A New Year’s Eve masque.

Enter BEN, at right, an older gentlemen, broad of girth. His fashionable “Twelfth Night” doublet and ruffs nearly obscured by his self-righteous scowl (the poet himself selected his costume). Before him he bears a small folio that reads Christmas, his masque.

Enter left, the ENGLISH UNDERGRADUATE, in pyjamas and dressing robe befitting the lazy holiday season, and armed with a copy of Brome’s collected works (volume one) and a half-eaten piece of toast in either arm. She is attended by her usher, a hungry golden retriever.

BEN. Hrpmh.

ENG. UND. A’ peace, whats the matter there?

BEN. You’ve usurp’d my good name, once again.

ENG. UND. On what grounds? This whole archive is devoted to you, isn’t it?

BEN. A shameful pretense. I’ve heard my name twice merely in the last month, and only three more times in the months before that! Your logic class has gotten more attention.

ENG. UND. I did write a whole post on your second epigram. I’m excited about seeing Bartholomew Fair. Also, what about that poem I wrote for my environment class?

BEN. A work deserving more blotting than William’s lines [aside]. Yet you’re reading a book by my servant, Richard, and something about Shakespeare’s wife; you wrote an entire post about that young clergyman –

ENG. UND. John Milton –

BEN. not even mentioning me. Though the university at Cambridge said we were the two most learned men in Britain.

ENG. UND. Actually, they said with the exception of Milton you were the most learned man in England…

BEN. Well, one mustn’t expect much from anyone who educated Kit Marlowe. [aside] You ignored me in the solstice masque; Christmas came and went: a perfect opportunity to mention my Christmas masque. Instead you waste all your time writing about the “poets” of the Canadas.

ENG. UND. I did consider posting your masque, you know, but, Ben, it was Christmas, and that masque is a little –

BEN. Yes?

ENG. UND. dull. It’s asking a bit much of the dear readers, isn’t it?

BEN. It’s better than this paltry work. This isn’t even a proper masque, you know.

ENG. UND. I’m sorry, should we be marching solemnly around the room? Dancing to lute music? Should I include self-important bits of commentary? [Ben tended to ruin the work of the other actors with his untimely interruptions of their lines. Despite this small matter --

BEN. Can you dispense with the cheap mockery and get to the matter for which this dramatic contrivance was cheaply devised?

ENG. UND. You mean declaring my excitement for the two courses in early modern drama in which I'll be involved, and which I hope will provide ample opportunities for returning to my Ben-related articles?

BEN. Don't forget to apologise for asking them to read this drama. [Exeunt]

ENG. UND. I always do. [Exeunt]

31 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Now is not the time to read Anna Karenina.

I read The Fire Gospel last night/early this morning. Michel Faber’s satiric examination of the current marketability of religious narratives is everything it promised to be: “provocative”, “hilarious”, and “shocking”. It was also terribly sad.

Between Ricci, Saramago, Faber, and a handful of terrifying Neil Gaiman stories (more on that later), I’m feeling a bit exhausted by well-written novels that lure me in with promises of wit and brilliance, only to also deliver brilliant comically tragic conclusions. I am a mess of conflicted melancholic contemplation.

I’m postponing a few reads (Ondaatje’s Running in the Family, Mrs. Dalloway) and turning to comedy: perhaps Brome’s A Mad Couple
Well-match’d. Are early-modern comedies complex? Absolutely. Do they include controversial ruinous marriages and bleak humour about the plague? Of course. Do I expect to find myself conflicted at the end? Obviously. But at least I know no one’s getting shot.

31 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Non-Accredited Book Reviews: Jose Saramago.

Saramago, José. Death with Interruptions. Transl. Margaret Jull Costa. Orlando: Harcourt, 2008.

Well, I’m not fat and I’m not dressed in black, and you have no idea who marcel proust was, For obvious reasons, we scythes, both those who cut down people and those who cut down grass, have never been taught to read, but we have good memories, mine of blood and theirs of sap, and I’ve heard proust’s name several times and put together the facts, he was a great writer, one of the greatest who ever lived, and his file must be somewhere in the old archives. Yes, but not in mine, I wasn’t the death who killed him, So this monsieur marcel proust wasn’t from here, then, asked the scythe, No he was from a place called france, replied death, and there was a touch of sadness in her words, Don’t worry, you can console yourself for the fact that it wasn’t you who killed proust by how pretty you look today [...] (206)

The premise of Death with Interruptions is simultaneously amazingly simple and complex: in a nameless European country, the new year breaks and no one dies. death (the lowercase “d” is important, as is her female gender), eventually turns up to explain the phenomenon.

Saramago is the master of the omniscient narrator. First, he eschews the use of quotation marks and (frequently) periods, and even line breaks and indentation in distinguishing dialogue, instead indicating changes of speaker by a comma and uppercase (as demonstrated above). This formatting substantially affects the pace and mood of one’s reading process: even though Saramago employs detailed adjectival description, the way the dialogue physically runs into itself tends to subvert that description, refusing to allow the reader to linger over it. The effect is rather like reading a report. Frequent intrusions of the narrative voice into the story heighten this effect:

The protagonists of these dramatic events, described in unusually detailed fashion in a story which has, so far, preferred to offer the curious reader, if we may put it so, a panoramic view of the facts, were, when they unexpectedly entered the scene, given the social classification of poor country folk. This mistake, the result of an overhasty judgment on the part of the narrator, based on an assessment which was, at best, superficial, should, out of respect for the truth, be rectified at once. A family of poor country folk, if they were truly poor, would not be the owners of a cart, nor [...] would never have been able to come out with the lovely sentence we commented on before, What will the neighbors say when they notice the absence of these people who were at death’s door [...] (41-42)

The narrative voice, like the rapid “report-like” delivery of
dialogue, distances the reader from the characters and events of the story, which appears to be in the process of being written as we read the book.

Increasingly, however, as the story develops, the narrator slips into single point-of-view descriptions of such length and detail, that the reader appears to be situated within the bodies of the characters themselves. Saramago switches into these seamlessly, and the overall effect allows the reader to access the characters from several different points of entry.

I do wish the dust jacket had not revealed so much of the plot to me (and I advise not reading it beforehand), but Saramago’s writing is beautiful, interesting, and the novel is well-structured: all factors which contributed the text’s poignant and disturbing ending: I cannot recall feeling such a mixture of joy, sadness, and horror combined.

30 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Non-Accredited Book Reviews: Rick Mercer.

This always happens around Christmas: my planned reading list is (pleasantly) interrupted by newly unwrapped reading material. This year’s interruption (courtesy of my mother) was Rick Mercer’s Rick Mercer Report: The (Paperback) Book (Toronto: Anchor, 2008).

Rick Mercer is presently best known (as the title suggests) for his news satire program the Rick Mercer Report [i]: for my American readers, think John Stewart in prime-time. Mercer also travels a lot more, every week visiting two different Canadian work environments, both political and non, for interviews (in an opening reflection on the related problems of communication and landmass in Canada, Mercer remarks that “[His] luggage has remained packed for over a decade,” xi).

Mercer’s book is mostly a compilation of Mercer’s weekly “rants” on current news items from his show and articles on his blog. Not only are these miniature essays entertaining on their own, but they’ve been arranged into a revealing chronology of Canadian political themes over the last five years. The book opens with essays considering how the Canadian democratic system operates, and the relationship between former PM Paul Martin and newly-appointed opposition leader Stephen Harper, eventually moving on to consider the fall of the Liberal government, the appointment of Dion (at the Liberal convention of 2006), and the three minority governments of the past five years. Mercer pauses along the way to consider topics like political lying and bullying, deficit spending, and the faltering relationship between the government and science.

The book’s arrangement by themes emphasises running political sub-themes that, from week to week, might appear as isolated phenomena. Including, for example, Jason Kenney’s unscrupulous registering of Don Boudria’s domain name, Harper’s similar purchasing of Dianne Haskett’s name, and the infamous “Kyoto blog” [ii], a nasty trend of using the internet as an offensive (both “tactically” and “disgustingly”) means of manipulating both party members and rivals seems to be growing in Canadian politics. It’s the little things that determine a nation’s character, no?

This book does concern the nation as a whole: despite Mercer’s fairly obvious antipathy towards the Conservative Party, he devotes equal critical attention towards the other political parties. Indeed, Mercer’s description of “a good show” is “when I get five emails from Tories accusing me of being a Liberal shill, and five emails from Liberals accusing me of being a Tory” (211).

Mercer’s writing should not be mistaken as mere sophistry for the sake of ratings, however (though he does admit he keeps the ratings in mind); he offers consistent defenses of gay rights, freedom of speech and press, federal support for peacekeeping, and equal treatment of provinces. When one (re)considers the number of changes in federal parliament in the last five years (and yet more changes in party structure and leadership), perhaps it is more rational to define one’s political values by independent issues rather than any one political party. Using this strategy, Mercer is able to positively critique the actions party leaders in “Doing Something Right for a Change.”

I think Mercer’s book is (like his show) to be prized most for the way it shows Canadian politics and politicians (as well as a few writers, musicians, and entrepreneurs) so lively and full of character. I’ve often thought, in history class, and while reading the Dictionary of Canadian Biography two summers ago, that Canadian political history could be mostly characterised by a tenacious cycle of “policy, squabbling, namecalling, policy”. Mercer’s book does much to confirm this notion. It simultaneously demonstrates, however, that while policy can sometimes be a matter of pedantry, it also seriously defines a nation’s values. More, tenacity itself may be a fitting description of national character: one that — for good or for ill — is responsible for Canada’s survival.

End Notes:

[i] Rick Mercer Report. Tuesdays at 8.00 PM, CBC. Though Mercer has done many other fine programs. Like Made in Canada, a program about a Canadian film production company with the humour of The Office and the hand-held camera style of Arrested Development (though it was around four years before the former, and six years before the latter). With its Canadian content and humour, and meta-commentary, however, I would place it above The Office in entertainment value. Oh, CBC, why do you let good shows fade from the airwaves?

[ii] Kyoto blog. Mercer describes this as “[an] official Conservative party blog [in which] Kyoto the dog likes to quote his ‘master’ Stéphane Dion, and of course Dion speaks in broken English.” (89)

30 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

The Longest Night.

On the Winter Solstice, presumably to ward off the boredom that attended the longest night of the year, the early moderns would hold court dramas. In honour of that custom, I have produced my own solstice drama.

The production costs may be low, but my drama includes meta-text, Impressionist masterpieces, and, if you look carefully, a cameo appearance by Bartholomew.

Please don’t judge me.

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"Sigh."

"I suppose I'll just read."

"I suppose I'll just read."

"Michel, didn't you see this flyer?"

"Michel, didn't you see this flyer?"

"Yes, but isn't there Plague in London?"

"Yes, but isn't there Plague in London?"

"Not anymore!"

"Not anymore!"

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"Let's go."

"Let's go."

"London is so far.  We should stop for coffee."

"London is so far. We should stop for coffee."

"Much better."

"Much better."

"Michel, are we there yet?"

"Michel, are we there yet?"

"Yes, Siggy."

"Yes, Siggy."

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"Shall we take our seats?"

"Shall we take our seats?"

"Michel, this play is duller than Mrs. Dalloway..."

"SOMEBODY THROW A PIE!...Is it just me, Michel, or is this play duller than _Mrs. Dalloway_?"

"By my spectacles!  Do not say such things!"

"By my spectacles! Do not say such things!"

"Too late..."

"Too late..."

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"It is the Woolf-monster!"

"It is the Woolf-monster!"

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"We're alive!"

"We're alive!"

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21 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Leonard Cohen’s beautiful translation…

of Lorca’s “Little Viennese Waltz” seems an appropriate musical selection for this time of year. Not only do the images of winter and death provide harmonious accompaniment for the past few days of continuous snow and wind [i], but the nostalgic/melancholy mood of the poem, with its longing to return to old Vienna, and its invocation of childhood and past love also nicely coincides with the nostalgia one encounters around the holidays. I’ve been listening to it over the last week[ii], and feeling fairly festive.

It’s a lot better than Jingle Bells…

End Notes:

[i] snow and wind. Most of which has been spent indoors with a mopey golden retriever, a book, and coffee. The latter of which also fits in with the Viennese theme.

[ii] listening to it. A recording from Cohen’s current UK tour. He has considerable presence for a man of 74. I’m also envious of “albertnoonan”’s seat.

21 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Back to reality.

I recently finished grading exams for my “tragedy in arts and literature” seminar, and was a bit disheartened that my students had consistent difficulties with the excerpts from Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy we covered.

Nietzsche, being Nietzsche, is not prone to moral absolutes. In The Birth of Tragedy both Apollonian and Dionysian arts he describes are equally constructive and destructive (depending on whether one is discussing the individual body or collective humanity). Both are, to some extent, illusory and unattainable. Both are tragic, and both depend upon the other: the Dionysian may be a desirable state of intoxication, when one comes close to experiencing collective “reality,” but the experience occurs at the destruction of the individual self. The Apollonian hero myth may “rescue” us from Dionysian destruction (the hero encounters death, the loss of the individual self, on our behalf), but this myth is ultimately illusory (and leaves us bereft of the collective “reality” we desire).

Nietzsche is obviously complicated, and, recognising this, the Birth of Tragedy seminar was the one I worried most about in advance, and spent the most time preparing. Selecting passages that defined the major terms and concepts of his argument, and asking the students to paraphrase and ask questions of these passages as means of understanding (in their own words and thought processes), I’d hoped to arrive at a fairly nuanced understanding of the work. It seemed to work: discussion was lively, and spending more time working through the fundamentals than usual allowed us to have an interesting discussion of Nietzsche, Schlegel, and the tragedy of “reality.” I left the seminar feeling fairly confident.

This confidence was shaken in the process of grading the exams. Many of my students treated Nietzsche’s theories of the Dionysian and Apollonian arts in reductive ways, positing a hierarchy where one (the plastic Apollonian) is ultimately “better” than the other (the rhythmic Dionysian). Noting Apollo’s associations with light and “truth,” most students further associated the Apollonian with “goodness” (in the moral sense), while associating the drunken revelry of Dionysus with “badness” (frequently conflating Nietzsche’s concepts with Freud’s concepts in Civilization and its Discontents, and reading characters like Medea as slaves to their darker, murderous, primordial Dionysian halves).

I have to remind myself not to take this type situation too personally, or to read it as (necessarily) some sort of failing of myself in an educational role. While it’s true that even excellent professors (with actual credentials, and far, far more experience than myself), have bad days, or make mistakes in a lecture or seminar (and so it is alright if this also happens to me, so long as I pay attention and correct these when possible), it is equally true that students have some measure of responsibility in their own learning. Many students are intelligent enough to engage in seminar discussions, even if they have not completed their readings, but, as they have not worked through and internalised the readings for themselves, will not do as well on their exams. It is also true that with only fifty minutes a week for seminar, and with three or four other classes for which to read and study, it is possible that students have difficulty remembering, understanding, and then conveying their understanding of their readings — particularly when asked to do so in a first-year class, during an exam situation, and when the reading is as complex as The Birth of Tragedy.

It is finally true that I had a few students who wrote outstanding exams which discussed Nietzsche clearly and creatively, and this may be equally as non-indicative of my own qualities as a teaching assistant as the others. If a student finds a work interesting, and is willing to engage with it, they will do so no matter who is at the front of the room.

21 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

“Bless me! deliver me! help, hold me! the Fair!”

I should be studying for my exam tonight, but I couldn’t resist.  Bartholomew Fair is playing  at the Stratford Festival this season!  I was already aware of this, but something about seeing it glossy calendar form makes the news more excitingly tangible.

I think I know what I’m getting me for my birthday.

16 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Germaine Greer…

in Shakespeare’s Wife (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 2007), is clever, humourous, and well-cited, and has managed to convert inventories, and parish birth and death registries into entertaining and credible hypotheses on the type of life Shakespeare’s wife (and women of all social classes in early modern England) might have lived.

I just wish it was about Jonson’s Anne…

Longer review to follow upon completion.

11 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines

Things for which Gaurav is useful: Edition 10.

Attempting to be snooty.

1. Keeping me “logical.”

10 December 2008 ~ St. Catharines.

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