciate how he tries to show how blacks should strive for a consciousness defined from within, and not imposed on them by the majority. Even the ideas of majority and minority are suspect in Ellison's thinking, as he shows how the idea of whiteness is both built upon blackness and is actually composed of black vernacular culture. For Ellison, the morality of the abolitionists of the 19th century is always lurking in the background, against the evasion and deception of Reconstruction. The linking figure between Ellison and Menand is Alain Locke. Menand devotes part of his chapter, Pluralism, in The Metaphysical Club, to the Harvard-educated black philosopher who would later chair Howard's philosophy department. Menand connects the pragmatists' idea of pluralism to the way that Locke used it in his thinking about race. But what concerned me more as I read this book, which is almost patronizingly addressed to a popular audience, was the way it was structured and the way it presented its ideas, or didn't present them. Clearly it is an impressive body of archival research, filtered into a narrative designed to recover the history of the pragmatist thinkers who were ignored during the Cold War era. The book is filled with anecdotes and digression, and has something of the fabulist's penchant for amusing details (we learn much about the personal and sexual lives in his thumbnail sketches of Peirce and a few others) and representative stories. What bothered me is that the book shortchanges a discussion of ideas in favor of showing the major events that lead to these thinkers developing their ideas. For Oliver Wendell Holmes, it was the Civil War. For John Dewey, it was the experience of Jane Addams and Hull House. The seeming precision of Menand's language is more equipped to chart these narrative paths through history than it is to discuss the ideas in themselves. He is adept at tracing the intellectual developments that lead to the ideas of the pragmatists, notably William James, but the ideas themselves are overshadowed by the mass of trivia and personalities. When I was reading the finishing chapters of the book, I kept thinking how Walter Benn Michaels' Our America did a much more rigorous job of taking to task Horace Kallen's Democracy vs. the Melting Pot article and the issue of pluralism and primitivism. Perhaps Menand sacrificed some of the rigor for the sake of popular appeal, but I think he didn't need to sacrifice so much of it. posted by Jon | 3:19:00 PM Friday, April 08, 2005 Calming Down The tapeworm of anxiety has gone back into dormancy in my stomach after reading pretty constantly for the past week. I've been productive and I've extracted a bunch of good things out of this distress (which took, all told, about a month to deal with). To wit: I've started running and getting into shape, I've been reading a lot (I now can appreciate Faulkner, particularly the stories "The Fire and the Hearth" and "The Bear" in Go Down, Moses). It's funny how I just wasn't prepared to read him in high school (admittedly, he does require a lot of focus since he rarely names the speaking character or the referent). It's amazing how common that gnawing feeling of anxiety and pointlessness is for people just out of college, more so than the days of Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate. Just the other day I was talking to a friend on the phone -- someone who always seems good-natured and happy -- and he was talking about how he was considering converting to Christianity after spending a lot of time alone and beginning to get down every now and then. I understand the many inroads to depression, but I don't understand why people don't find faith in themselves, or in humanity. Why look outward to a trancendental being, when what most people become depressed about these days is not death (which is sanitized and removed in most modernized countries), but the ability to achieve something meaningful and satisfying? Why rely on drugs or other sedatives to achieve a false calm when the only real answer is to find that calm without the use of a prosthesis (if that is really possible anymore)? But then, is it possible or is it even better to have an authentic relation to the world? Isn't part of human history to gradually move into more artificial environments, from the first use of handheld tools to machines and now to computers. Shouldn't this "progress" allow for more use of the human mind as actual work is produced, or is it capitalism that asks for more and more productivity as people are able to accomplish more tasks after they have more time freed up for them by technology? To be continued... Listening to: Sasha Xpander, James Holden Horizons posted by Jon | 11:53:00 AM Tuesday, April 05, 2005 Gao Xingjian, "Le témoignage de la littérature" "The writer would do best to return to the position of being observer, to look with dispassionate eyes upon various facets of human life. If he is able in the same way to soberly reflect on his self, he will gain a degree of freedom, find interest in this observation and reflection, and will not foolishly think of recreating the world. In any case, it is impossible for a person to recreate himself, and even less can he recreate others. This sort of literature has no mission, and it is this unburdened literature that is able to adhere close to reality and does not manufacture falsehoods. Literature that does not fabricate lies usually is written primarily for the writer himself to read. The records in a person's private diary on the whole are truthful, unless one thinks that someday others might secretly read them and uses a secret language. If everything is written in a secret language that one ends up not being able to decipher oneself, then there is no point in continuing to write the diary. A writer does not write because he hopes it will provide a livelihood, but because there is the real perception of discomfort that needs to be discharged through writing. This sort of writing of course does not require pandering to readers and is in fact the original purpose of literature. Unfortunately, the profession of writing becomes more commercialised as a society modernises, so literary products, too, cannot escape market forces, and writers must fight to sell their works. This market-driven literature, of course, no longer uses truth as its criterion for value. Molested by political and ideological interference that continues without end into the present, and squeezed by cultural commodification that does not diminish with economic globalisation, literature of today, that is, literature that has the truth of human life as its criterion, is forced to retreat to the margins of society. Writers who persevere in this sort of writing are therefore relegated to existing in the crevices of society. Fortunately, such crevices still exist in the free world, but under autocratic regimes how can such writers survive unless they abscond? This somewhat disappointing situation in literature is in fact a portrait of the existential predicament of human life. Literature that seeks after truth both refuses to be subservient to politics or to win over the market, so readers of course are therefore limited to people such as those present who are interested and moreover approve of it. That such readers exist is a good thing in itself, so there should be no cause for complaint. This sort of literature is essentially non-utilitarian. Writers who persevere in this sort of writing naturally cannot rely on hoping to win a prize to be able to continue, but probably they do not continue writing in the hope of always having to endure an indifferent reception. If the writer does not obtain some satisfaction from this sort of writing it would be hard for him to persevere, so the search for truth is an excitement that is indispensable. With life comes the thirst for truth, whereas the spreading of lies is later gradually acquired in the process of trying to stay alive. However, writers devoted to this sort of writing are especially stubborn, and the impulse to search for truth is a passion that must be satisfied, is a lust. There are so many layers to truth, and the simple and superficial statements of fact cannot satisfy the writer. Furthermore, testimonies about real people and real happenings are shackled by political or social taboos or restricted by concerns for profit or loss, or by social customs, so their confirmation of truth can only be limited in scope. The perspective of a statement predisposes a judgement, moreover, can only focus on the happening itself, so the underlying reasons and any extenuating consequences are rendered extraneous. Such testimonies therefore can only remain at the surface layer of fact, and while they are able to satisfy the requirements of the news media, they do not reveal deeper layers of truth. The literary testimony, however, is dissatisfied with just a limited number of eyewitness accounts, and it should be noted that not all eyewitness accounts are adequate. Furthermore, fear on the part of the witness or the standpoint of the witness may give rise to intentional and non-intentional omissions, or although there may be the desire to say something there may be psychological obstacles preventing this. And, needless to say, also hidden in the dark beyond the range of vision of the witness, are the instigators and their motives. However, literature has no taboos and can transcend all of these limitations. The writer who chooses to write literature as a testimony is, of course, aware that writing about real people and real happenings, or what he has personally experienced, unavoidably self-imposes a limitation on his literary creation. But a writer will accept such a limitation because he is searching for truth, and it is truth that is the writer's overriding criterion. The testimonies of literature are often much more profound than those of history. History inevitably bears the imprint of power, and therefore is repeatedly revised along with changes in power. However, once a literary work is published, it cannot be changed, and makes the writer's responsibility to history even heavier, even if to undertake this heavy burden is not the writer's intention. (Transcription from 8:51-15:48 of the Realmedia player file of the lecture.) posted by Jon | 7:25:00 PM Motivation Recently I've started to compose blog entries in my head, even though I hadn't been writing anything for four months. So I decided that it would make sense to put down some of my thoughts about relationships and academics for my own personal record (the purpose of many a blog to begin with). I also think it might be a good idea to start writing again since I need to convert some of my ideas from my reading into words on the page, especially before starting some academic writing for a conference in June. Black Dog When I have ups and downs (Churchill's black dog, or onset of depression, comes to mind), my mind works very intensely, much more so than when I'm in a relationship or at peace with myself (two overlapping areas of existence, as anyone who has been in good and bad relationships can attest to). I turn over thoughts in my head, compose conversations with people, write beginnings of letters, and think about AIM conversations I've had and never had. During these various mental treadings, I've realized that it was much easier to open myself up completely to another person before I had very much experience in a relationship, because I didn't know the possible trauma that comes after a relationship ends -- the absence of anyone to rely on, the tough acclimation to existing by oneself again. When I was seventeen I told myself I could overcome any emotional obstacle; in fact, I put absolutely no importance on emotions and thought I could rely on myself (how Emersonian) without the need of anything external. Which is to say that I was a non-materialistic and overly proud only child. But dating really taught me how much emotion I've kept inside me, and how I want to give to another person (and how dependent I can grow on the emotional support that a good relationship can provide). Transitioning -- from high school, which for me was such a sheltered existence, to the semi-adult state of college where you don't have to worry much about money and what to do, and finally to the Brownian motion of life between (and in) New York and Boston -- has made me realize the pockets of alienation and frustration with life that I increasingly find. Without being too sentimental or sounding weak, I've noticed how distances between friends grow greater as they follow paths to money or academics in different parts of the country and how there isn't a feeling of safe community like there was in college (Dartmouth, of course, had this quality to the extreme). I think love is more important in the outside world than it was in college due to the exposure to the outside. A happy monogamous relationship allows you to build a semi-permeable wall of comfort against this outside (uh oh I feel that I'm getting French intellectualy here) without the scariness of being penetrated (or suffused) wholly by the outside. This wall of comfort made me fearless in the randomness of the city and made me feel creative, rather than drained of my optimism. Objects were invested positively due to this perception. There is a balance that I want to strike in my ideal relationship, a balance between trust and dependency, between being able to pursue my work by myself and spend my spare time with the person I love. I wasn't mature enough to know how to be apart when I really loved someone because I craved contact so much, and so did she. My self was so effaced that when I broke it off it took me years to gain back that contentment I have when I sit down on a couch -- in Singapore, Paris, on my couch, anywhere that I make my home -- to read a book and to train myself to succeed at writing about literature. Now, as I look ahead, if I ever get back together with her, or if it's with someone else, I want to be able to create a few boundaries, however nominal. It sounds easy now but I think it's hard both to be receptive to the other person's feelings and to maintain one's values. It's one of the few vestiges of true morality and ethics I hold close to me. Friends (and Lovers) I've found it easier to be open in front of a girlfriend than my friends. Most of my friends define themselves by their own friends, with girlfriends occupying a somewhat peripheral position. I define myself more by the relationships I have than the circle of friends I keep. I'd say friendship is an easier and longer lasting loyalty (if only because there is less tension because the bonds aren't as tightly wound up) than a relationship. The downside of this way of being is that I tend to get hurt more because I'm invested in my relationships. The pain of a serious breakup also limits my ability to feel strongly about another person, a sensitivity I'm still grappling with as I build up my own brand of empirical observations about relationships. Experience has not made me want to be any less open to people; rather, it has just made me more aware of what feelings I risk in making myself available to someone I like but do not know very much about. Taking that leap of faith is so necessary to making things work out. It is based on faith because you cannot control how another person will react, and you must put trust in the other person to reciprocate your own efforts. My last relationship failed because she didn't, or wasn't willing to, reciprocate my feelings. For a time I lost my faith in myself and blamed myself, but I now realize that to a large degree she was incapable of putting faith in anyone. I may not have acted correctly in dealing with her pathology and how she interpreted many comments to reflect something negative about her intelligence or attractiveness, but I most certainly was not the cause of those concerns. At a time when I'm made vulnerable by someone who is unwilling to appreciate what I do for her, I have to take stock in good relationships in the past. I guess at some level I'm being nostalgic for what was, but I am also trying to identify the traits that make me feel good and make me want to do good for another person. I am now trying to separate the nostalgia from the past with my observations about what that person meant to me. That she still makes me feel good is at least a good sign. Does it limit me to a Florentino Ariza-like state of waiting? I don't think so, unless my heart refuses to let me go on. Til later... posted by Jon | 5:38:00 PM |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
||||
|
|||||